It is my first day on the job. A police officer. My grandfather was a police officer, my father was a police officer and now I too am a police officer. There are worse jobs to have in Paris, but of course my first day and I get put on duty at the Square du Vert-Galant. It is beautiful by day, but by evening it crawls into despair. And today is the winter equinox, the longest and coldest of nights. I pace around and around the small gardens. Watching and listening, as people say goodnight to one another and retreat back to the security and tranquility of their own homes. Slowly, the gardens turn silent save for the wind whistling against the water. I am alone. I am unable to enjoy the beautiful sunset that begins as the sun touches the river in the distance, because it will only bring the darkness.
I walk down the narrow corridor, darkening because the street lamps have not yet been lit. Rhythmically, my shoes click and click and click against the stone pavement. A child’s laughter echos down the street and wakes me from my thoughts. What is a child doing here this close to night? I walk around a corner and spot the young child, only about 3 years of age, walking with his back toward me on the park bench as though he is a world-renowned tightrope walker.
My pace quickens, my shoes loudly clicking against the ground, toward the boy. I tap his shoulder and he spins around quickly. He has big blue eyes that greatly contrast with his red wind-chapped face. They stare deep into me. Silently, he c***s his head to the side. I am taken aback by his mature demeanor and pause a moment before speaking.
“Son,” I ask, “it is quite dangerous here at night. Where is your mother?”
The boy continues to stare at me. I worry for a moment that maybe he is too young to understand my question. I remember the police protocol for missing children. My first night on the job and I will already have to call in an unattended child.
Then the boy looks back over his shoulder. His arm pulls up from his side and he points to the next park bench, only a couple of meters away. My eyes follow his arm and I realize that the bench is not empty, but a young woman sits there. Her dark coat camouflages her into the bench she sits on. How could I have missed her?
“Madame…” I start to ask as I walk over towards her, trying to straighten my back and look confident.  I pause suddenly after a few steps. The woman's gaze is towards the river back behind her. I follow her eyes to see what has her so entranced. Down by river bank there is a young man and women passionately kissing each other.
I look back towards the women, her eyes showing her deep longing for something the couple shares.
“Ohhh,” my lips silently sigh.
I look down at my feet, take a breath, and look back up and straighten out my posture.
“Madame, is this your son?” I ask just loud enough to cover the distance between my mouth and her ears.
Her eyes blink and she turns her head towards me. She now recognizes that I am in front of her, but mist in her eyes still obscures her from reality.
“Ohh. Ohh, yes.” she says softly. She slowly gets up from the bench and picks up her things. Her gaze draws back to the couple for a second before she shakes her head and turns away.
“Come, Robert.” She says to the boy. Walking around me as though in a trance. I hear the young boy’s feet slap the ground behind me as he jumps off the bench and both his and her feet softly walk away.
I sigh and straighten out my uniform. I start to walk, but something stops me yet again. I look up and turn backwards. The mother and son walk hand in hand down the street. The young boy looks over his shoulder towards me. His big eyes shine through the darkness, pause and stare deep into me, then turn back toward his mother. Something in me yearns to call out to them, but my voice does not answer the call.
“Goodnight Madame.” I tell the night.
I walk away, knowing that from now on the dark of the Square du Vert-Galant will haunt me no more.