BAILOUT
Rage makes you stupid.
It’s one of the things I learned today, along with “trust your instincts” and “shitting in public is impossible.”
I’m no stranger to anger problems. I try not to let it rule me though fuck if I don’t have a lot of shit to be angry about. But I think I have been pretty good about it. I can blow up on occasion but most of the time I just shove the rage somewhere deep inside. Or I don’t even process it at all. Like water off a duck’s ass. Back. Whatever.
Before I even pulled the car down Perry’s street, I knew the clusterfuckery that lay ahead of us. Not even that, I could hear it. Don’t ask me how, in fact be prepared to not ask me a lot of things. Trust me, I don’t have answers. But I could hear, in my head I guess, Max’s voice telling everyone to calm down. I could sense a gathering of people, authority figures, more than just her family. So when we came to her house and saw the cop cars, I wasn’t all that surprised.
I was just unprepared.
I should have had a better plan than to just get out of the car and walk toward the house, hand in hand with Perry as a show of solidarity. I just wanted her parents, Max, the cops, to see that I hadn’t kidnapped her, she had gone willingly. I selfishly wanted to prove myself to them. And jab them in the eyes a little bit. You know, the whole oooh but look who your daughter chose in the end, muahaha.
Yeah, I’m that petty. You should know this by now.
But I was totally unprepared for the reality of everything. Knowing Max and our fucked-up relationship, I still didn’t think he would so easily turn on me. Or on her. He was supposed to care about her. For fuck’s sake, he stuck his… no, I don’t even want to think about it. I’ll vomit.
And when Perry’s father came roaring for me, Mr. Fists O’ Fury, I didn’t expect him to be so nuts. Did I deserve the punch? Yes. God, yes. For the way I acted with Perry, after, you know…I totally deserved it. I deserved a thousand of them and under any other circumstance I would have gladly stood in line for a firing squad of fat Italian knuckles. But this wasn’t just for that. It was for assuming I had stolen their daughter away, abducted her into the night so I could do all sorts of hellish things to her. In an ideal world I could do hellish things to her and she’d love it but in this world I came to save Perry. No one else seemed to give a shit.
So, stupid me, even though one of my worst case scenarios involved some police action, I figured I’d be able to talk to them like they were rational human beings. You know, funny story but this is all a BIG misunderstanding and then we’d all laugh about it. I did not expect them to come after me like I’d just assassinated the mayor of Portland.
Click. Click. Two cold, metal handcuffs around the wrist.
I’d never been arrested before but I thought maybe they’d just tell me to come with them or they’d at least place those plastic cuffs on. I mean, I wasn’t a menace to society. But the click, click, was preceded by my arms being grabbed and yanked roughly behind me and followed by a cop reading me my rights.
Part of me felt like laughing at the absurdity of it all and I was this close to telling them to shut up, I’d watched Law & Order enough times, I knew my rights. But it was not being arrested that kept the humor sucked out of me. It was feeling utterly helpless as Maximus appeared and went straight for Perry, holding her back with his stupid GI Joe arms.
In that moment time did its funny slow-down dance and all three of us were communicating soundlessly. Both Perry and Max were looking at me and I was torn between trying to figure out what the fuck Max really wanted and letting Perry know she was going to be OK.
The problem was, I was in handcuffs and being shoved toward the cop car. I wasn’t even sure if I was going to be OK, how was I going to be sure about her? I was already breaking the promise I made to myself earlier, that I would do absolutely everything in my power to protect her. As if I had some bloody powers, as if I was some kind of hero. All it took was stepping out of the crunched-up Highlander for me to get punched in the face and put in police custody.
Max, never taking his hawk eyes off me, leaned into Perry and whispered into her ear “Don’t fight it Perry, do as I say. I won’t let them take you anywhere but you have to play nice and play fair. Calm down.” I felt my blood boil hot, my face flushing, burning. He was trying to take my role again, AGAIN! The nerve of that ginger bastard telling Perry, my Perry, to calm down, while she was struggling against him.
Perry wasn’t having any of it though and I could feel her thoughts slamming at me. She was more worried about me than about herself. Her eyes were wet with unshed tears and vibrant with the same sort of anger that was seething through me.
I’ll be fine, I thought hard trying to get the message across the yard with just my eyes. Whether she got the message or not, I didn’t know, and it didn’t matter because it was suddenly no longer about me.
A tall man with a patronizing tilt of the head and a falsely distinguished style, like a little kid wearing grown-up clothes, came out of the house and calmly walked toward Perry and Max. It was Perry’s shrink, Doctor Freebody or whoever. I never met the man but I had met enough shrinks to pick them out in a crowd. This was the enemy and he was here for her.
I must have grunted or cried out and I was trying to get to her but the cops kept me under control. For now.
They pushed me toward the car and shoved me in the back seat. I yelped, twisting in my seat, fighting them, only to see Perry being engulfed by the doctor’s shadow. My heart felt shadowed too, a giant eclipse that squeezed the life out of me.
I had lost her once before. I couldn’t lose her again.
I thrashed in the seat as the car lurched and roared away from the house and down the street. I was screaming, yelling, the cops were threatening me with things I didn’t understand. English was a language I no longer understood. The only thing I heard, the only thing I responded to, was rage.
And rage makes you stupid.
I knew it was nearly impossible to escape out of a moving police car. I knew that if I attempted to kick out the side window with both my hands behind me, my feet would either do nothing, or if I was shit-out-of-lucky, I would get one foot stuck in the glass. And then what? Somehow squeeze out of the window while the car is moving at 20 miles an hour?
I knew all these things. But rage doesn’t. The power of the anger flowing through me, the urge to get back to Perry while I could, had raised me into another level of consciousness. In other words, I was bat-shit crazy.
Therefore, what happened next was a blur.
With a roar that was neither internal nor external I leaned back in the seat and then propelled my legs forward. My boots met the glass and shattered it with an explosion of light and glitter that filled the car like a snowstorm.
The brakes screeched but the car didn’t stop. I didn’t have much time. I don’t know how I broke the glass so easily and I don’t know how I shimmied myself out of the car legs first. I don’t know how I was airborn for a few seconds before my shoulder hit the grass at the side of the road and I tumbled along like a rag doll. I don’t know how I immediately got to my feet, shaking broken glass out of my hair, and started running back the way we came, not even giving a backward glance to the cop car.
I don’t know how any of this happened. All I did know was that I had to get to Perry and get her out of there. If Max, the doctor, anyone touched a single hair on her head, I was going to rip shit up. If you think I went Hulk just there, you have no idea. At that moment even I had no idea, I just knew it wasn’t going to be pretty.
Unfortunately, even though I felt no pain and was running along with glass streaming off of me, maybe just blocks away from Perry, I was also running with my hands behind my back. It made things a bit awkward. And the closing darkness made things a bit hazy. And my fucking boots that helped me escape the car got caught on the lip of a tree root and went flying for the ground.
Dirt meet face. That was going to leave a mark.
I groaned and winced, the movement making the dirtburn on my cheek sting. I had no time to wallow in it. I got up to my feet took a step and heard:
“Freeze!”
Just like in the movies. They actually yelled “freeze.” Wish they added, “punk” at the end of it.
Also wish I had actually froze on my own accord instead of turning around to face them with a sneer. The officer facing me, who looked suspiciously like that douche from those dance movies, had a look of fear and fire in his face. Oh, and he was holding a taser aimed at me.
I sneered at the taser. In rage mode I didn’t think anything could stop me. I began to move.
The next thing I knew there was a crackle of electricity in the air. My body went completely stiff, painfully, unbearably rigid like a board as I felt my muscles being hit by a million sledgehammers. My motor skills ceased to function. I had no control over anything. Now I was frozen and yet completely aware of what was going on at the same time. Please don’t let me shit my pants, I thought.
I was aware I was getting consistently lower to the ground. Aware that my breath was hitched, my body was convulsing in stretched lines. Aware that the dirt was coming up to meet my face. Again.
As soon as I hit the ground like a sack of potatoes, it stopped and I shot off a round of expletives that would even make non-rage/non-tased Dex blush. The pain was over and I was left feeling like I had been run over by a buffalo stampede…if the buffalo were all live wires.
In my state of total exhaustion, the officers were able to handle me and quickly got me to my feet while they called in another cop car. They seemed scared of their captive and when they brought me toward the car, which had been stopped up the road, I could see why. I saw the damage I did when I hit the ground. I saw the glass shattered at the rear window. I wondered how I managed to pull that off and from the looks I saw the officers shooting each other, I could tell they were wondering the same thing.
I made it back to the police station in a paddy wagon. I suppose now I was a threat, if I wasn’t already before. They could throw the book at me for trying to resist arrest, for trying to escape. The rage I felt, the need to get back to Perry, was still there ebbing beneath the surface but the rational part of my noggin at least had some control. My balls had been too big for my britches and now they were barely there. I hoped the tasing didn’t do any serious damage.
Once at the station I was put through a round of questioning by some surly-looking individuals. I was photographed – and I smiled through it all (why not, I had a nice smile). I would have thought I’d be shown to a doctor since I had been tased, but they never made any mention of the event and I didn’t want to press my luck by bringing it up. I was stripped of all my belongings; my cell phone, my money, my notepad.
Then I was given a very thorough pat down. I had wondered if my balls were still around and I can tell you, yes they sure are, officer Zucotti found them. It was sad that ever since Jenn and I broke up, that that was the most action I had gotten. Thank god Zucotti was a gentle beast.
With my dignity and male-groping virginity gone, I was then showed to my cell. The guards took me past the holding cells that were filled with a smorgasbord of Portland’s vagrants, criminals and drunks (and there were a lot from each category) and put me in a cell that had only one other guy.
He was sitting on the aluminum shitter and emitting a stench that made my eyes water. It was like a stanky-ass car wreck, I wanted, needed, to look away and give the man some privacy but it was fucking hard when the cell only consisted of two concrete slabs with thin mattresses on top and the sink. And the shitter. And the man on the shitter.
I would later find out his name was Gus.
Gus and I had a lovely time bonding. He was huge and wide, like a muscular elephant or Vin Diesel’s bigger cousin, and covered with tats from head to toe. They literally went up his neck and onto the giant expanse of his bald head. But he was surprisingly well-spoken. He’d been there all day for violating his parole. I didn’t ask what his crime was – I didn’t know how to react if he said he’d murdered his landlord or something like that (“Oh, that’s cool. Right on.”). But he was keen to interrogate me. I guess he felt we had no secrets if I’d seen him shit.
“There’s this girl,” I started and immediately winced at how cliché that sounded. We were sitting across from each other on the cold mattresses. I had no clue what time it was.
“Isn’t there always?” Gus replied. Also cliché.
“Yeah. Well, not usually. Not for me. But she’s…she’s in a fuckload of trouble.”
“Trouble and women go hand in hand.” Gus squeezed one of his hands with the others. I heard his bones pop. He smiled, blinding white veneers.
“That they do.”
I wasn’t sure how much I could tell Gus without him thinking I was crazy but I figured if you can’t tell the truth to your fucking inmate, who can you tell the truth to?
“Did you try and kill her?”
The glib way he said it, glib and utterly sincere, made me raise my brows to the roof.
“No,” I said carefully. Though, if the exorcism had failed, wouldn’t that have been a consequence? I felt sick at the thought. The smell in here didn’t help either.
“I didn’t try to kill her. I tried to save her. She was sick. I wasn’t around…we had a fight, I guess you could call it.”
He nodded knowingly. I didn’t like that he was relating to me. It made me wonder just the kind of person I was.
I continued, “And after the fight we didn’t speak for a while. She just cut me out of her life. Did I deserve it? Yes. Did I think she’d actually never talk to me again? No. Actually I didn’t. You know, she and I…we fight all the time. In small ways. I think it’s because we like to push each other’s buttons. You know how some people really get under your skin…and you like it? I fucking loved it. She pushed me, poked at me. She questioned me, kicked me, annoyed me. She was always there, digging, digging, digging and I loved every second of it. I fucking hate talking about myself but she cared so much to get to the bottom of me, like I was some sort of mystery. I don’t think I’ve ever had anyone like that in my whole life, someone who wanted to know you, the real you, and wanted you to be a better person, a better man.”
“Did you become a better man?”