Grand Obsession

[I started writing this a few days ago, and was interrupted. I kept trying to get back to it, but one thing after another interrupted. So now I'm posting the first part as is, and will post the next part soon. It's a short story, by the way.]

---

It hadn't been an obession, to start. In fact, he'd hardly noticed it. But sometime in the second week at his new apartment, Ed Rakubian realized that he'd heard the same dull thumpaTHUMPathumpaTHUMP before...coupled with the same roar of an engine down the street, now that he thought of it.

It sparked instant annoyance. He knew he'd moved into a slum - it was all he could afford after losing his job - but he hadn't expected it to be, well, so slummy.

Besides, he'd seen KIDS playing on the street - that afternoon, come to think of it!

That pissed him off. It was bad enough that those damn teenagers were blasting their crappy music at all hours of the day and night, but they were zooming down the street at sixty or seventy miles an hour, at least - and the speed limit was twenty-five miles per hour.

It ruined his evening.

The next morning Ed called the police department.

"-artment, front desk, Officer DeBlaise speaking."

"Hello? I'm calling about the speeders on Oakdale street."

"What about them?"

"Well, it's a twenty-five mile-per-hour zone. They're going fifty or sixty miles per hour, at least!"

"...so what would you like us to do about it, sir?"

Ed's stomach clenched. The "sir" definitely sounded sarcastic.

"Look, there are kids who play in the street there all day. There must be something you can do! I mean, I mean, couldn't you put out one of those speed-detecting machines, at least?"

He definitely heard an exasperated sigh this time. "...those don't work, sir. Not in a neighborhood like yours. Somebody would just shoot it up for fun. Or steal it."

Ed began to feel desperate.

"Well...look...I'm not a police officer. But you must have SOME way to do something about this. How about speed bumps? Or put a police car on the street for a few days, and write some tickets?"

"We don't do speed bumps, sir, and the force is overworked as it is. Tell you what: give me your name and address, and I'll take a complaint from you. That's the best I can do."

Ed hung up, his hands shaking. Goddamned cops, he thought.

Things only got worse over the next couple of weeks. Ed knew he shouldn't watch, but he kept finding himself back at the windowshade, watching kids - some couldn't have been older than two or three - playing, running in the street without so much as glancing either way. Hearing cars zoom down, speakers blasting, louder and louder. He found himself waking up at night each time a car went down the street. And it was driving him crazy. At work he was distracted and irritable, imagining the thud of a car slamming into a child's body, the little form tossed high into the air, blood spurting, and crashing soddenly to the ground.

He'd always liked kids.

Grand Obsession

[I started writing this a few days ago, and was interrupted. I kept trying to get back to it, but one thing after another interrupted. So now I'm posting the first part as is, and will post the next part soon. It's a short story, by the way.]

---

It hadn't been an obession, to start. In fact, he'd hardly noticed it. But sometime in the second week at his new apartment, Ed Rakubian realized that he'd heard the same dull thumpaTHUMPathumpaTHUMP before...coupled with the same roar of an engine down the street, now that he thought of it.

It sparked instant annoyance. He knew he'd moved into a slum - it was all he could afford after losing his job - but he hadn't expected it to be, well, so slummy.

Besides, he'd seen KIDS playing on the street - that afternoon, come to think of it!

That pissed him off. It was bad enough that those damn teenagers were blasting their crappy music at all hours of the day and night, but they were zooming down the street at sixty or seventy miles an hour, at least - and the speed limit was twenty-five miles per hour.

It ruined his evening.

The next morning Ed called the police department.

"-artment, front desk, Officer DeBlaise speaking."

"Hello? I'm calling about the speeders on Oakdale street."

"What about them?"

"Well, it's a twenty-five mile-per-hour zone. They're going fifty or sixty miles per hour, at least!"

"...so what would you like us to do about it, sir?"

Ed's stomach clenched. The "sir" definitely sounded sarcastic.

"Look, there are kids who play in the street there all day. There must be something you can do! I mean, I mean, couldn't you put out one of those speed-detecting machines, at least?"

He definitely heard an exasperated sigh this time. "...those don't work, sir. Not in a neighborhood like yours. Somebody would just shoot it up for fun. Or steal it."

Ed began to feel desperate.

"Well...look...I'm not a police officer. But you must have SOME way to do something about this. How about speed bumps? Or put a police car on the street for a few days, and write some tickets?"

"We don't do speed bumps, sir, and the force is overworked as it is. Tell you what: give me your name and address, and I'll take a complaint from you. That's the best I can do."

Ed hung up, his hands shaking. Goddamned cops, he thought.

Things only got worse over the next couple of weeks. Ed knew he shouldn't watch, but he kept finding himself back at the windowshade, watching kids - some couldn't have been older than two or three - playing, running in the street without so much as glancing either way. Hearing cars zoom down, speakers blasting, louder and louder. He found himself waking up at night each time a car went down the street. And it was driving him crazy. At work he was distracted and irritable, imagining the thud of a car slamming into a child's body, the little form tossed high into the air, blood spurting, and crashing soddenly to the ground.

He'd always liked kids.