A mounted policeman approached. “Everything all right here? Sir?” He inquired.
“The old man assaulted me! I want him
arrested!” No-teeth grumbled in a
slur, not yet accustomed to the sound of his words now that he lacked teeth.
“He broke my leg! I need help!”
Ignoring the complainant, the officer
smiled, looking at Gramps. “Are you
alright? Sir.”
“Yes! Thank you! Officer.”
Then, with a hint of a smirk while
pointing at the pile of useless-refuse unceremoniously sprawled on the
concrete-walkway, Gramps said, “But, I’m pretty sure he ain’t so good!”
“I’ll call an ambulance---” The mounted
policeman advised. “After…I get your information.
“I heard part of
your---uh…conversation.” The patrolman smiled.
Then, he sat straight and saluted the
old man. “Thank you! For your service. Sir!”
Gramps returned the “honored” salute
with respectful military precision.
The policeman nodded. “Afghanistan.” He
allowed. “2012!”
Each veteran smiled a common
“understanding”-of-comradery among fellow-warriors.
Gramps gave the officer his contact
information and a brief synopsis of the short altercation; the policeman took
down the information for his report. Once the perpetrator had been removed by
ambulance, the officer said he would interview the lady on the far bench, a
local known to him; he added that the unsuccessful thug had a record and this
time, he hoped, a judge would send him where he belonged. “All I can do is
bring them in, Sir. The rest is up to the courts.”
Being dismissed, Gramps shook the
officer’s hand.
“You might be called to testify.” The
policeman apologized.
“Be more than happy to accommodate, Officer.”
Gramps offered.
Gathering Chelsea, they headed home stopping at the ice cream shop just down the block from their apartment for a sweet, cooling delight. Mom would be home soon; time to get supper.
In all the world are: Heroes!---myriad Saints!...a plethora-of-Angels!
God-bless them! Each and every one!
Amen!
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