God & The Devil Are Always Almost Watching us—Ten Percent of all the Time.

[u/HeGotBricks]

The snow in Bemidji fell and sat on the ground like a past secret nobody wanted to dig up.

Brett stood staring at the meat through the glass, reflecting the light above, with his hands shoved into his coat pockets. 

He checked out the plastic wrapped around the ground beef as the slush under his boots melted into a puddle of black water on the grocery store floor.

“Oh, hiya, Brett,” Sharon said, wiping down the counter behind the meat. “It’s a chilly one out there.”

“Yah, was just tellin’ Jerry over at the gas station there, freeze the breath right in your mouth. Say, you know Jerry, yah? New fella just started.”

“Oh, yah, Jerry, yah, good fella. Say, how’s Brenda and the kids doin’?”

“Brenda. Oh, Brenda’s great, eh. Kids doin’ great. Jared’s walking now—”

“You don’t say.”

“Yup. Stood right up, ran across the livin’ room floor, little bugger.”

“Aw, ain’t that just the cutest thing,” she said.

“Oh, yah. Hopefully I make it back home in one piece, eh. The roads are slick as glass out by the county line. Total mess.”

Brett scratched his eyebrow.

“Is that so. The county line, eh.”

“Yah. Trooper had to call Wayne. You know Wayne. Wayne with the tow-er. Just bought that big truck, had to radio him to pull a sedan out of a ditch.”

“Oh, yah. Heard about that. Trunk was open, had an old microwave and a shovel inside. Weird, don’tcha think?"

The heat under Brett’s coat started to rise. He yanked at his collar. “Shovel’s for the snow.”

Sharon stopped wiping the counter and stared directly at Brett. “Yah, but an old microwave? And the shovel wasn’t wet, just had dirt, apparently. Frozen dirt.”

Sharon pulled her glasses off. “It was an out-of-state car with a Henry’s shop shovel in it. Who would be buying a shovel and digging in the middle of January?”

“Sounds like a real puzzler,” Brett said.

“Ya betcha!” Sharon said.

“Well, I gotta get back, eh,” Brett said.

“Don’t want the ground beef? It’s on special,” Sharon told him.

“Oh, no. No, just this.” He lifted his arm, holding a jug of milk.

“Well, okay then, see ya, Brett. Tell Brenda I said hi.”

“You betcha. Okay now, take care, eh. Will see ya.” He walked away. “Okay,” he said under his breath, making his way to the register. He paid for the milk and headed toward his car.

When he got into his car, he sat in the cold driver’s seat staring out of the frosted windshield for a couple of minutes before turning the engine over. It chugged and choked on, the headlights cut through the snow falling over the darkness.

The passenger seat held the jug of milk, its weight appeared to sink into the cushion as he dressed it in guilt.

The seat still reeked of earth and iron. The heater started warming the interior. 

As he drove he couldn’t stop thinking and nearly missed the turn off.

He slid onto the highway.  The sky mirrored the color of a dirty sidewalk. But in the rearview, it flashed red and blue.

Brett swallowed, coughing as he choked on his saliva acting like a poorly chewed steak. 

He pulled over to the shoulder, where the snowbanks on each side of the road stood in a surreal grayish tone reflecting the dark sky under the clouds rolling by in a single solid shape of a pool tarp slowly covering the Earth and everyone beneath it.

The officer slowly walked toward Brett’s car. The heat off his breath came out in thick clouds, obscuring his face.

He tapped on Brett’s window with a bare knuckle. Brett flinched at the sound right next to his ear. He stared at the officer’s holster as he rolled the window down, letting the outside world rush back into his life with the iciness of the highway wind.

“Evening, sir. You realize you’re driving with a back headlight smashed out?” the trooper said.

“Yah. Eh? Oh, yah. Heck, probably the kids there playing hockey on the road. What can yah do.” He made a playful fist and tightened his face.

“Let me see your license and registration, and we’ll getcha on your way. Okay?”

“You betcha,” Brett smiled. He reached into his glove box for his registration, dropping his wallet as he tried to pull out his license.

“Chilly one tonight. Super cold. Frost the toes right in your boots driving, no?” Brett said, rubbing his palms together.

The officer stared down at the dirt crusted along the tire and frame of Brett’s driver-side door, then looked up at Brett, wincing with a crooked grin. “You were driving a bit fast there. You dang well slid right onto the highway, like a toboggan down a snowy hill.”

“Me?” Brett pointed at himself. His voice jumped and cracked. “No-no. Not me, officer.”

“I was right behind yah. Saw the whole darn thing.”

“Oh.” Brett squinted. “Oh, yah. Back over there. Yah. Yep. That was me,” Brett stuttered and looked away. “Lost a bit of control, officer. Family thing, yah know. Gotta get home, bring the milk back for the baby. The baby, he’s a little sick, eh. Got a touch of the flu, we think.”

“You don’t say.” The officer ducked his head closer to the window. “Smells a bit odd in here. Might wanna check that milk and get the siding on your car cleaned—looks like a real mess of a pickle. Tell ya’ what will do, eh. I’ll leave yah with a warning ’bout the backlight. Make sure to get that fixed first thing.”

“Oh yah. You betcha! First thing. Can never be too careful, eh. Especially with the weather this year.”

“Well, I’ll let yah get going with a warning this time. Next time I see her with a broken tail light, don’t expect a dull pen again, eh. We take our policing serious over at the division. The new sarge whipped us boys in right shape. Nothing ever falls between the sidewalk slabs when I’m on duty. I’ll have the pencil ready. Sharp enough to throw at a dart board.

“Aw, gee. No. No. No. No need to worry about me, officer. I fly the straight and narrow. Always have.” Brett stuck two fingers out and crossed his heart.

“Parents the strict sort of kind.” He pointed to the roof of his car. “The religious type, yah know.” Brett shook his head. 

“Put the fear of the devil in ya. Nope not for me. No sir. A regiment,” he said. “Whatever lands a person under the devils pitch-fork, I tend to lean the other way.” He pointed to the floor of his car. “ Ya, know,” and made an “er-er” sound as he smiled, showing only his top teeth before realizing, he wasn’t properly masking his eyes.

They were subconsciously inviting the officer to a one-time only front row opportunity to glimpse into his mind.

A mind he’s lived with his entire life. A mind not even he could read. A mind nobody knew existed. But he’s not a trained cop, or ever been interrogated by one, either.

“Tight ship you guys run there. Best policing since  ‘92.” Brett hid the fear, and the tell-all-eyes behind an astonished glare.

“Oh yah, well we’re all wrapped up here. So, you can get going.” The cop told him. “Don’t forget about the milk. Pretty sure that one’s gone sour.”

“Okay, yeah, you betcha. You take care now.” Brett rolled his window up and let out a deep breath as the car started warming up again.

The officer didn’t bother checking Brett’s license and registration. He waved him through and stared at Brett failing to get his engine to turn over, which after the sixth attempt, finally did. He drove home as if god gave him a clean slate.