| Current music: | Kevin Devine//Cotton Crush |
I'd like to say that the small, rectangular mattress pad I was currently sitting on didn't smell like urine, or that I truly believed this was the last time I would find myself behind bars; curse words and threats chipping away at their coat of black paint.
I would also like to say that my arrest would come as a surprise to my family, that they would be disappointed and worried about what kind of person I was becoming.
I would like to say a lot of things, but I can't say any of those things and mean them.
For so long I had been on the run, putting what I thought was substantial distance between myself and…well, myself, and until tonight I actually believed that I could escape. Now I was at a dead stop, exactly where I was meant to be, on this worn, plastic pad that reeked of piss, with the entire lineage of my family reverberating inside the otherwise empty cell.
No one was surprised when I called with a residue of anger in my voice, requesting bail money. In my family, an arrest was like a rite of passage, something the needed to occur in order to keep in step with tradition. At that point I was a late bloomer, always a few beats off, but I had quickly gained ground that fall; the Fall of Self Destruction as I like to call it.
I tried my hardest to sit as lightly and still as possible, hoping any diseases on the surface of the cot wouldn't climb aboard my jeans. I felt ill prepared in that I hadn't any stow away objects on my person that would allow me to carve my own curse words and threats into the black, rotting teeth of the jail cell. I chipped away at my red nail polish, creating what little chaos I could in this suffocating, concrete environment.
My mom knew how to get to the station without being told.
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