"Have you been drinking this morning?" he asked.
"No," she protested, "I'm just trying to make it to a job interview," she tried to explain in desperation.
The sheriff cut her off with, "is that why you were serving in and out through traffic?"
"No, no," she said, shaking her head. Her face felt hot, and she fought hard to keep tears from coming.
The sheriff took a step back and ordered, "get out of the car miss." Kyla paused for a moment in disbelief.
"Now," he said, raising his voice. Kyla complied, opening the door and stepping out. She watched helplessly as cars continued to pass her by. She saw condescending expressions in those cars, watching her and judging her as they fleetingly came in and out of her life, casually dismissing her as a bad girl, a screw up, a common criminal.
Kyla was wearing high heels, a dark gray wrap around skirt, and a dressy white blouse with short sleeves. She was quickly cold in the morning air, and the breeze caused by the passing cars tossed her long straight hair like banners on battle ramparts. But it didn't matter now, she thought bitterly. She would never make the interview in time.
"Walk on the line for me," said the sheriff, pointing to the white line in front of her Camry that separated the main road from the shoulder. Kyla saw her own blue eyes flash uncertainly at him in his mirrored sunglasses. He held his hands at his hips, impassively watching her.
She stepped in front of her car and tried to walk, one foot in front of the other, on the painted white line in the road. Truth be told, she had never tried this before in high heels and stumbled slightly as she walked.
"Alright alright," said the sheriff, waving her back to her car. Kyla brushed her hair out of her face with her hand and walked back over to him.
"Put your hands on the hood," he said. It was an order a cop might give to those fringe people, not her. But she could see he wasn't kidding. In mere moments she had gone from a respectable citizen to one of the bad guys. She put both of her hands on the hood of her car, which was still warm. She saw out of the corner of her eye that cars continued to pass her. The humiliation was too much. Without quite meaning to, she started to cry. Her face was flush, first she started to sniffle, and then hot tears began streaming down her face.
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