Greetings From Praha | Story 2 | Pt. 3
Day 12 – Mestskek a Policie / The Police
We squeak and bounce our way down brick streets.
Amy’s driving to the bar tonight!
I’ve got that rush of newfound freedom.
Like when your friend’s got her father’s car.
“It happened when Micha took me out to dinner for Halloween… “
Leaning forward, back erect as she steers, we take a sharp right up the world’s steepest hill.
“Did I say for Halloween? Shit, I meant for Valentine’s Day!”
“WOW!,” we both howl, eyes teared up, bodies shaking, in a roar!
“Damn girl you said it, not me!” Like all the best jokes, it’s funny ‘cause it’s true.
Mischa in a word, is Creepy. Unruly eyebrows and a deep rumbling voice.
Dark deep-set eyes, almost complete circles…with semi-dark shadows always present beneath.
A receded hairline of coal-black hair. At fifty, literally twice her age.
To me a ghost of milk-white pallor, “in proximity” to youth being as close as he can get.
In reality, Mischa is funny beyond measure, thoughtful and talented with a playful spirit.
But he’s shocking, it’s shocking, I’m shocked.
A dramatic response, to a series of unfortunate events.
Blue flashing lights, light up our dash from behind.
A young officer “Novak” walks up to the driver’s side door.
We are going the wrong way on a one-way street he says, asking Amy to see her ID.
“I don’t have it,” she says flatly. No apology is inferred.
He asks again, firmly, but again she says no.
“Let me see your passport.” He’s talking to me now.
I hand mine over, what harm can it do?
“Do you two live here?” Novak bends a little to include me.
“I do. She’s visiting from the States.”
“500 Crowns,” is his immediate response, no talk of a ticket or settling things here.
“We’re not giving you money,” Amy counters flat and resolute.
He asks again firmly, and again she says no.
Frustrated, while mumbling something in Czech, he presses his knees up against the car door.
It’s male and weird and pronounced.
It’s the end of the line as far as Amy’s concerned.
He pulls at the handle and the door swings open.
“Come out of the car.”
“I’m not getting out of the car.”
“Come Out Of The Car.”
“No. I’m not getting outta the car.”
It’s not a scared, panicked, or self-protective “No.”
It’s your mother’s “No,” that calm “No,” the essential “No.”
Slamming the door shut he walks back to his partner,
My passport is still in his hand.
We two, are small bits of fluff.
He’s not the first, to make this mistake.
We’re only cute until we are not.
If either of us draws the line, then that’s that.
We sit and we wait. We wait and we sit.
“Can I just go ask for it back?,” I ask Amy.
“Ok. But be nice.”
They’ve arrived in some type of rectangled car.
“MESTSK A POLICIE,” printed boldly on both sides.
Inside, two officers sit frozen.
Like if they don’t move, I won’t be able to see them.
Their uniforms too big, their faces too young.
Like they’re background cops in West Side Story…
Who’ve only prepared for theatrical crime.
“Excuse me, are we waiting on something,” I tap too hard on the glass.
Surprised, he won’t turn to address me. He turns to young “Novak” instead.
They are just sitting here, literally doing nothing.
“EXCUSE ME”. I tap even harder. If no one’s in charge, then I’ll be the lead.
He picks up his phone but then doesn’t dial it.
“If you’re calling somebody, call the embassy… Give me my passport or you call the embassy!”
I shout loudly through the glass.
It only works, if you mean it.
He just needs a push from the man in charge.
“Give Me My Passport Right Now! I know you understand me!”
I’m finally, actually mad now.
Seriously - the balls on this guy!
The window slides down juuust enough…
For him to hand my passport out.
Still staring straight ahead, no eyes turned to meet me.
No “thank you mam’s”, no “goodbyes.”
“Let’s go!”
“Did you get it?”
“Of course!”
We laugh all the way to the top, typical us, in abnormal times.
A danger to ourselves and to others.
Still driving the wrong way up a one-way street.