The call came while shopping in Walmart. Private Number. Probably his mother...*eye rolls ensue*. "Oh, hi Brent", was Scott's response after answering his phone and I knew. I had just heard the news on the radio. Traffic Officer hit. Scott listened intently and I walked away, I didn't want to eavesdrop, I didn't want to pry. This is His world. One I won't ever truly break into, one I'd rather not be attuned with.
Scott tells me the radio is saying it's an RCMP member, but it can't be, highway 99 is VPD territory. Still. There's a chance it could be someone he works with, someone he knows, someone he's friends with. It could be a person we've gone to dinner with, or met during our multiple get togethers. Brent is going to find out. He'll see if it's one of ours, if it's someone we know.
I think about The Call. The spouse answering the phone. RCMP on caller ID. It's the call no one wants, no one talks about, it's the call we all dread; wife, husband, mother, father, son, daughter. I had that call once. That horrible call. RCMP on the caller ID and a member talking to me who wasn't Scott. I remember being surprised by the words leaving the members mouth, "Shot's fired - it's being reported he's not seriously injured - he's still out there - that's all I can say". Broken memories of a conversation no one's prepared for. Desperate phone calls made to members and their wives, trying to glean anything out of anyone. "Why hasn't he called, how bad is it, how bad could it get?" I paced the floor, and I longed for a cigarette (I was 6 weeks pregnant and recently a reformed nicotine addict).
Scott's phone rings and pries me from my memories, it's not an RCMP member, it's a Vancouver Police member. It's not one of ours, and still...one of ours. I think about his family. I think about my own. I hope he's ok...while simultaneously - and somewhat shamefully - being relieved that it wasn't my call to recieve.