Past & Present

Chapter 3

Cassandra

Seven years later...

"Tarra, we have to go!" I yell, knocking on the door of our shared bathroom.

I hear the click of the lock and Tarra opens the door. "Alright, alright. I'm ready, let's go." She says with a big grin, her right hand resting on her hip while her left-hand grasps the doorknob.

She steps out of the bathroom in a cute, white, patterned chiffon dress that rests just at her mid-thigh, brown wedges, a brown belt around her tiny waist, and a denim jacket to complete the look. Her hair falls to the middle of her back in loose waves.

"How do I look?" She asks me, a small smile pulls at her lips as she spins on her heel.

We finally start to leave and I grab my keys from the key rack that hangs just to the right of our front door to our apartment.

"Good, as always. Now can we go?" I grunt, frustrated with the lack of time we have left and her procrastination.

"Oh, wait, Cassandra! I almost forgot something!" Tarra yells out and I refrain from groaning.

Instead, I roll my eyes and exhale in frustration, looking at my watch. Twenty minutes left to get to my graduation. I cross my arms and start tapping my foot as I watch Tarra scurry down our hallway and turn left into her bedroom.

My eyes drag over our small, thin-walled apartment where pictures of our family litter the gray paint. After skimming over the pictures of our parents, smiling and happy, my eyes land on the round wooden dining table that rests in our dining room. It is the one piece of furniture Tarra and I kept from Dad's estate.

I glide my finger over the small scratch that is on one end of the table, and close my eyes, remembering the day Dad made it. He had been in a hurry to get to work. He had finished drinking his cup of coffee and went to pick up his gun holster, dragged it along the freshly waxed tabletop, and left a mark.

"f**k, not my favorite table," he had muttered.

Tarra and I never bothered to repair it since this small scratch holds a memory of him.

Moments later, she emerges from the dimly lit hallway, holding something wrapped in what looks like Christmas wrapping paper that is probably leftovers from last year.

"You ready?" I scowl, arching my brow and removing my finger from the table.

"Yes. Now you can stop rolling your eyes behind my back, Sis."

"What's with the present?" I gesture to the reindeer decorated papered gift that rests on my sister's lap. I glance at the time on the dash and press on the gas a little more.

The harsh Arizona sunlight was beaming through my windshield, warming my fingers that are on the steering wheel. The humidity drapes the atmosphere and I already feel myself sweating. I turn up the air conditioning to help the sweat and to keep from feeling sticky. Then again, I could be sweating from the nerves. They have been going haywire all morning.

"You do realize that after today you'll be a cop right? So no more speeding, Missy." Tarra mocks, pointing her accusing finger at me, and I stifle a laugh.

"Anyways, this thing here-," she says, lifting the box and giving it a small shake, "is for you. But you have to wait until after the ceremony to open it."

I exhale dramatically. "You know I hate waiting. Can't I get a hint?" I giggle as I turn into an empty space, parking my black Toyota Tacoma.

This truck has become my baby. After busting my ass to buy myself a vehicle, I almost went with a small car, but then my eyes set on this beauty. I call her Darth Vader. I like to say I got her because I can do more with it in the desert, but in reality, I think I got this truck because of how big it is. I was always made to feel small in school, and in this beast, I feel on top. It brings me a sense of comfort each time I drive it.

Tarra puts on a mischievous grin and shakes her head. "Nope, nope, nope. Must wait, you shall. Impatient, you are." She laughs, impersonating one of the characters from my favorite movie series.

Star Wars, of course.

I shake my head, laughing as I hop out of my truck and make Cassandra the rear to meet Tarra.

She struggles to hop out, her dress lifting up from sliding amongst the chair and revealing her underwear, or lack thereof. I start laughing as she quickly fixes herself with a grunt.

"I don't know why you insisted on having to take your damn truck instead of my car. Mine is much more accommodating. I practically need heels to get into your truck."

I arch my brow, giggling when I say, "Well in my case, I need a ladder." My hand raises and I point my index finger down towards my head, "Hello, five-two over here."

We both laugh and she puts her hand out to straighten my tie. "So, you ready to do this or what, Sissy?"

I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and nod.

It's time.

My heart races as I sit with all of my fellow cadets, waiting to receive our badges. All twenty of us are exhilarated by our new sense of purpose and accomplishment. This badge symbolizes all of the blood, sweat, and tears that we have had to endure. The honor of wearing and receiving one means we made it, after months of pushing ourselves constantly, we made it.

Never did I think I'd be sitting here, about to receive a badge and become a patrol officer like my father had once been. I certainly never thought I'd get pepper-sprayed one day or tasered for that matter, but that's something we had to do in order to carry a firearm and to know how to properly use it if the situation should ever occur. Luckily, I already had plenty of firearm experience, thanks to my dad. Sure, at eleven years old, it wasn't every little girl's dream to learn to shoot clay pigeon targets, but I enjoyed the experience.

Just like every cadet's face I see in the crowd, I imagine mine wears the same accomplished expression. I have earned this. Ever since that dreadful day of my freshman year in high school, I worked hard and never gave up. I made a promise to myself that day when I sat in absolute solitude.

Physically, I cried. I cried so much that it literally shook my core. Always my protector, Tarra had brought me home and I drank hot tea to sulk my sorrows. For days I didn't eat or talk. At first, my dad feared I was on drugs until Tarra and I explained what happened to me and why I was like the walking dead.

I remember how it felt to have my heart shattered publicly and having the ground beneath me cave in, sucking me whole. I thought death would feel better than how my peers made me feel.