Number One Suspect

I've never had to pick someone out in a line up before. I know nothing about it aside from two-way glass mirrors, height measurements in the background and at least five individuals who seemingly 'fit the description'. I am out of my element.

Well, I do know how to confirm a two-way mirror. If you hold your fingernail, just a sliver, up to it and see a fraction of space between it and its reflection- it's a genuine mirror. But if you do this and the fingernail and reflection appear to touch, you are on the other side of a two-way mirror. I forget where I'd learned this but it's true. I tested the theory when I worked in a sports bar some years ago. The owner's office was equipped with one so he could keep an eye on his beeswax while he counted out the register and married cheap Svedka vodka into Absolut bottles. I guess the two sides protect both the innocent and the guilty.

Anyway, if height measurements are meant to narrow the choices, it's of no help to me. My depth of perception has always been off. 5 ft. 6 ft. It makes no difference at my height. Almost everyone looks 7 feet tall to me once I remove my signature heels. Plus, I already know who I'm looking for. He stands 5'11 or so his driver's license claims. The round up of suspects are a motley assemblage. They have almost nothing in common by way of physical attributes. Dark. Light. Tall. Medium build. Muscular. Lanky. Sloped shoulders. Big feet. Small hands. None look innocent, though. They all share that certain something. A glint in the eyes. Roughshod but not scraggly by any stretch of the imagination. That air about them that whispers into your bent ear, "I'm the kind your Daddy warned you about...but your Mom will love me." Bad boys if you will. And let's face it; if they were all nice guys they wouldn't be here, would they?

I'm told to take my time. Study each one carefully. And I do. The crime comes back to me in vivid detail. He was gone before I had the sense to look for what was missing. Stolen from right under my nose like a cherry pie left to cool on a window ledge in a bad neighborhood. Only it wasn't so sudden. It took time. Hours upon hours of conversation and broken daylights on the phone. Breakfasts at diners where I felt sorry for anyone who wasn't feeling what I was. Laughter born out of a warm place that was begging to be discovered. Made to wrap my own Christmas gift with an ornate bow, only to squeal with a child's delight upon learning it was mine. That type of charm can't be bought nor taught. Can a protector truly be a criminal? A thief at that...of all things? Now, a stone is crawling into my throat. A thousand memories are awash in my brain. "Take your time," they repeat. For a split second I worry that they can all see me. I'm not here to accuse anyone. I don't want them punished for my own negligence. Moreover, I don't want to punish him. A free man is an asset to his surroundings. A jailed man is a quandary to himself, even if heart burglary is not a Class A Felony.

I divert my eyes so as not to reveal who I'm focused on. "Take your time. You're safe now." I nod. A slow, believable nod. But inwardly I balk at the untruth of this statement. 5'11. Milk chocolate skin. A long, beautiful mane like the Lion of Judah. A frame that says he doesn't obsess over his body but takes very good care of it all the same. Hands that can splinter shale and pluck violets with the same delicate intensity. Just as charming as the day is long. Kingly in his disposition. One look from those happy-sad eyes and you are instantly the only woman in the room. In the world.

I step closer to the fraudulent mirror and feign uncertainty. Seawater fuses my eyesight momentarily. The blurring is welcomed. Second one from the left. That's him. Clear as day. The only one looking straight through that glass into my soul. He knows why he's there. What's more, he knows he won't be charged. "I don't...see him." I lie. And just like that- he's free to go. No one is safe from him.