As he sat as his desk, he was the textbook definition of an authority figure. Dressed in his blue suit and grey tie, his badge attached to the left side of his belt. His ID card clipped to the breast pocket of his denim jacket. His short black hair was starting to gray. He had small, almond shaped eyes and full lips. His desk was cluttered with several long note pads which were filled with illegible writing.
I sat opposite him and focused on the fan in the corner of room. I clutched my small moccasin bag containing a small bottle of patchouli oil and a few coins. We were at odds from the beginning and the tension between us was growing.
“I’m going to ask you again, Miss, what is your name?” he asked as he adjusted his tie while slowly chewing his gum.
“I told you, my name is ‘Tranquility’,” I replied as I matched his eye contact.
He rubbed his eyes and shook his head.
“Do you have a last name ‘Tranquility’?” he asked with more than a strong hint of sarcasm.
“No. That is my name,” I replied.
“What the fuck?” he mumbled as he slammed his fist on the desk.
He picked up his pen and wrote my name on a form.
“So, what is your date of birth?” he asked.
“Which birth? Physical or spiritual? Do you want to know the day I was born into your world or the day I entered mine?” I replied speaking in a daze, reaching my inner voice.
“I want to know the day you physically came into this world,” he said sternly.
“Why does it matter?” I asked.
He grimaced at me. I knew he was angry. They’re always angry these people who live in a world of hate and war. I felt badly for the man.
“How old are you and give me a number and not your cosmic crazy hippie bullshit!” He yelled.
“I’m 16 if that makes any difference to you,” I said.
He nodded and wrote down my age next to my name.
“Why did you break my curfew? Southern City ordinance states that no one under the age of 21 is to be outside unsupervised during the hours of 11pm and 5am. You were picked up at 2:30am for loitering,” he explained.
I was barely listening.
“I don’t believe in curfews.” I stated.
“When was the last time you had a bath, Tranquility?”
“I don’t know, a day, a week. I don’t measure time like you do,” I said.
“Well, you’re being detained until you give us more information. We can’t reach your parents until we know who you are first. The sooner you talk, the sooner we can release you to them. Do you understand?”
“Understand is a subjective word, sir,” I said.
“Oh I hate these fucking hippies!” he exclaimed as he slammed his notepad on his desk.
“I’m not a ‘hippie’. I’m one of the ‘free people’,” I corrected.
“Well, ‘free person’, you’re being held until a parent or guardian claims you. In the meantime, you’re going to the showers and getting cleaned up. Come with me.”
I stood up and looked at him.
“Are you an Oriental?” I asked.
“Yes, yes I am,” he replied clearly not expecting the question.
“What is your name again?”
“Detective Chang,” he replied.
“Your name is ‘Detective’?”
He sighed and slapped his forehead.
“My name is Liu. Now tell me your name.”
“Tranquility.”
“Back to Square One,” he groaned.
He led me to a bathroom which had a shower stall in the far left corner. He went to a cabinet and took out a towel, bottle of shampoo and a bar of soap.
“This is for your hair,” he explained as if I’ve never seen a bottle of shampoo before.
“This is for your body,” he said as he handed me the soap.
