I was a socially awkward, yet decent looking and certainly smart, guy who wanted nothing more – aside from making money – than to have a family with a bunch of kids. I guess that was due to the loveless family that I grew up in. My parents were cold people, and I was an only child. I always considered my life shitty compared to some of our neighbors with three to five kids in the families, and parents that seemed to be concerned about them and always doing things with them.
While being socially awkward may be a real drawback in some professions, in mine – computer security – it was not. Once I got a B. S. in Computer Engineering and subsequently got a professional certificate in advanced computer security, with an inheritance from my parents' death in a car accident when I was in college, I started my own computer security business. By the time of my twenty eighth birthday I had a good business and was making lots of money. I used some of the money to buy a cabin in the woods, some to buy a nice ranch house with five big bedrooms, and some to buy a nice car.
Despite my wealth I was still only in the dreaming stage of my desire for a family with lots of little kids.
Then I ran into Aishe.
Actually, it was more like Aishe ran into me.
I was strolling through an open air market one Saturday when I got jostled by an exotic looking young woman in a flowing skirt and flowery blouse. "Excuse me," she said with a smile.
"Pardon me" I replied, not used to exotic women talking to me, even if it was just two words.
I had gone only another leisurely twenty paces or so when a muscular man with a fanny pack and a buzz cut stopped me. "Mr. Watkins," he said reading from an open wallet that looked suspiciously like mine.
"Yes..." I hesitantly replied.
"I'm police officer Rollins. We caught this woman," he said motioning to the exotic woman who had run into me standing near my left side, obviously in handcuffs and held stationary by a big guy who looked just like Officer Rollins only he was black instead of white, "pickpocketing your wallet. I believe this is it, isn't it?" he continued, holding out the wallet for me to see.
"Yes, it is," I replied once my surprise was overcome, and I instinctively reached for it.
"Sorry," Officer Rollins replied pulling his hand back. "We can't let you have it back until we dust it for prints since even though Officer Jenkins and I witnessed the act, these days we like to have forensic evidence as well just to be safe. You can either accompany or follow us to the station."
"Can I at least have my driver's license in case we get separated and I get pulled over by one of your brethren?" I asked.
"Sure," Rollins said with a smile as with his latex-gloved left hand he pulled the license from my wallet and handed it to me. "The station is on 4th and Maple – actually there is no reason for you to follow us there, you know where that is, don't you?"
"Yes, I do. I'll get my car and meet you there."
The exotic woman did not seem happy as she was led away by Jenkins – but there was something about her look that really intrigued me. When despite her otherwise dour expression she turned, smiled, and said "Sorry" staring into my eyes with her big brown doe-like ones, I was smitten.
At the station the exotic woman – who I found out was named Aishe Loveridge – was booked, her prints lifted off my wallet, and it was returned to me. I was curious that she smiled at me again in the police station.
"What's going to happen to Ms. Loveridge?" I asked.
"She'll have a bond hearing before a magistrate at 5 p. m. and then will be put in jail for the rest of the weekend if no one posts her bond, which is the likely scenario even if she gets a call to her family," Rollins told me. It was about 2:15 p. m. then.
As I walked out of the police station I got one more smile from Aishe as I went past her. I was smitten again.
I went back to the open air market, but my mind was not concentrating on the wares for sale, but rather was playing ping pong. "She's a common thief – get her out of your head;" "She's obviously interested in you or she wouldn't have smiled at you three times, or said sorry;" "The last thing that you need is to befriend a criminal;" "She's better looking than any other woman who's ever smiled at you in your life;" were some of the shots being bandied back and forth in my overworked brain. Finally I came to a temporary conclusion – I'd go to her bail hearing and play it by ear.
Rollins and Jenkins were nowhere to be found at the police station, but the booking officer, Geraldine Smith, recognized me and was a little surprised to see me when I arrived there about 4:45. "Where is the bond hearing for Ms. Loveridge?" I asked Officer Smith.
"Down this corridor to the end," Geraldine said pointing to her right, "then turn left – you can't miss it. Why do you want to know?"
"I...I...well, I might want to bail her out," I stammered.
"She's Roma you know," Smith sternly said. I didn't really understand what that meant. I thought that it might be some sort of classification of thieves; I had lived a sheltered life and didn't know that "Roma" is what gypsies call themselves.
I just nodded my head and said "I'll be careful;" fateful words!
I sat near the front – the bond hearing was held in what appeared to be a small – very small – courtroom. Aishe was led in with five other women, and about ten men were led in separately. Aishe saw me in the second row of what were just like church pews, reserved for spectators, and smiled again and even gave me a little wave. "Wow she's got a nice smile," I mumbled to myself as I gulped.