The Officer Could Have Written a Ticket. Instead, He Fixed the Young Man’s Tie.

At 1:40 p.m., Officer Marcus Hale pulled his cruiser behind a white Honda Civic with New Mexico plates. The brake lights stayed on. The sun hit the rear window. Heat came off the asphalt.

He ran the plate. Then he walked to the driver's window. The window went down. Hot air rolled out. A young man sat behind the wheel. His shirt collar was gray at the edges. A dark blue tie lay on the passenger seat. It was pilled and already knotted from a previous owner. Three boxes of books filled the back seat. The top book was Intermediate Accounting. The cover was curled.

"License and registration."

The young man opened the console. The wallet was split at the fold. He pulled out a license. Hale looked at the expiration date. Two months gone.

"Know this is expired?"

"Yes."

"Know you can't drive on it?"

"Yes."

Hale waited. The young man put his hands back on the wheel. His knuckles went pale.

"I got laid off from my night job. The money I have is for food, rent, and bills. I'm from another state. I go to ASU. I have an interview at two-thirty."

Hale looked at the clock on his dash. 1:42.

"Where?"

"One North Central. Seventh floor."

"You know you can't drive right now."

"I know."

Hale handed the license back. He walked to the cruiser, parked it in a shaded spot, and killed the engine. Then he came back. He opened the driver's door.

"Move over."

The young man looked at him.

"Move."

The young man slid over the console into the passenger seat. Hale got in. The seat was too far back. He adjusted it. The mirror was angled low. He fixed it. The tie lay between them.

"Chin up."

"I don't know how."

"Chin up."

The young man lifted his chin. Hale looped the tie around his collar. The first knot came out crooked. He pulled it apart and tried again. The young man swallowed. Hale pushed the knot up.

"Okay. Drive."

"You?"

"I'm sitting here. When we get there, I'll go in and explain."

"Will you get in trouble?"

"Drive."

The young man shifted into gear. The car shuddered and pulled into traffic. No radio. Hale asked what he was studying. Accounting. Hale said his daughter studied accounting. She graduated last year. She interviewed eleven times. The young man said nothing. Hale said turn right ahead.

At One North Central, the young man found a parking spot. He backed in on the third try. When he got out, his legs were shaky. The sole of his shoe was separating at the toe. Hale walked with him into the building. In the elevator, the young man stared at the floor numbers. Hale looked at his own shoes.

The receptionist looked up. "Interview?"

"Yes," the young man said.

Hale said, "He's late. I stopped his car. His license is expired. I drove him here. The delay is on me."

The receptionist picked up the phone. A woman in a gray suit came out. She looked at Hale, then at the young man. The young man said, "I'm sorry." The woman said, "Come in."

Hale sat in a plastic chair in the hallway. A vending machine hummed. He put in a dollar fifty. The water bottle caught. He hit the machine with the flat of his hand. The bottle dropped. He opened it and drank.

The interview room had a glass wall. The young man sat down. The woman pointed to a chair. She asked a question. The young man answered. His hands stayed under the table. The woman wrote something. She looked up. She asked another question. The young man nodded. The woman leaned back. She said something Hale could not hear. The young man nodded again. Then he stood. The woman stood. They shook hands. She handed him a sheet of paper.

Thirty minutes later, the young man came out. The woman in gray stood at the door. "Monday. Nine a.m."

"Okay."

She nodded at Hale. Hale stood up.

They walked outside. The young man said, "Thank you."

Hale said, "Go to MVD tomorrow. Get the temporary. Don't drive today. Take the bus."

"Okay."

"Your tie is crooked."

The young man looked down. Hale reached over and straightened the knot. Then he walked toward the parking garage. The young man stood on the sidewalk. The cruiser pulled out later. The young man pressed the knot with two fingers. His phone buzzed. His mother. He didn't answer. He opened his notes app and typed "MVD."

A few days later, he got the temporary license. A piece of paper, folded in four. He rode the Valley Metro bus to work. He spent the first weeks on receipts and bank reconciliations. Then a paycheck came.

He went to MVD. The clerk asked for the old license. He handed it over. The old license had a crease on the back. In the photo, his hair was long. The clerk punched a hole through the expiration date and gave it back. He put it in the wallet's inner pocket.

Outside, the parking lot was bright. He found the white Civic. The scratch on the bumper was still there. He got in. He fastened his seat belt. He hit the turn signal. An old parking ticket was stuck in the air vent. He pulled it out and dropped it in the console.

He pulled into traffic. At the red light, he checked the mirror. The knot was crooked. He straightened it.

The light turned green. He pressed the gas.