I wish this story took place while I was still a dumbass 18 year old senior in high school, but alas, it happened when I was a dumbass 25 year old massage therapy student. However, the start of it was my senior year in high school when I met Jay. I was 18, he was 23, and I was infatuated.
Jay was “the coolest.” Everything he said was hilarious, he opened my eyes to amazing music I should’ve known about long ago, and all of his close friends were cool as hell. He was best friends with truly rad people I’m still friends with to this day, he always had really good weed, he turned me on to a LOT of badass music (he AND Errol). Of course, he had no job, so I could go over to his mom’s house (where he lived) when I got out of school at 11am-ish to hang out long enough to convince my parents I’d been looking for a job all day. We’d do everything from running around committing acts of tomfoolery, to staying at his mom’s (while she was at work), smoking weed & cigarettes and watching whatever was on TV, to eventually having really good “everything but” sex. He was there the night before my 21st birthday at midnight, when I got into my first bar, along with my friend, Cara… We were basically good friends who fed each other’s egos a lot.
Jay was always fucking himself up, somehow. I remember Cara calling him “Robo-Arm” because when she met him, he had just narrowly escaped death during a rock climbing accident. He had this, well… this metal contraption on the outside of his arm… The best way to describe it would be to say it looked like one of those “halos” they screw to peoples’ heads, to keep them from moving it. It screwed into the bone, all around, in three(ish???) parts of his forearm. IT… was gnarly. He was “put back together again” in multiple places, and that was just one of many times he fucked himself up.
He was there during my “coke days at the bar” era, which lasted about 6 months in 1999. Someone who hung out there ended up cooperating with the cops, and the bar was raided a couple years later. Everyone into anything got arrested, and most of them did at least some time in prison. But Jay’s dad was the Assistant District Attorney of the county we grew up in, and he currently lived in, so he got 10 years felony probation, deferred. Meaning if he messed up at ALL within that TEN YEARS, he was off to prison, as well. Or, that was the threat, anyway.
He eventually got pretty bad into pills. I’m sure he’d be the first to tell you. Looking back, it most likely had to do with his Robo-Arm… or maybe that was just the start of it. I was always kind of a pussy when it came to selling illegal drugs and the like, but I was a total fan of self-medicating. It’s all I knew that worked, even though temporarily. I hung out with all of the “right” people, so that helped. I had my own problems with pain from 12ish years of gymnastics, constant migraines, and some other kind of debilitating headache(s).
I remember when I was around five or seven-ish years old, I had a headache that would NOT quit. My friend’s mom worked as a receptionist at an OB/GYN in town, and thought she knew everything there was to know about medicine (and the Baby Jesus). Medicine from her work, and Baby Jesus from my holier-than-thou friend’s holier-than-thou mom’s idea that her moral beliefs should speak for everyone. If she didn’t condone it, you were clearly going to hell. Anyway, all my mom had was Valium, and I remember her, on the phone, asking my friend’s mom if it would be okay to half one of them and give it to me. My friend’s mom said yes. “Hell yes, now I finally get to see what all of grandpa’s (on my mom’s side) fuss is about!” The main things I remember about him were:
1. I was his favorite (only because I was his closest-living grandchild, and I wasn’t old enough to think for myself, yet… he would’ve totally disowned me by now, for sure).
2. It didn’t take much for him to get really mad, and yell like my mom (they usually just yelled at each other, so it was in stereo).
3. “Where’s my Valium?!” was the thing I remember him saying most.
“Just half of one,” or not, I fucking loved it, even then. In the environment I grew up in, downers = relaxation = GOOD. Still, I’d never overdo it with pills. Most of my friends liked “the magic 3” Vicodin (pain killer), Soma (muscle relaxer), Xanax (anti-anxiety) as a combo, then they’d nod out, drool on themselves, and piss me off to the point I’d take pictures of them, usually when they were all dressed up for court or probation. That was the day to go hard, cuz you just got your pee tested, and apparently most people can’t even change into something more comfy to get stupid. Drooling on yourself in business casual attire is a definite “Kodak moment” (YouTube the commercial, youngsters).
Xanax was my main love. It didn’t make me sleepy, and when I smoked pot with it, it was my favorite drug combination. My favorite thing to do on it is be alone, and listen to music, while reading lyrics. Still my favorite drug combination to this day, although it’s been over a decade, unfortunately. Not that I’m totally sober now, don’t worry.
There came a time when the infatuation with Jay had come to a close, and by the time I was 25 he started dating one of my best friends at the time, Lesley (my “BFFAM” a.k.a. Best Friend For A Minute, from the Dylan’s Puppy chapter). She just smoked weed and sometimes drank a little. I honestly thought she was too good for him, but couldn’t tell her that, so I adjusted. I never did understand why she was with him. She knew all about him, because they met thru her ultra-pill-head brother. She’d come to my apartment, 45 min away, almost every day, because she was living with her parents to save money… and her ultra-pill-head brother, Todd, was living there because he had no job (Todd was also one of Jay’s oldest friends). A brief rundown on Todd, even though you won’t hear of him again – just to get an idea to try to appreciate the level of this situation:
One day Lesley came to my house and told me that her dad had told her, that the previous night, he woke up in the middle of the night for some water. Todd was in the kitchen, and it was fuckin’ ransacked. Pantry shit was out, fridge shit was out, some of it was spilled, it was chaos. “You okay, Todd?” Lesley’s dad asked.
“Yeah, I’m good. Just making soup.” He had canned soup in the microwave. He gets it out, goes upstairs to eat it, then about two minutes goes by and her dad heard Todd scream “FUCK!!!”
So her dad runs upstairs to see what the deal is, and Todd is passed out with soup spilled all over him. Good times.
“Jay wants to know why you don’t hang out with him anymore! He misses you, dude!” Lesley would say. I’m good at putting things off, and I did for a long time. I didn’t really have any interest in hanging out with him by that point. He kept getting in trouble, and I was terrified to go to jail. My dad had just retired from the Sheriff’s Dept 1.5 years prior. I’d been close a few times, and my parents thought I was a hellion as it was… Jail was not an option.
“Okay, fine,” I said. “I can hang out with him on Saturday night, but I have to be at a Continuing Education class for massage at 9am on Sunday, so I can’t stay out past midnight!” I didn’t really, I just really needed to have a definite endgame, so I’ll turn into a pumpkin… She ended up setting it up.
It was 2003 at the time, and I had a 2000 Camaro (the kind with cat-eyes!) with leather interior, that I bought brand new. That was my first-ever brand new car. I took that thing everywhere. I always drove, pretty much no matter what, even before I had the Camaro. Maybe it’s a control thing…?
I met him around 5 or 6pm… it was still daylight outside. We met at one of those car washes where you wash & vacuum your own car. I wasn’t a fan of all that, so I just sat and watched. He handed me a Xanax bar for my patience, and I started to feel wonderful. By this time of my life, I was way too much of a pussy to drive with much weed on me, and constantly got made fun of for it, but… “that’s the kinda shit people go to jail for!” I really dunno why sometimes that wasn’t ‘end of discussion’, ya know?
My mom & dad knew I was fucked up, physically and mentally, and knew what all I’d carry on me (didn’t have confirmation on the pot til later. Actually, mom never got the “confirmation” on me & pot, like my dad did). My dad had given me a few Vicodin, plus I had managed to scrounge up some Xanax bars, Somas, Percocet, Loratab, and B complex vitamins in this Altoids tin. For whatever reason, it really, truly, honestly never even crossed my mind that I constantly had potential felonies on me, at all times. I guess because my dad (the retired cop) gave me some of them, knew what I had on me, and never said anything about it. The Somas (muscle relaxers) were prescribed to me, but the rest weren’t. I had them as “just in cases”, because apparently I could do that back then. No more. Seriously, I’d had some of those pills for months, but I’d pretty much always had something hella illegal on me, at any given time.
I followed Jay to his dad’s house, and he figured he was driving. I was way too chill at that point to argue or even state otherwise, but could still drive fine (I had a little tolerance by this point because of my first love/ex-fiance’s accident… that’s for another time, though. Maybe.). We got in his car and were going to go to his friend Andrea’s (my future BFFAMs’) house, about 20 miles away, to smoke weed. Not sure why, because we smoked weed allllll the way there. In fact, I remember telling him to stay in his lane on the freeway, because I was nervous as shit we were going to get pulled over with god knows what in the car.
“Dude I was lighting a cigarette… Calm down, ” he’d say in an annoyed tone.
“Yeah? Well I light cigarettes, too… like, a lot… and I stay in my lane…” was my response. I was too relaxed and stoned to ever let my bitching get too outta hand. We’d either be there or die soon most likely, right?
When we finally get to Andrea’s, we go hang out with her & her roommate, Lisa, in her guesthouse, smoke weed, bullshit, and watch stuff on TV. I knew Jay was waiting on a call from our friend, Charles, because Charles wanted to trade some pain pills that Jay had for some coke(kain) that Charles had. Jay finally got directions to Charles’ new apartment, and it’s around 10:30pm-ish when we leave to go over there. See why I wasn’t really excited about this scene, in the first place?
The exit is about 10ish miles down the freeway. When we exit, we take a left under the freeway, and pull into a Shell station on the right hand side of the road, on the corner (got it?). I stay in the car, annoyed and as stressed out as one could be on that much Xanax & weed. He got gas and continued to make fun of me being paranoid. When he got back in, and he drove away, the pump was still in the fucking gas tank of his car. Thank god by then, they had the emergency break off things, but it was still ridiculous. He gets back in the car, makes a wrong turn and has to turn around. At one point we ended up going BACK under the freeway… we made about four consecutive U-turns, not even 100 yards from the freeway, all in a row.
We finally start going the right direction, and he goes to turn left at a light. I’d taken a right at this light plenty before, but didn’t know what was to the left.
Nothing. Nothing was to the left, which is why I’d never “ventured” that way. He got the directions wrong. Of course. Fucking men… Plus, when you add mass quantities of pills to the equation, it equals straight up bewilderment.
At this point, I’d been steadily bitching about all the shit he was doing wrong since we left Andrea’s… which was a LOT. At one point he gave me two more Xanax bars to calm me down and hopefully shut me up. How cute. Doesn’t he know I can take enough of these things to kill a baby elephant at this point? *Gulp*
He turns down another deserted street, so he can turn around, and that’s when he says, “Fucking DPS (Texas State Trooper) is behind us.”
“You’re fucking kidding me,” I snapped.
“Why the fuck would I joke about that?!” he exclaimed.
“Because you have been all night?!”
Then of course, next thing we know, the red & blues turn on. He pulls over, and turns on the dome light immediately. Something I learned was “a thing” at that moment.
“Do you have anything visible in the car?” I ask him.
“No… not ‘visible’,” he clarified. “Hey, do something with this roach…”
I’m thinking to myself, “What in the shit am I supposed to do with that?!” I panicked/froze and put it in between his passenger side seat and the door.
A cop comes up to his window, and immediately asks him to step out of the car. Next thing I know, a cop is at my window. He came up a few times, first asking the obvious questions. “Where are you coming from, where are you going, blah blah blah…” The same things they were asking Jay to make sure our stories were straight, I’m sure. After the first time he left, I started thinking, “If they ask me to step out for anything, that fucking roach is right there.” So I did the only thing I could think to do. I put it in my underwear. No, that’s not code for “in/up my vagine”. Just in the front part of my underwear, above the pubic bone, below the panty line… Ya know, as a classy fuckin’ broad does… I figured since there were 2 male cops, the chances of it being found were slim. My theory is, “If it gets to that point, they’d kinda deserve it,” ya know?
My cop comes up to my window again. “Are you aware your friend is on felony probation for possession of a controlled substance with intent to distribute?”
“Well yeah, but that was a couple years ago. I haven’t hung out with him much since high school, and I heard about that, but from what I hear he’s really changed a lot…” He looked at me like I was an idiot, and left again.
I can’t see what’s going on with Jay directly behind me, because the fucker turned the dome light on before he “exited the vehicle,” and they’d see me staring and “acting suspicious” or some shit… so I just sat there forever. My cop came up to me again and said, “Is there anything in this car that’s illegal?”
“Um… it’s not my car… How would I know what’s in it?” which was the total truth. I had no clue.
“Okay, well here’s the deal – your friend IS going to jail. He had a bag of marijuana in his pocket. Whether you are or not depends on how well you cooperate with me.”
“But I really have no idea what’s in this car. I told you I haven’t even seen him much since high school.” Now, apparently it was my turn to get out of the car… with my purse. It wasn’t until he started looking through it, and he picked up that Altoids tin, that I thought twice about anything I had on me. As soon as he opened it, he took one glance inside of it, then looked at me. As nonchalantly as I could, I said, “Oh, that’s my Xanax, that’s my Loratab, that’s my Vicodin, that’s my Soma, and that’s my Loracet.” I was going to act like I had scripts for them, drop daddy’s name like I always had, and I’d be fine, I thought.
“I see that!” he giggled, while raising his eyebrows. I started to explain that my dad was a retired Montgomery County Sheriff (the county we were in), and that I had prescriptions for those, while the guy who’d been dealing with Jay all this time came over. That was when I realized I was dealing with the “rookie-type”, and Jay was dealing with the “stereotypical-asshole-state-trooper-type”. State troopers always come in pairs, and there’s always an obvious dom/sub relationship. Let’s call the dom “The Asshole”. Once he comes over, he asks Rookie what was up. Rookie then showed Asshole my Altoids tin. That’s when I thought I could explain away “the misunderstanding”.
“My dad’s a retired Montgomery County Sheriff, and I’m prescribe…….”
He calmly, casually interrupts me, “Okay, okay, it’s all right, just hold on a second… You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law…” blah, blah, blah, you get it. So they put handcuffs on me, and I sit on the curb, in front of the 23 tow trucks that were there waiting, like vultures. It was about midnight on a Saturday night, so they were flocking. I remember I tried to cry, but after a couple of sobs, I realized that there was absolutely no way my eyes were going to all of a sudden decide to “moisturize,” so I quit trying before I looked like a bigger dumbass than I already did. I remember the cop who had my pills was standing with his back to Jay, so Jay didn’t see any of that part, just me getting arrested, and so Jay said something like, “Aw man! Why are you arresting her?! You don’t have to arrest her!” Then at some point he found out I had shit in my purse. Whoopsie?
Anyway, I was on a lot of “my favorite drug combo,” I was going to jail for the first time, and there wasn’t shit I could do about it. I could either make it more miserable than it was going to be, or I could make fun of the whole thing, which wasn’t hard, considering in any kind of stressful situation, my immediate go-to is to make fun of it, or laugh about it, some way, somehow. The fact I had mass amounts of Xanax and weed in my system did not hurt things, either. Rookie came back over to me and asked me how long I’d “been addicted to prescription medication, starting with the Vicodin.”
“My dad gave me those. He knows I need them.” That was 100% true.
“Your father, the retired Peace Officer at the Sheriff’s Office?” I never understood why they called themselves “Peace Officers” all the time. Such bullshit.
“YES!” Finally, he was ‘understanding the words that were comin’ outta my mouth!’
“I was born at night, but not last night, young lady,” then he chuckled, like he’d just come up with that clever line, all on his own, on the spot, in that moment… cuz he’s clearly on top of shit. “What about these Somas?” he inquired.
“I’ve had a legit prescription for those. My doctor even told me, ‘These are addictive, so be careful. Here’s 30, so if you come back in 30 days saying you need more, I’ll know you’re addicted, and you won’t get them,'” Which was also true, and for some reason, again, I thought he was actually understanding me and believing me… mainly because I was telling the truth, and I’d never really had to get this far with cops before, so I was clueless.
“When was that?”
“June.” This was the night of September 6, 2003.
“So you’ve been addicted to Somas since June?” he asked, with puppy dog eyes, like he wanted to help me get out of this brutal addiction, that obviously had the death grip on me. Genuine concern was the look on his face.
Even though his face was only about a foot away from my face, I couldn’t help it. I laughed so hard and “abruptly”, I snotted myself, and probably him. I cackled my ass off. There was absolutely no point, at all talking this dude out of the fact, that I was a total fucking crack-whore. I’m guessing me being 5’9″, 125lbs (at the time), wearing no bra, a Weezer shirt, cut off jean shorts, and flip-flops didn’t help my case, so all I could really do was laugh. What were they gonna do? Arrest me? Oh, yeah. Another charge for laughing, perhaps? Suck a dick.
I noticed this state trooper had the same kind of Camaro I had. Mine was a V6 and theirs was a Z28, but they didn’t need to know that. Surely they were going to get a “real” cop car to come get us. I’d been in the backseat of my car once, for about 30 seconds, and I’m still wondering why they even bothered putting a backseat in the damn thing. My years of gymnastics made me bendy, so I could hang, but even then it was just dumb. There’s no way Humpty-Jay was gonna be able to hang tho. I mean, surely…
Nope. When they walk us over, I looked up at Rookie and said, “Y’all aren’t callin’ a real car to come get us?!”
Not being able to hide his chuckle, he laughed and said, “Nope, this is it!”
“Dude, I have a car exactly like this… except mine has leather interior… and I’ve been in the back seat and it SUCKS. C’mon, lemme ride shotgun, just this once… I promise I’ll let ya have it next time,” I rationalized.
Still chuckling, “Nope!”
“But you’re alwayyyysss hogging the front, tho,” trying to reason with him.
Still giggling, “Nope, sorry… It’s not that far.”
Yeah, just a little under 25 miles, asshole. I know exactly where it is. I was about to get inside, and Rookie stops me. “Oh, Miss… I forgot to ask you – Are you hiding anything in between your breasts?”
I almost snotted myself again. Still laughing my ass off, and in a way feeling sorry for him after I saw the look on his face that responded to my immediate reaction to his asinine question… cuz by the look on his face, you could tell it was one of those things that you say, and as soon as it’s all out, you feel like an insta-dumbass. I know that look, because I’d had that look plenty of times. I said, “I’m a 12 year old BOY, LOOK AT ME!!! Bwahahaha WHERE the hell would I ‘hide’ anything?!?! ‘In between’ what, exactly???” He got even more uncomfortable really fast, but I couldn’t stop laughing. I really do laugh at the absolute wrong times. It’s a definite problem.
We get in the back of the car, and it honestly hurt me to see how uncomfortable Jay was. Not only physically, because keep in mind he’s now facing 40 years in prison, so his outlook on this situation was a far cry from my “Can’t change it, may as well have fun with it,” glass-half-fullin’ it attitude.
I had cottonmouth like a motherfucker, and I know he had to, too. I saw these Ice Breaker mints in the cup holder. On one side a little part opens, and that side says “For Me”, then the other side opens halfway, and that side said “To Share” (or something like that?). The Asshole picks them up, grabs one, and puts it back in the cup holder. Then, Rookie picks them up, and opens the “To Share” side, takes one, and offers The Asshole one. The Asshole tells him that he just got one, and they have a good ol’ laugh over it all, that I interrupted with:
“Can I have one?!” I asked, all excited. Rookie looks at The Asshole first, then they look at each other, perplexed as fuck. “You opened the side that says ‘To Share,’ I saw it. So now you have to share. I’m sure it’s in the rules, somewhere.” They knew I had a point, I’m sure.
“Um…Uh— Sure? Here…” Still looking at Asshole for approval, he got one out for me. My hands were cuffed behind me, in that joke-of-a-backseat, but like I said, I was bendy, so it was all good. For comedic value I poked my head in between their bucket seats, and turned it upside down, while opening wide. He dropped it in (that’s what she said), and I snapped back to my original sideways position immediately.
“Thaaaanks, you’re really swell, mister…” I said, in a fake grateful tone, with a huge fake smile on my face.
“You’re…. welcome,” he said, still just confused and awkward. “D—do you want one?” he asked Jay.
“IIIII-IIIII-O-Ok…” as he carefully leaned forward, while ever-so slightly opening his mouth. I know the poor kid was scared as shit, because of the whole “facing years 40 years in a Texas prison thing,” but that’s kinda what made it fucking hilarious. I’m not just saying I laugh at inappropriate times and places to seem funnier, or for any other reason someone might claim that, when it’s not really true… it’s a real problem.
When we get to the station, for whatever reason, Rookie takes Jay, and The Asshole takes me. “Twist!” I thought to myself. I immediately tell them I had to use the restroom. If they caught that roach in my underwear, that’s another felony for bringing drugs into a jail. I did not need any help building these charges. They pointed to a room with a visible toilet in it, that faced all of them, and told me not to close the door. Somehow I flushed the roach. I didn’t even have to pee. No idea what I would’ve done had someone followed me in there. When I came out, The Asshole had my purse, and he told me to empty all of the contents onto the table so he could take inventory. While he’s doing this, I’d be able to use this “pay-phone on wheels” contraption to call whoever I wanted to.
I’m emptying out my purse, which I NEVER cleaned out – and it was a bottomless pit, as it was – when I find a fucking Mexican Ritalin at the bottom of it. See, remember how I said my parents knew everything I had on me, and sometimes gave me shit? I’d been prescribed Ritalin since the 7th grade. I’d since graduated to Adderall, but it still did the job. Back when it was safe(r), my parents would drive to Matamoros, on the Mexican border, every once in a bit, grab some good, old fashioned “just-in-cases” and come back. Once they got me Ritalin. And like a year later, one of them is in one of those aluminum/plastic push-pill silver square thingies, in the bottom of my purse. “Fuck.” …was really the only reaction one would have at this moment.
I had two choices:
1. Take that shit out and let him inventory it. Just give it to him.
2. Leave it in my purse. If he finds it, fine, but I’m damn sure not handing it to him.
It was an easy decision. He’s gotta werq for that shit. So while he’s going through a mountain of what I’m positive was probably the most entertaining “inventory” he’d seen in a minute, I’m about 10 feet away, at the rolly phone, calling my parents’ home number collect from jail. I can’t remember if I got a recording or what, but I couldn’t get through, and then it dawned on me:
SHIT. My parents used to get all pissed off when they’d get our phone bills during high school, when there’d be some hour-long collect call from jail on there at like 2am on a weeknight. I continued that tradition of having long talks with my friends in lockup into my early 20s, because I fucking suck at mail, and still do. The two numbers I had seared into my memory were Bokonon’s parents, Cory’s parents, and Sarah’s. Sarah didn’t answer any of her numbers, so I tried Bokonon’s dad, praying his step-monster Babby, who’s hated me since I was 14, didn’t answer. They made me record my name before I even dialed, so it was a point-of-no-return situation… I waited…
It starts ringing, then Babby picks up the phone with a sleepy/’what the hell’ tone, “Hello…?” Great.
“You have a collect call from an inmate at the Montgomery County Jail from… ‘It’s Lisa Killbuck…’ will you accept the charges?” Now I wait.
“Lisa?” Mr. Van (Bokonon’s dad, who loves me) answers, thank god she handed the phone to him! And HAHA!!!
“Hey Mr. Van, I’m so sorry to wake y’all up. I was just wondering if you could call my dad for me… Ya see, my parents got a jail block on their home phone back in the day, when Bokonon, Pat, and friends used to call me collect from jail all the time… I guess they never really thought to take it off once I moved out… Six years ago… Anyway, will you please call them for me, and let them know where I am, maybe?”
He was amazing about it, as he is all things. To this day, I think Mr. Van hung the moon.
“Hey, what’s this?” The Asshole asked, while holding up my Mexican Ritalin that he had to have just found in my purse.
“I gotta go, Mr. Van… Thanks again!!!”
Again, I had a choice to make. This experience is what I make it, may as well have fun with it. I mean, what if I write a book or something, someday? So with a smile on my face, and a fake, 50’s Stepford-housewife-happy, and matter-of-fact tone, I respond, “Oh! That’s Ritalin!” As if I were teaching him valuable knowledge. “Is that another charge?” I respectfully inquire.
Baffled, he says, “Um, well do you have a prescription for it?”
Still with the fake smile, and still acting completely dumb, yet matter-of-fact tone, I simply tell him the truth. “No… Oh, but my mother does! It’s a Mexican prescription… Does that count?” as I tilt my head to the side, casually inquiring. I don’t even know if I blinked while I had that smile on. Pretty sure it was complete with crazy-eyes.
The poor guy was more astounded now than when he was watching Rookie deal with the mints. “…No,” he said under his breath.
“Ok… Is that another one?” I said, smile fading, eyebrows raising, and tone disappearing.
“No,” he said, but I didn’t believe him. I didn’t want to set myself up for disappointment by doing so. The trustees, jailers, and whoever else got to see this prick on a regular basis, were finding it hard to keep their jaws off of the floor.
I was in jail with a girl who’d been shopping with her mom earlier that day. Her mom’s penicillin rolled out of her purse. Later that night, the daughter goes to the store for cigarettes, got pulled over for not signaling, got searched, and charged with the same thing I was charged with: ‘Possession of Dangerous Drugs’. Yes, that’s the actual charge.
Around 2am, two Mexican chicks who’d gotten into a Latina catfight at the local “discoteca” (yes, seriously), came in. Two total cholas (I say this with much affection), who spoke zero English. The “winner” of the fight was fuckin’ crazy, and they put her in a room by herself. The one who got all fucked up was with us. I remember her spitting blood and teeth into the toilet that was in the room with us. Then she started pulling out hair by the chunk, like a chemo patient, and flushing it. She had that beautiful, thick, long, black, Latina hair. So inevitably, the toilet backed up. She kept trying to flush it, and it was ALL over the floor. Every time she’d flush, the “puddle” got bigger & bigger. There was a drain in the center of the room, but there was a lot of water, piss, shit, blood, teeth, and now hair covering it up, preventing it from draining. We were all on the outer perimeter of the room, hoping the toilet water with piss, shit, blood, teeth, and hair didn’t touch us. We were acting like it was hot lava… cuz it kinda was. After about 2 hours of us screaming, they make us change rooms so they can clean it. Thanks, guys. Your prompt fucking action is enchanting.
My friend’s mother was working the jail that night. I’d always heard that if you weren’t wearing white underwear, bra, and socks, you just went without. I was without 2 outta 3, as it was, but my undies were purple, and very important to me in this situation. I don’t think it was a coincidence that right before it was my turn to take a shower (aka wash my entire body, including my hair, in that pink liquid soap that stinks like hell, that you usually find in bad gas station bathrooms), Mrs. Ward (friend’s mom I pretended I didn’t know) came in and said, “I want to see all of your shoulders and hips… Wake up ladies! Show me your shoulders and hips!” One chick got busted for keeping her undies on and had to go commando in her stripes. I felt so bad for her. Especially since I’d been in there for hours, and that was the first check of that nature I’d witnessed, so there probably wouldn’t be another one, so I was keeping my purple undies when I showered. They’re going to have to pry these underwear from my cold, dead hands!!! …Or at least tell me I have to change them.
When they call me to take my shower and change into my stripes about 30 min later, I was lead back by a trustee (inmate that’s trusted enough to work in the jail). I get to the stand-up shower, and it’s literally a button. No “hot/cold” anything, just … a fucking button.
Trustee leans in, with a smile on her face, “If you let it run a little bit, it gets warmer…” she semi-whispered to me, as if she were doing me a favor by giving me this pro-tip.
“Oh my god, thank you!!!” I said, gratefully. I press the button, standing there naked, with one arm under the water, just waiting to jump in. Waiting, waiting, still cold as hell, waiting, and then it just cuts off. “Shit.” Looks like I’m going to not only take a cold shower, but do it in a shower that was made for Oompa Loompa-sized people. I’m 5’9”… the shower stream hit the middle of my chest. I had to wash my hair, or at least have it wet when I came out, so I had to plié into position, in order to do so. It was already freezing in that building, this was just torture gravy.
I get back in the cell, with my XXL shirt I requested, so I could wrap it around me like a blanket, and pass out. But first, I need to see if Mr. Van got a hold of my dad, and how that convo went. I had no idea how long it’d been, but I knew it was at least an hour or two, right?
“Lisa?” Mr. Van said.
“Yeah… I’m so sorry to bother you again, but this has never happened to me, and I kinda don’t like it… I was just wondering if you were able to get a hold of my dad.”
“Oh, I got a hold of him, he knows.”
“Yeah? How’d that go?”
“Honestly, he’s pretty livid.” His exact words to me. “He wants to know if they caught you with the Mexican Ritalin they got you a while back, from when they went to Mexico.”
To this day, 13 years later, I’m still trying to figure out if he’d be madder, or more ‘at ease’ if that’s what I got caught with. He was livid either way, and that was his only inquiry?
“Yeah, that was part of it…” I said, cryptically.
“What else, in case he asks?” He was being so cool about it, because this was nothing compared to what his sons put him through.
“Mr. Van, should I be talking to you about this right now? On this call?”
“Oh god, you’re right, Lisa… Jesus! Thanks for reminding me I’m half asleep, dear.” Bokonon’s dad said, apologetically.
“No biggie… but seriously, thanks again… SO MUCH…” It honestly felt like he saved my life.
“No problem, Lisa. Good luck!”
A couple hours later comes (what they called) “breakfast”. I was skeptical, because for one, it was 4am. And “for two,” when it finally came, it was straight up slop. Is this oatmeal? Is there meat in it? Either way, why was it grey? We all ended up saying “fuck this” and gave our breakfasts back.
I end up passing out, and wake up to “Killbuck?” I open my eyes, and see a new guy that wasn’t there the night before. I know from my dad’s old schedules that shift change is at 7am and 7pm. When I walk out with him, I look at the clock and it’s 8am. Fuck yes. Closer. He takes me to “the counter”, turns their desk phone around toward me, and says, “Are you ready to call your daddy?” in the coppest, redneckiest accent, ever.
“Hee-HOOOO …Well ya gotta.” He clearly knew my father, and was enjoying this.
“You can’t do me this one favor?” I asked, acting as if I were flirting with him at a bar. From his enthusiasm, he knew my dad. This blows. I end up calling him, and of course, my mother is also on the line… I haven’t talked about her yet, but if I had an opposite on this earth, it was her. I’m not going to describe her in a paragraph, because it can’t be done. Just imagine textbook Narcissistic Personality Disorder (as a parent) symptoms, coupled with chronic The Sky is Falling Syndrome (ok, I made that one up, but it’s still the truth). I’m sure when they answered, she was the only one able to get a word in, and everything coming out of her mouth was nonsense about how this, alone, was going to land me on Texas’ Death Row. Then most likely, my dad, already frustrated as hell says something like, “Betty, I need you to hang up so I can talk to Lisa…” She most likely responded by talking about how she’s talked down to, “like a second-class citizen,” then finally hangs up. I can’t remember what any of us said, honestly, I just know it was chaos.
Got lead back to the cell, and then all my new friends and I went to court. All chained together, like a lil mini-chain gang. Before anything happens, an officer comes in, stops everything from moving forward, and says, “’Scuse me, your honor… A word?”
“Approach” is her response.
The cop goes up there, they cover the microphones, but you can still hear bits and pieces of words. I picked out “Sergeant Killbuck,” but not sure if anyone else did. Had this been earlier, I would’ve been worried about people “finding out” my dad was a cop, and getting the shit beat out of me, or all that other shit you hear about, and see in movies. But I’d already told them straight up about my dad, what I got busted for, etc. We’d already bonded over each other’s injustices. When they start reading my case, they stated I had Xanax, Loratab, Vicodin, Soma, Loracet, and Valium.
“I had a Valium in there?!” It was a clear outburst, but I honestly had no idea. That thing would’ve been long gone, had I knew.
The judge starts handing out bonds next. I got a “PR Bond”, and had to have that explained to me. Basically I don’t pay anything, as long as I pinky-swear to show up to court. Penicillin chick’s bond was $500… That made me feel like shit, but oh well.
Came back to the cell, passed out, hoping to sleep it away like a bad flight. Sleep’s amazing like that. Next thing I know, I’m being called to “dress out” aka change back into some normal fucking clothes!!! I did that, I walked out, and there my mother was, waiting on me. I hadn’t had a cigarette in 14 hours, and I was not looking forward to this minimum 25 minute ride. They gave me my cigarettes back with my purse (and yes, my Mexican Ritalin was in there). So I told my mom I needed a cigarette before I got in the car. I explained that it wasn’t just for me, it was for both of our safety.
Jay didn’t get 40 years, and kept doing pills. He eventually went away to a state rehab, which he had to wait for a bed at in Montgomery County Jail for nine months. Yes, a nine month wait for a jail-like rehab… IN JAIL. What finally did him in was (I’m assuming passing out at the wheel, and) taking out an exit sign on the freeway. Come to think of it, it was the exit sign for the same exit we did 30ish U-turns in the span of five minutes, but coming from the other way (Conroe, instead of Andrea’s on 1960, towards Houston). It was knocked down for weeks or months. I remember passing it all the time. He’s now married and has a wife and daughter, doing really well, actually, and has been for plenty of years, thank god.
I got six months “court supervision”, which is total actual probation, only it gets expunged in the end. I finished my community service two weeks late, which delayed my move to Austin, with a boy I’d met six months prior (named Austin), by the same amount… That’s when a brand new chapter started…