I am Della

police reports and self consideration rated R for language

 

Now, let's just get something straight. I'm not a drug dealer.

Sure, I smoke a lot of weed. One time I went camping in the woods with a bunch of friends and ate some mushrooms. I pissed my pants laughing, in front of a bunch of very attractive and shirtless men. Literally. I shortly thereafter decided that getting lit with a couple girlfriends and pissing my pants laughing in the comfort of my own home was probably a better option for me. I'm harmless, really. I watch a lot of bizarre TV and I create a lot of artwork. I'm kind of messy, but I justify that with that fact that I (finally) live alone. The thought of ingesting anything that doesn't come straight out of the ground disgusts me, seriously.

I certainly don't sell the s**t.

 

My neighbors, seem to think otherwise.

Officer Darren Hodges was waiting for me as I trudged up the stairs to my apartment. He was on the taller side, and fairly good-looking for a clean cut guy. Very authoritative, but with a certain ease. Either that, or we were just getting used to each other. This was his third visit to my doorstep in the last two weeks.

“Officer Hodges. A pleasure, as always.” It was almost a joke, at this point. My eyebrows hovered ominously over my eyelids in a dull and gloomy funk. This was quite possibly the most unappreciated moment of my whole day.

“Ms. Locksley.” He replied, politely. I thought I may have caught a glimpse of a smile toying at his lips.

I halted when I reached the landing, and I slung my heavy bag off my shoulder and let it drop onto a black canvas folding chair next to my door, and I attempted a patient expression.

“Would you like to come in?” I offered, hoping my welcome would earn me brownie points. This was getting ridiculous, really.

His eyes widened with the raising of his brow, muddled surprise barely flashed across his face. I assumed it was unusual for someone in his line of work to be so quickly ushered inside in such a circumstance, and my dream of brownie points became more of a reality. Still, it was unnerving to have a man of the law in my home. How would I explain the bong next to the bathtub if he for some reason needed to use the restroom?

“Yes, thank you.” He agreed.

I fumbled for my key, half kicking myself for putting the offer on the table. I have no idea why I thought he wouldn't accept, but I can tell you at that moment I was praying that I hadn't left something horribly incriminating and/or embarrassing out in the open. I unlocked the door finally, grabbed my bag, and wiped my wet boots on the mat before stepping inside. After a frantic glance across the room, it seemed I was in luck as far as any dirty laundry (I mean that both literally and figuratively) I may have left lying around.

“So, Officer... is there anything...new I can help you with?” I asked sarcastically as I hung my hooded jacket on the rack in the entryway. “Just... come on in, have a seat.”

He remained standing. He was so damn professional.

“Well, Ms. Locksley,” he paused for a moment, as though trying to word himself as carefully as possible. “It's probably no surprise to you that we've gotten another complaint. Otherwise... well I wouldn't be here, would I?” The very faint hint of a smile was definitely apparent now.

“What do these people want with me?” I whined, even a little dramatically.

“Look, I've been to your home and spoken with you several times, and I can safely say that I have no reason to believe you are involved in any sort of meth trafficking operation --”

“--METH? They think I'm dealing f*****g METH?!” I exploded, cutting him off. His eyes displayed a guilt that led me to believe he wasn't supposed to mention that part. I deeply inhaled, closed my eyes and slowly exhaled. “What I mean,” I began, controlled but seething, “is that I am morally opposed, and honestly, I'm becoming rather offended. Can't I consider this harassment at some point?”

We stood there in the entryway of my small home like awkward strangers in an airport. I couldn't blame him personally, he was just doing his job... right?

“Meth is becoming huge problem in the area. We have a handful of citizens who think they're doing a great civil service by reporting drug suspicions. A lot of the time they just get in the way.” His face relaxed now, and he smiled broadly. He had very nice teeth. “For the record, yes. You can report the department for harassment, but due to the anonymity laws we have regarding our methwatch hotlines...”

I nodded, I was starting to get the gist.

“...and then the only one who gets in trouble is you, and you're just the messenger, so that would be uncool. Am I right?” I was getting terribly antsy just standing there in the doorway, but it seemed Officer Hodges was determined to remain planted there until his work here was done.

“Uncool indeed.” he said with a smirk, and then went back to his usual indifferent and very professional expression.

“So why must you pester me incessantly, if you truly believe I'm not The Enemy?”

He shot me a look indicating I had wandered dangerously close to the line with that last comment, even though I'd said it in a playful way.

“Well, Ms. Locksley...”

“Della, please.” I insisted.

He had a hard time trying to hide his smile. “Della, there are certain people in the community... who hold a lot of influence over our department.” He was careful, deliberate. “Sometimes being seen in a certain place does a lot to ease an influential person's mind.”

I was pretty sure I got the gist of that, too.

“You guys have a s****y system.” I blurted. I have a habit of tactless honesty.

He laughed.

“Could you do a bit more to stick up for me at least? It just seems unreasonable that I have to deal with this –- no offense, I mean, you're very nice and all...”

He laughed again. “I understand. I'll see what I can do, but I'm afraid I don't hold much sway in the way of things around here just yet.” He shifted his weight, slouching comfortably into something that resembled what he may look like in off-duty mode.

Aww, he was the rookie, then. I offered him a smile in place of the usual disgruntled scowl he'd had to put up with from me in the past. Suddenly I felt a stab of guilt for being difficult; he really was just trying to do his job. I softened my tone and relaxed my shoulders.

“Look, you know... it's cool, really. Next time, maybe I could like, have tea and cakes ready or something. We could make a weekly tradition out of it. I don't suppose you're in to German poetry?” I was clearly being silly, and he seemed to appreciate the effort. He crossed his arms in front of his chest and easily grinned this time. He really was quite handsome. A bit older than my general preference... but you know. Johnny Depp's pretty old too, and well, I don't think I really need to finish that thought, do I?

“You're charming.” he stated it bluntly. Rather reminded me of myself, actually, but that didn't keep my cheeks from getting hot.

“And, I also smell like the homeless guy I was so privileged to sit next to on the bus! If you'll excuse me Officer Hodges, I would very much like to take a bath.”

He nodded and turned to reach for the doorknob.

“Darren.” he corrected, stepping out on to the porch.

“Right, Darren.” I gave him a little smile and a wave before I shut the door after him, and locked the deadbolt. What a night.

So back to what I said earlier, I'm not a drug dealer.

I'm a dreamer, a thinker, an occasional pessimist, a lover and a fighter, a slob, a listener, a drinker, an emotional fireball, an intuitionist, a babbler, and a freak.

I, am Della.

Author's Note

Not exactly what I intended, but I'll roll with it.
Fire away!