All my life, I have been surrounded by movies and television shows and books. In all of them, the good guy always wins and gets the girls while the bad guy goes to jail or gets shot up. I just assumed the same could be said for real life.

How wrong I was.

Even as I grew older, I still thought that. You must be thinking now how naïve he is and how he doesn’t know a thing about life. Well, you’re right—I didn’t then. But I’m older now, and wise enough so that I am no longer blinded by the propagandizing media that’s just out to make a lousy buck.

Yet, sometimes I look back at those times with something akin to regret. I miss the innocence and the pure childhood trust I had in my heart then. Everything was so simple—black and white, evil and good—there were no shades of gray or in-betweens that trouble me today. It was all laid out nice and neat and straight and color coded like a brand new box of crayons.

But crayons get lost and broken; they get out of order and they get used up until only tiny stubs remain and then get thrown out with next day’s garbage.

The innocence of childhood. Now, whenever I see a baby or a young child, I feel a pang of sadness in my heart. Children lose their innocence bit by bit as they are exposed more and more to life, no matter how hard and long parents try to protect them. It’s sad in a way.

I remember, I was nine and walking home with my friends. My mom had the day off from work and was home; my dad was at work, wearing his badge with pride. It was summer and we had just seen some movie…

* * *

The scent of roses filled the air, perfume from the gods. We were passing a patch of them in front of an office building; they were a dark crimson. The leaves hid the tiny thorns on the stem.

“Did you see how he got the guy? Right through the stomach! BAM-BAM!” Steve mimed a gun at Roger and Roger clutched his stomach in agony and “died." We all laughed.

Roger grinned at us from the ground as he sat up. “And how about the way that guy’s house blew up? BOOM!”

As Dan and I leaned over to help him up, we all continued chatting and laughing about the movie. The scent of roses followed in our wake.

* * *

…I have long forgotten what movie it was that we had seen. It was an insignificant detail on a day that would change my life forever…

* * *

As we neared the bank, we noticed a large crowd gathered around the door. Police cars were clustered in the parking lot, lights flashing: red and blue, red and blue.

“Hey, what’s going on over there?” Roger asked.

Dan shrugged. “Don’t know. Let’s go find out, come on!” He ran off toward the brick building and beckoned for us to follow.

We followed without a moment’s hesitation, like sheep off a cliff. As we drew nearer, the buzz from the crowd became discernible and we picked up bits and pieces from conversations.

“Did you see him? He had a gun and he said he was going to shoot!”

“…police have him now…”

My God! Did anybody get hurt? I heard that he had a gun!”

“Did you see what happened? I heard there was a robbery.”

“No, I didn’t see what happened, but she did…”

All around us were people talking and talking and talking. Janey, a girl from our class ran up to us. “Did you hear what happened? There was a hold up! He had a gun and a mask and everything!”

We clustered around her and started pumping her for details. All thoughts of how we boys had tormented her during recess last week and how boys weren’t supposed to associate with girls were forgotten. It was a little adventure of our own, just like in the movies.

* * *

…There had been a hold up. The man had shot up the place, but nobody had been hurt. He had had the money in his hands and was almost out the door before the police arrived and arrested him…

* * *

All of us shoved our way to the front of the crowd to try and get a glimpse of the bad guy. One police officer had him against the side of a car with his hands behind his back. He was about to handcuff the robber when he suddenly turned around and punched the officer in the face. He went down stunned and the robber had his gun out of the holster and a hostage in his hand before anybody had really reacted.

The hostage was Janey. None of us had even noticed Janey moving closer than to the front than we did. Her brown eyes were wide with fear as he pressed the gun to her neck.

“Anybody moves and this girl dies!” he shouted. We boys were shocked and scared. We had seen this scene played out over and over on the movie screen, but the hostage had always been a stranger.

The robber moved away slowly and took the gun away from Janey for a moment to wave it at some police officers who were advancing slowly towards him.

That moment was all that was needed. I saw a blue and black blur leap towards the robber and knock him to the ground. Janey ran over to us right before the shot rang out.

* * *

…I’ll always remember that exact moment. It’s funny how at times like those, details just stand out in your mind, branded there until the day you die. I remember how the sun had glinted off of Janey’s hair and how the lights on top of the police cars were still flashing red and blue, red and blue. But most of all, I remember the silence after the shot had been fired. The police officer that had tackled the robber had collapsed on the ground and a pool of red was spreading out from under him…

* * *

The crowd was still; the police looked stunned for a moment. The robber took his chance and ran. One officer overcame her shock and gave pursuit. My eyes were drawn to the body.

The face was turned away from me but the back of the head looked familiar. Another officer went over to it and turned it over.

“NOOOO!” The voice that had cried out had been mine. “DAAAAD!” The officer that had been shot had been my father. My mother had always worried that something like this would happen to him but the idea of him getting killed had always been abstract to me.

It wasn’t abstract anymore.

* * *

…None of you could ever imagine the horror of seeing you own father being killed and seeing his corpse lie there and know that it was someone that you loved, someone that had loved you back.

I had run over to the body but I couldn’t do anything. The bullet had entered his heart.

I don’t remember much after that; everything was a blur. I do have some memories though, flashes. I remember people coming over offering sympathy. I remember my friends looking uncomfortable but staying just the same. And lastly, I remember my mother coming and the tears in her eyes.

She hugged me and kissed me and told me everything was going to be all right; that she was still there for me. We cried together in the middle of the parking lot with strangers coming up and giving us words of comfort. She would numbly nod her thanks and just hold me tighter.

The robber was caught the next day, but that didn’t bring my father back.

The funeral was that weekend. Janey had come and she went up to my mother and hugged her and said that she was sorry. All my relatives were there and a lot of friends. The coffin was surrounded in a bed of roses, pale white. Their perfume was light and airy, mocking the solemnity of the occasion and the grief I had felt.

The chief of police gave the eulogy. He talked about how great a cop my father was and how sorry he was for my mother and me. He ended it: ‘He risked his life to save a young girl. He died a hero.’

And as I sat there in the pew next to my mother, I remember thinking, Heroes aren’t supposed to die.

Sometimes I wonder why my father risked his life to save another’s but then I remember the frightened look on Janey’s face and I knew. He couldn’t not try at least. If he hadn’t, the scene of an angry gunman holding a gun to a young girl would have haunted him until the day he died.

I know that that scene will haunt me forever. I can still hear the gunshot, erupting out of the silence. The pool of blood, bright crimson, spreading over the hot asphalt. And I remember the smell of roses. It is the curse of those who live.

--fin--