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‘same’.  You can have equal treatment without having things treated the same.  We had that argument at work again the other day.  Makes me so mad.  People have lost the plot!  They are so focused on the idea; they’ve lost sight of the vision.
I interrupted her rant, “Why are you making this so complicated?”  I whined.  I’m not usually such a whiner.  It isn’t attractive on any level, and I acknowledge that, but lately I’ve been whiney anyway.  I tried to suck it up and continued, “For people like you and me, really wrong is always wrong and really right is always right and the squishy stuff in the middle is negotiable.”
“What do you mean?”
“Murder is always wrong.  Handing a bottle of water to that homeless guy that hangs out talking to the stop sign on Burtle is always right.  The squishy stuff, like telling Mom and Dad that Jessie Rubacava was gay, so that they wouldn’t question you spending every waking moment with him when you were but a lass, is negotiable.”
That brought on one of her famous smiles, “Oh shit, I forgot about Jessie, wonder how he is.”
“My guess is if he was good before, he’s great now.  Mom was right; the whole sex thing gets better as you get older.  I didn’t believe her at the time.  Figured who the hell would want to have sex with someone really old, like 30, but being within arm’s reach of 30, I can tell you, it does get better.  She was right about shaving my legs too.  Thought that would be fun forever.  What a schmuck I was”
Teagan’s brain seemed to be off reliving some ancient, but very intriguing memory. “For the love of Mike, if Jessie is actually better now than he was then, I should look him up.”
“Is that a confession?  Are you finally admitting that Jessie was more than a friend?  Maybe a friend with benefits?”
“No, that is not a confession.  You are not my priest.  I haven’t been to Confession since 8 th grade.  Why would I start now?   And with you?”
I asked, “Does Mom know you haven’t been since 8 th grade?”
Teagan smiled, “I’m here aren’t I?  Not dead or living in a nunnery.”
“Right, she doesn’t know.  Back to the subject at hand.  What did you find out surfing around on the net?”
She was all business again, “Oh, right.  The reward will probably get bigger.  The cops haven’t given up, but they have trimmed the number of people actually looking for the murderer.  It remains an open case.  They didn’t give any real specifics about that part, at least not in the stuff I was reading.  They have had private detectives and psychics contacting them, but no one has anything new.  That begs the question, if cops and private detectives can’t find this guy, what makes you think you can?”
“Preconceived notions.”
“Huh?”  Her perfectly arched brows almost met in the middle.
I’m kind of proud I thought of an analogy right away, “Think about hinges.”
She seemed genuinely confused. “Again, huh?”
“For God knows how long, hinges were on one side of the door.  They held the door in place.  Been doing it forever.  No one really thought about it any other way.  One day a guy is looking at the door and decides if a hinge holds the door in place on one side, then it should hold the door in place on the other side, and voila, a new lock is born.  People had been looking at those hinges forever, but no one saw the obvious.”
I continued, “Teagan, the professionals have preconceived notions.  They know enough that they might be blind to what they actually see.  I know nothing.  Everything I see is brand new, so it will talk to me in ways it won’t talk to them.”
She said, in that snobby little voice she reserves for comments meant to piss me off, “Or it won’t talk to you at all.”
“Possible, but not likely.  I love this stuff.  Remember, I planned your murder when I was 12.  Still know how I could do it.  Still haven’t found a single flaw in my