The wake up call


May 31, 2014

Knocking. I keep hearing that annoying knocking sound.

Where the hell are my shoes? I’m going to be sick. I feel my insides lurch in a way that cannot be normal. I smell vomit. Is that possible? To know that you are going to throw up with such certainty that you smell it before it happens? The stench is overwhelming. I can’t focus. Why am I not wearing shoes? It seems important that I figure out the answer to that question.

Again with the fucking knocking.

“Miss?”More persistent now.

“Can you roll down your window please?”

No. I want to say no. Did I say no? I think I did. God that smell is everywhere. Did I already puke?

My toenails are bright red. Too red. I rarely have pretty feet. I don’t trust people that have time for all that shit. Or maybe I’m jealous of them and pretend that I have more important things to tend to. Most of my disdain stems from deeply disguised jealousy. My feet look perfect in this moment. Perfect pedicured toes. I must have not worn shoes today so I could admire my toenails? That thought actually crosses my mind. Seems reasonable.

“Miss I’m going to need you to open the door now.”

What the hell is wrong with this guy? No. I can’t do that. Not doing it. Can’t do it.

He Does it for me.

And I fall out of the car.

I remember that. Hitting the ground hard and laughing. I laughed. That is not my typical reaction in moments of stress. Anger almost always wins over laughter. I should have known then that I was screwed. My defenses were so low I thought this was somehow comical.

It gets very blurry after that. I remember thinking it was absurd that there were Four state trooper vehicles. 4? Was that really necessary? Cops everywhere. Yelling at me. Asking me to try to take a field sobriety test. Amusing. I was wearing a long skirt. It was so damn hot. Still Barefoot. People watching. God. It was the middle of the day on a Saturday at a Cumberland Farms. There were people everywhere.

I never lose control.Ever. Until now.

I remember trying to explain that I wasn’t even driving. There were no keys in the ignition. I wasn’t driving! The car was parked. I was waiting for somebody to come pick me up. I think I may have said I had strep throat or the stomach bug. Hence the vomit all over my car and shirt and hair.

The overwhelming stench of alcohol blew up that lovely story.

The more adamantly I tried to explain that I wasn’t driving the more they fought with me. I wish I had just stayed quiet.

Handcuffs and police station. 4 officers and me. Yelling at me, laughing at me and generally treating me like I was a complete waste of space.

Yes. One of them did “accidentally” brush up against me several times and grope me inappropriately while another laughed. I was so drunk I could barely keep my head up and was on the verge of passing out but I remember that.I was there for 7 hours. Handcuffed to a bench. Blame it on my mental state. I’m sure I deserved it.  I can’t prove it of course. My shitty public defender told me it was my word against theirs and that they are state troopers and nobody would believe me.

What fucking ever.

The thing is…

It made me think about what happened when I was 5. and 6. and 7. and beyond. What I have been running from my whole life.The reason I’m sure I was completely and disgustingly inebriated in the middle of a beautiful Saturday afternoon and surrounded by state troopers in the first place.

Do not touch me. Not then and not now. You have no fucking right to touch me just because you think you can.

I’m not a kid anymore.

One thought on “The wake up call

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