I'd like to say that July 14, 1980 was a special day, but in truth, it really wasn't. It was just another average day. Unless you consider my birth a significant event. My mother did, but my father was long gone months before that day. I don't miss him, I never even knew him. I suppose if you want to get philisophical, you could say I do have an empty somewhere inside for my father, but I don't dwell on it. The past is best forgotten.
I couldn't tell you why I'm sitting here writing this. But I guess everyone's story has to be recorded at some point. Not that mine is great or fantastic or anything, just average. My mom was young, too young, when I was born. Not that I look down on her for it, she always did the best she could for us. We were never really close, or not as close as you'd think a mother and daughter living alone would be. She had to work almost constantly to support us and my Aunt, or great aunt or something like that, raised me a great deal of the time when I was very little. Don't get me wrong, I loved my Aunt and she always kept me entertained and happy. But I missed my mom, the time we had together was few and far between. I respect her for the way she worked to keep us in a comfortable home with good food and plenty of toys. But, some days I would have traded it all for more time with her. But wishes don't get you anywhere. And wishes won't bring her back.
I guess I skipped ahead a little too far. My mom died a few years back, not anything great or tragic. She was a heavy smoker, one of the few things I clearly remember from my early childhood. Always smoking a cigarette or about to light one. I don't hold it against her... Well maybe I do. I hold the cancer against her, I hold never stopping against her. But grudges don't bring her back either. I miss my mother, but somehow I'm glad that all the suffering she went through is over and done. I have to believe she's somewhere better, for my own sanity maybe. She deserved something better than a life of factory work, maybe now she has it. Maybe now she can have some peace.
There I went skipping along again. I didn't even make it through my childhood. I knew I'd be terrible at this. Like I said, I didn't have a fantastic childhood or anything. Just average. I wasn't really outgoing or enthusiastic about anything. I'd rather spend my time reading or playing in the backyard with my Aunt's big husky. Damn I miss that dog. Nikita was a constant companion to me. I even taught myself how to walk by pulling myself up against her back and toddling along. She was always patient and gentle with me, the best babysitter anyone could wish for. Nikita taught me all about life. About being bold and going out and exploring. About being patient, waiting and watching for the sun to set. About being quiet and lazy, laying in her favorite sunbeams in the afternoon. Nikita taught me about loss too. By the time I was eight she was already old and grey, too stiff to play anymore, but always diligently following me. I remember christmas and the snow and for once she didn't want to go out and play in it. I remember waking up to find her asleep in her bed and I couldn't wake her up. I remember my Aunt trying to explain that she was sleeping for good now. I still haven't gotten over losing her, I lost my best friend.
Silly I know, she was just a dog. But she was my constant companion growing up. Okay, so I digress again. But I'm getting around to my point somehow. Nikita's father, who my Aunt also owned (but he died before I was old enough to remember him), had been a police dog in his younger days. My Uncle's canine partner. My Uncle wasn't around either, died in the line of duty, but that's another story... But somehow all of their awards and pictures on the wall caught my attention and by the time I was six I was bound and determined to be a police officer and Nikita was going to be my partner. Maybe that's where it all got started. Maybe I just had too much time on my hands.
I was always did well in school, not well enough to be considered exeptional. I always got the "you're not putting in enough effort" speech. But what could I say, school was boring. High school was a little better, I got into ROTC and the whole dumb safety patrol thing. At least it was an outlet for dreams I'd forgotten when Nikita died. I guess her lingering spirit convinced me to pursue them. With a new focus I was able to be a better achiever in school, graduated top in my class. Not that I'm bragging, it wasn't the high point of my life.
I had to apply to the police academy three times before they'd even consider accepting me. I hate gender bias and glass cielings, don't even get me started. You'd better believe that I excelled as soon as I got into that damn police academy. I wanted to prove them wrong. I focused most of my studies on investigative work and forensic science. I wanted to work with the K9 unit, but they just didn't want any women... go figure. I graduated from the academy and was integrated into some backwater police station, I think they were hoping I'd give up and move on. I was too damn stubborn for that. It took some time working my way up from the bottom of their pool. But I've done my best. I've moved on from there, I'm pursuing some new cases and subjects. What type? Well... That's classified...
