“We all know that hate is an ugly word, but there are times when life deals you a hand so bad, you can‘t deal with it alone. That is when hate is all you have going for you. You wake up with it. Nurse it all day and when night comes, that same hate feeds your dreams.
Yes, you get to the point it feels right to hate. It feels good to plan all the different ways to inflict the same pain onto the person or persons who gave you this hate.”
This is what she meant about answering the questions; she was doing it almost the instance they popped in my head.
“Yes, it was given to you! You did not want it. You did nothing to earn it. Yet there it was in an instance. It can come anytime, morning, noon or night. It just walks right up to your front door. I know, because you see, that's what happened to me. For me it came at nine in the morning on that fourth day. It came with the man in the police car, wearing the dark blue uniform, with his hat in hand. He did not know he was bringing it. That is not why he came.
I remember when I had let him in the door. He did not look at me. I offered him a seat, he declined. I am sure he told me his name, but I do not remember it. He had just stood there looking at the floor. It was then he told me of finding her, saying how sorry he was for my lost. He said it so softly, I thought I for sure I had misunderstood him. In my mind, I can still see him, standing there. I think I knew why he came. I think he thought he came alone. But he did not, he bought hate with him.
He just stood there, as he fiddled with his hat, turning it around in his hand. He said again, he was sorry to have to be the one to tell me, that they had found her, but she was dead.
That was when hate first showed it’s self to me, and soon we would be on speaking terms. Yes, believe me, hate talks to you, you think at first it is you, your thoughts, but it is not. I am here to tell you, that it is hate, pure and simple. It talks; it starts out small and grows and grows. Like weeds taking over a garden, you pull one and three more take its place.
I look back and remember the poor man had just stood there as I screamed at him, that he was lying. Telling him over, and over , No, it can’t be! Asking, was they sure? Stating, someone was mistaken. It was someone else... until at last my voice trailed off.
He had stood there repeating, I am so sorry. Still staring at the floor, not wanting to look and see the hurt in my eyes or the hate.”
She paused for another sip of water, reached up and fiddled with the pearls around her neck.
“Then the man asked when her husband would be home. I told him late this afternoon or night, but only if he made the connections. He then said since her husband was not here, he would have to ask me to go to the morgue and identify the body. I had shaken my head no. How could they expect me to do that, I asked why?
Again, he said he was so sorry and he knew all this was awful for me, but he said it was procedure; a family member must do it. He had orders to wait for me and bring me down town to the morgue, but I should take my time. Take as long as I needed, he had said. He told me that the two detectives working on the case would meet us there; we would go when ever I was ready.”
She paused again and sat looking at her hands. Then she looked towards the doors, searching for the right words. She took a deep breath and said.
“I know for certain now, that is when hate came, because as I climbed the stairs to wash my face and get my coat, it went with me. It had watched as I had stood looking in the mirror wondering why. Why had this happened? What had I done that every thing I loved was taken away from me? It sat beside me on the bed as I hugged her picture to my chest, rocking and crying.
When at last I had run out of tears, I went back downstairs. The officer still stood by the door; it was as if he was stuck on the spot. I told him I was ready and let him help me into the patrol car. He had opened the door for me, waited for me to get in, and asked if I was comfortable.
Hate rode with me on the long quiet ride to the morgue. It was watching as I twisted the hankie in my hands. Then when the police car pulled up to the door, it made sure I saw the big muddy black van parked near by. The van sat there with its back door still open. It walked with me down the long white hall leading to the double doors. Listening as our feet made the clicks, clicks on the shiny black and white tile floor.
It grew bigger as the doors opened, bigger still as I saw the gurney in the center of the room. Lying on that gurney was a large black bag. There were three people waiting there, I recognized two of them as Detectives Gibbs and Hansen, who were assigned to the case.
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