I am Luc of the Street

The Captain is Back

Well, today my boss met me at Girard's and handed me my badge. Yes! I caressed that well-worn leather case like a lover’s flesh. Hell yeah, it feels good to be back.

“Don’t make me sorry,” my boss said like a slap. Whatever that means. Then he added, “You're lucky to have friends in high places.” That’s funny, because the way I heard it, I owe this to the union. “Well my ‘friends’ sure took their time about it,” I said. They let me stay on the sidelines for months.

My hearing is still pending. “I could work only one miracle at a time,” my boss told me with a guilty smirk. Yeah, I didn’t think the brass would concede all. And I know how it is with my “friends.” Those necks stick out just so far; gotta protect those important heads.

Turns out, my entire team and a few of the guys from my old department petitioned the divisional commissioner on my behalf. Imagine? Now that’s the way to man up. When I learned about this, I broke down—cried like a baby, and I don't mind telling you. Incredible show of love and loyalty. That one act realigned my perception of my entire life: I matter. Who needs friends in high places when you have friends where you stand.

I’m back—and better than before.

On Being a (Better) Father

Jean-Paul has been very passive lately. Not even passive-aggressive like before, just passive. I've been ready for the fight; I thought he’d rail against me, make me pay for going AWOL. Instead, he’s clingy and sort of sweet.

I’m confused.

I don’t know if Henri talked to him, or if he’s forgiven me—or, if he’s about to explode all over me. Should I let it pass, act like nothing happened? Do I need to "talk about it" with him? Would that make it better, or worse? I have no idea what to do with the kid.

I suck at this.

“He’s afraid to lose you again,” Henri said today, “that’s why he clings to you. You’ve created a bond with him, now you have to work at this relationship.” Work at the relationship? With what skills? Where do I begin?

This father thing confounds me. I have nothing to go by; I had no parents of my own. I just feel my way through it, like a blind man in a minefield. Scary, huh? Who knows, maybe this is one of the reasons I went AWOL. Fleeing failure.

But when the kid calls me, “Pa,” and looks at me with those big, brown eyes filled with trust, it makes me want to be a better dad.

Henri always says to be a good parent you have to put the needs of your children first. I should take that advice, start there. Might be a nice change of pace—get my head out of my ass for once and look to another. Could make my own problems seem less important; could make me happier, too. Maybe to be a better father I just need to grow up and be a better man.

Fighting for My Life

Got the union behind me now. They’re putting pressure on the brass to put up or shut up: bring a case against me, or drop the charges. Enough of this bullshit.

I’m stoked. My whole body’s vibrating. I haven’t felt this good in a long time. No matter what the outcome, I’m not going down without a fight.

It feels good to stretch my fighting muscles. For too long I’ve stood passively on the outside looking in at the world. I let them shut me out, make me a nothing, their shadow. I holed up and licked my wounds—poor little Luc, little homeless bum; nobody loves him. Like I said before: enough of this bullshit. My bullshit.

Guess I’m the dope who’s the last to know I'm stigmatized by my life on the streets. I never thought I was; I’ve always crowed about those days—how I survived, how tough it made me. I wore it like a badge of honor. But deep inside, Little Luc has been gnawing on a bone of contention: he feels shame.

I'm ashamed of my past.

That’s a kick in the head, huh? But yeah, as a street rat I longed to be loved and accepted by the People. When they rejected me, I guess I rejected myself, shamed myself—same as I did when I got suspended. It makes sense now. It all makes sense.

I thought I learned to get on without the People, told myself I didn’t need them. But I do.

Now this scrappy homeless kid is gonna come out of his hole and fight for himself. Like I did when I was on the street, I’m gonna fight for my life—but this time, it’s not for a scrap of turf; it’s for my rightful place in the great big world.

Taking My Life Back

Saw Haddad today after a long time. We met at Girard's so he could pick my brain about the serial killing case. Seeing him again made me realize how much I missed him, my team—my life. I want it back.

“I keep telling you—call your union rep!” Haddad said, banging his glass on the table, whisky spilling over the side. “They’re screwing you.”

True. If Internal Affairs had anything real against me, they’d have brought it forward by now. The evidence tampering charges are bogus—and I’ve let them make me feel guilty. I hung my head and slinked away in shame. Why?

I’m innocent, so why do I feel like I’ve been found out? For what? Is it my past, my life on the street that haunts me? Do I still feel like an outlaw? Is that why I’ve been content to let them take my badge for so long? Do I think I’m a fraud?

Whoa.

Even as I wrote it, I felt it. But now that it’s written down, I feel free from it. Why shouldn’t I have my rightful place in the world? I deserve to have the good life, same as anyone. Maybe even more so because of my hard childhood. And any sins I committed back then I’ve since paid for. If nothing else, hasn’t being a cop redeemed me?

Yes, it has. I need that badge. I’m taking Haddad's advice and calling my union rep. They can’t pretend I don’t exist like when I was homeless. I will not be cast aside. I’m taking my life back.