Kowalski groggily opened one eye. Like a sleepy Cyclops he contemplated getting up. He stared at the outfit he had laid out on the corby trouser press for the day ahead Sure, it was a challenge to accessorise the trouser press he carried round with him ritually, but Kowalski makes his own fashion statements, even if they were really heavy and cumbersome.
He had carefully chose his finest corduroy pants, tan bomber jacket, wide tie and striped shirt. He hadn’t worn shit this fancy to work since he used to meet Sheila on his lunch break.
SHEEEILLLLA! Why did you have to be a crude drawing! A sketch. A rendition of a woman. Then STOP. What?
Kowalski scanned his thoughts, guardedly. Like a guarded thought-scanner. He was thinking the usual thoughts about his beloved wife, Sheila, but yet…something was different.
Kowalksi was usually old school. He subscribed to Aaron Beck’s postulations that it is not the events themselves that causes our distress, rather the way we think about it. Theoretically, if two men experience the same event…say their wife had been part of a hot body show, they could have totally different emotional reactions. Their emotional reactions would be modulated by their thoughts about that event. One man might think “wow, my lady is a total hot slag. Fuckin ace” the other ” my wife is broken and ruined and I am less of a man” leading to feelings on the sad spectrum. Like those men, Kowalski had always been broken by his thoughts of Sheila.
However, today was different. Today he was thinking the usual thoughts, but the emotion was different. Almost as if his conviction in his grief about Sheila had waned. He was so used to these thoughts, they were second nature, they were automatic. But now those automatic thoughts had been replaced by a disbelief, a challenging of his own thought process.
Am I still sad? Kowlaski solemnly regarded his countenance in the mirror. This was no mean feat from being in bed and the mirror being located 6 foot up the wall.
No. I am not.
So what has my sadness been replaced with?
The answer came as a tentative whisper in the form of a crumpled, listless, police officer.
Detective Inspector Ian Detective Inspector.
That’s why he had become more careful over his appearance. That’s why he’d been in the gym pumping his muscles. That’s why he’d been shaving his legs every day. That’s why he’d been carrying the trouser press. That’s why he’d joined Linkedin.
Kowalksi was rattled to his very foundations. What WAS he? He’d always thought of himself as straight down the (drawn) line. He was attracted to crude sketches of women, not real life, living, breathing, rippling, writhing, sweating men.
There was nothing else for Kowalski to do. He trashed the entire road and all the villages in a ten mile radius and then spent three hours in Matalan. God he was confused.
There was only one man who could help him.
That man was Sherby57…
To be continued…