I have never remembered feeling so many different emotions as I had that night, and it was harder still to believe that all I had left to do was a thorough cleaning of my office.  I wished Abe Johnson, my long-time good friend and partner for fifteen out of the last twenty-five years could have joined me to share the memories, but duty called. He was the on-call toad that night.
             Suddenly, from across the bar, Al yelled, “Stark, phone call. Something about a floater in the lake next to the campus.”
             The smart-ass in me came out as I responded, “If that’s Johnson, tell him I’m retired.”
            Al passed the message like I knew he would, but then turned with a smile and related Abe’s response, “Stark, Johnson said for you to get your flipping ass down there now, and he doesn’t give a shit about any retirement crap.  He said you don’t retire until tomorrow and unless you want to lose your pension, you need to un-ass the bar stool and get down there now.”
            I slid from my stool, said my good-byes, thanked my guests for coming, and cussed Johnson all the way out the door and most of the way to the lake.  It took me about ten minutes to get there, but the instant I saw the lights, I felt the adrenaline run through my system once again.  By that time, I couldn’t get there fast enough, and cussing Abe was the furthest thing from my mind.  Having done this for over half my life, it had become part of me, and I supposed the excitement of a new challenge would always be in my blood.  That’s something you can’t turn off as easily as a faucet.
            The glow of blue and red lights several blocks away registered clearly in my mind, but it wasn’t until I parked and  walked closer that I could make heads or tails of the commotion.  Troy University’s Dean of Students was already on the scene, along with the university’s Chief of Police, a couple of his officers, several Troy City Police officers, and Abe.  The fire department and ambulance had already started packing up as other vehicles inched their way past the scene, obviously curious about all the activity.
            A couple of the city police had been talking with an older gentleman who was holding his fishing pole tightly with both hands.  Two young males had been detained and sat at a picnic table watched over by the University Police.  I suspected they must have been involved in this somehow.
           It was late spring and the sun had just begun to set.  The warm, humid air signaled the potential onset of an early summer.  Trees hugged the shape of the jagged far side of the lake and cast shadows that prematurely darkened the shoreline.  Moss hung from their branches and gently swayed in the light breeze that always seemed to be associated with this very picturesque lake next to the campus.  On most nights, students generally populated the shoreline, but all of the activity this night may have put the kibosh on that.
          The side of the lake that everyone was on had a well-manicured grassy area that exhibited that first tinge of green that normally accompanied the advent of spring.  As I stood facing the commotion, there was a small patch of cat-o-nine-tail reeds that surrounded the stream that fed the lake to my left where most of the crowd gathered.  As I walked toward the yellow police tape, the faint smell of fish mixed with the naturally decomposing plants along the bank reminded me I was standing near a southern lake.  Even in the shadows cast by the setting sun, I still made out the fountain in the center, and the ripples that spread slowly and gently to the shoreline.