Free Not Another Soldier by Samantha Holt

window, “uh,
Officer,” I add.
    It’s a woman. I don’t know if I’m more or less
comfortable with that. Her black hair is pulled tightly back and she has a
no-nonsense look to her.
    “License and registration please, ma’am.”
    I snatch my bag from the passenger seat and dig
frantically around for my wallet. It feels like it takes me forever to find it
and I’m sure I hear her feet tap as she waits.
    Finally finding it, I draw it out and hand over my
I.D. and registration with a flourish. She glances over them and walks back to
her patrol car.  She’s gone a few minutes and I can see her lips moving
and her tapping on the computer in the car.  A few minutes later, she
returns. “Can you step out of the car please?”
    I frown but I’m too nervous to ask her why. I wrack my
brain to think of what I could possibly have done wrong. As I climb out, she
motions for me to stand at the side of the car and her male partner gets out of
the patrol car. I notice they both have their hands rested on the butt of their
guns and my pulse quickens.
    “Ma’am,” the female police officer says to me,
“there’s an APB out for your car. We have information that it’s involved with a
drug trafficking ring.” My jaw drops. Drugs? Me? Do I really look like a drug
user or… or transporter or whatever? I want to say this but I can’t seem to
make my mouth work. “Do you have any drugs or weapons in the car?”
    “N-no, of course not.”
    “We’re going to have to search your car.”
    I nod. “Okay.” My voice comes out a squeak. That
irrational fear they will find something is creeping in. Which is insane. I’ve
never done drugs. Well, the tiniest piece of pot in college but it made me so
ill I never touched it again. They’re not going to find any drugs but I still
twine my hands together nervously.
    “Ma’am, I’m going to need to do a quick body search.
Do you have anything on you that you shouldn’t or that might stick me?”
    I shake my head dumbly. I dart a glance around. Could
this day get any worse? Cars are still traveling by, slowing down to see the
action. Now they’re going to see me getting patted down like a common criminal.
    She guides me to spread my arms out and begins
brushing her hands over me. She’s quick and thorough, and it doesn’t seem
particularly invasive, but I still feel kind of dirty.
    When she nods to her colleague, he gets back in the
patrol car. I see him talking on his radio. “Ma’am, we need to take you to the
station for questioning.”
    “Seriously? But I haven’t done anything!”
    She eyes me gravely. “I need you to come down to the
station.”
    I stare at her in astonishment. “Am I under arrest?”
    ***
    I study my shaky hands as I sit on the cold bench. Why
is there an APB on my car? I’ve never done anything. Seriously, nothing. Once I
got married, that was it for excitement and crazy behavior. I barely even drink
anymore.  I lift my head and glance quickly around the dark parking lot
outside the station. Cars come and go, some picking up rough, criminal types. I
can’t believe they had me pegged as one of them.
    Nibbling on a nail, I grimace as my head begins to
pound. Today has been too much. Attacked by a stranger, sleeping with my best
friend and then almost arrested as a suspected drug trafficker. I tap my feet
on the ground and wait, clenching my still shaking hands tightly. 
    The cops hardly told me anything, which is the worst
thing really. All the stony silences and suspicious looks. They asked me about
work, my life, my marriage. They were very interested in Rob which made me
uncomfortable. Even trying to relate back the state of things between us makes
me edgy. I don’t like admitting to my failure as a wife. They even asked me
about my finances. I told them everything, of course I did, but you could tell
my answers weren’t what they were looking for.  Hell, I don’t even know
what they were hoping to get from me. I don’t jaywalk without