An Adverse Reaction to Valentines Day
Like the rest of my life, Valentines' Day leaves me somewhat torn. I am the most hopelessly romantic jaded realist I know. I find myself sending out all of this love and heart manufactured happiness and totally believing in my intentions, yet raising an eyebrow to any suitor who crosses my path with a great deal of suspiscion.
I hate those girls who whine about the day for lack of cards and candy. That is just rather lame. Growing up I always looked forward to the day, special someone or not. It's like Christmas. Commercialization or not, the principle is good. A noble idea. Showering those you hold dear with a little extra love. I eat it up.
When I was 18, I had my first Valentines Day lesson. I won one of those lovely high school princess titles and got to wear my sash as "Queen of Hearts." It was odd because I was not the typical high school sweetheart, but as I do have the vanity of a true Scorpio's nature, I devoured it. But, at the end of the day, I was still a girl in my gown shoveling out her car from a blizzard. That sash was of no use.
By 19, Valentines Day changed my life. I had decided that staying in my small town to be with my drug dealer boyfriend was so much better than attending college in New York. What can I say? I am awesome when it comes to weighing my options.
I was at work at a truck stop motel. It was quiet. Then the phone rang. One of my friends from out of town was staying with me. She asked if I was sitting down. The boyfriend had been busted. Not "I got pulled over and had some shit on me", but involved in a federal undercover operation. It was like someone walked up and sucker punched me and then ripped out my small intestine. I felt sick. The room was spinning. Being a chick, my first thought was how I had said, "holding that much stuff on you is a bad idea!" and "the spot is bound to draw attention and fall eventually." Dealers do not have a good shelf life on a residential street. Then it hit me, I was gonna be under surveillance most likely too. It was a matter of time before my apartment would be searched. This is why living with a dealer sucks ass.
I think I may have one of the best boss talks in the history of having to speak to a supervisor ever. My old boss was a trucker himself, and had a heart of gold though. He looked out for me all through high school. But, conjuring up the words to say, "I gotta leave right now before I take the fall with my idiot boyfriend" is a crappy convo to have. I was straight up about the situation. He told me to go and wished me luck.
Every movie that shows the scene of trying to get rid of evidence is true. It was frantic. Anything that "could be used against me" had to go. And I only had one friend (who was not even legal in the US) there because the last thing I needed was extra traffic. As you all know, my writing documents my truth. Alot of truth. Too much truth. So, it had to go. I remember taking the two Rubbermaid(I wonder if they would like that plug?) containers to a guy's bachelor pad and telling him "Please don't read this, or ask questions, but hide it." That alone was nerveracking. Every thought, dream, story was conveniently packaged and at that point, in someone else's possession. Thank God it was a good friend.
As for the stash and the paraphenalia, it had to go far. I drove to a trailer about fifty miles outside of town with $7,000 worth of crap on my person. I saw every cop I passed as a predator that would destroy me. And, it wasn't even mine. I was just left to clean up a big fuckin mess. It was surreal. I don't think I said a word on that drive.
When I got to the trailer and dumped it to a guy who would eventually steal it and leave town (No honor amongst thieves I suppose), I finally just dropped to my knees and cried. I was scared, relieved, mad, sad...............a million little fractals of human emotion. Everyone there just stood quietly and stared. They knew how much I wanted to escape that town, that way of life, and they knew I was at that pivotal point of......."maybe not". I did what any psycho junkie girlfriend would do at that point, and I did a gram of total crap. Bad cut. It was soapy to the touch and flaked as my razor touched it. I didn't care. A couple people told me that it was a bad idea, but what did I care? This was the outcome of a long series of very bad ideas. It seemed to fit the situation in my mind. I wanted to be free of the situation, so I took the mental approach.
I went to my parents' house for what was supposed to be a happy family dinner and had to warn them of the next day's newpaper headlines. I watched my parents lose faith in me with a single sentence. I wanted to crawl in a hole.
I had to then go make the "favor rounds" and ask for bail money. It was horrible. I was in rooms that smelled of "corrosion and death" promising it would all be handled post indictment. I ended up having to post the remaining bond with my car title. As the lady warned me that I would be held responsible, I just nodded. I hated him for this. If he skipped bond, I had no problem with turning him in myself. This was now business. I also paid the retainer fee for a top lawyer. Hate.
My phone rang off the hook that night. I couldn't even answer. I had to take my friend to another friend's house so that she would not be asked for papers. I was alone. As I kept seeing the "unknown" caller ID pop up, I knew it was him. I couldn't bring myself to talk. I didn't want to hear the "I love you's" and "I'm so sorry". I wanted to sit in the ash and ponder my rise. I was threatened by the big wig who was still free so I knew that my options were limited. I answered investigators questions in a state of unknowing shock. It was the toughest role I had ever played. Dumb girlfriend.
I went to work the next day still shellshocked. I knew what my options were. I grabbed an atlas and stared blankly at all the faceless cities. This was not the time for NYC, so I had to reevaluate. I picked 10 cities that I always liked and put there names in a pile and drew........
He was home when I walked in. A million apologies ensued. A million promises. I was numb. Then it happened. He dropped to his knee and proposed. It was all I could do to keep from laughing. I had asked before, if he had to choose, drugs or me, what would he choose? The answer was always silence. Now, my competition had fallen out of the race. I just stared blankly at him. "I am moving. And I will never come back here." I then called my parents and told them I was leaving. Two months later, job and apartment lined up, I was gone.
I hated him for using me as the branch to cling to as he had willfully jumped into the raging floodwaters.
Oddly, I learned the lesson from afar three years later. Valentines day and I got the "busted" call from another boyfriend's sister. It was like Groundhog's Day. But I digress. By this time, I kept men at arm's length.
So, Valentines' Day is two things to me. A heartbreaking reminder and a chance to hope for more. This year, I am just trying to post bond for my heart.
I hate those girls who whine about the day for lack of cards and candy. That is just rather lame. Growing up I always looked forward to the day, special someone or not. It's like Christmas. Commercialization or not, the principle is good. A noble idea. Showering those you hold dear with a little extra love. I eat it up.
When I was 18, I had my first Valentines Day lesson. I won one of those lovely high school princess titles and got to wear my sash as "Queen of Hearts." It was odd because I was not the typical high school sweetheart, but as I do have the vanity of a true Scorpio's nature, I devoured it. But, at the end of the day, I was still a girl in my gown shoveling out her car from a blizzard. That sash was of no use.
By 19, Valentines Day changed my life. I had decided that staying in my small town to be with my drug dealer boyfriend was so much better than attending college in New York. What can I say? I am awesome when it comes to weighing my options.
I was at work at a truck stop motel. It was quiet. Then the phone rang. One of my friends from out of town was staying with me. She asked if I was sitting down. The boyfriend had been busted. Not "I got pulled over and had some shit on me", but involved in a federal undercover operation. It was like someone walked up and sucker punched me and then ripped out my small intestine. I felt sick. The room was spinning. Being a chick, my first thought was how I had said, "holding that much stuff on you is a bad idea!" and "the spot is bound to draw attention and fall eventually." Dealers do not have a good shelf life on a residential street. Then it hit me, I was gonna be under surveillance most likely too. It was a matter of time before my apartment would be searched. This is why living with a dealer sucks ass.
I think I may have one of the best boss talks in the history of having to speak to a supervisor ever. My old boss was a trucker himself, and had a heart of gold though. He looked out for me all through high school. But, conjuring up the words to say, "I gotta leave right now before I take the fall with my idiot boyfriend" is a crappy convo to have. I was straight up about the situation. He told me to go and wished me luck.
Every movie that shows the scene of trying to get rid of evidence is true. It was frantic. Anything that "could be used against me" had to go. And I only had one friend (who was not even legal in the US) there because the last thing I needed was extra traffic. As you all know, my writing documents my truth. Alot of truth. Too much truth. So, it had to go. I remember taking the two Rubbermaid(I wonder if they would like that plug?) containers to a guy's bachelor pad and telling him "Please don't read this, or ask questions, but hide it." That alone was nerveracking. Every thought, dream, story was conveniently packaged and at that point, in someone else's possession. Thank God it was a good friend.
As for the stash and the paraphenalia, it had to go far. I drove to a trailer about fifty miles outside of town with $7,000 worth of crap on my person. I saw every cop I passed as a predator that would destroy me. And, it wasn't even mine. I was just left to clean up a big fuckin mess. It was surreal. I don't think I said a word on that drive.
When I got to the trailer and dumped it to a guy who would eventually steal it and leave town (No honor amongst thieves I suppose), I finally just dropped to my knees and cried. I was scared, relieved, mad, sad...............a million little fractals of human emotion. Everyone there just stood quietly and stared. They knew how much I wanted to escape that town, that way of life, and they knew I was at that pivotal point of......."maybe not". I did what any psycho junkie girlfriend would do at that point, and I did a gram of total crap. Bad cut. It was soapy to the touch and flaked as my razor touched it. I didn't care. A couple people told me that it was a bad idea, but what did I care? This was the outcome of a long series of very bad ideas. It seemed to fit the situation in my mind. I wanted to be free of the situation, so I took the mental approach.
I went to my parents' house for what was supposed to be a happy family dinner and had to warn them of the next day's newpaper headlines. I watched my parents lose faith in me with a single sentence. I wanted to crawl in a hole.
I had to then go make the "favor rounds" and ask for bail money. It was horrible. I was in rooms that smelled of "corrosion and death" promising it would all be handled post indictment. I ended up having to post the remaining bond with my car title. As the lady warned me that I would be held responsible, I just nodded. I hated him for this. If he skipped bond, I had no problem with turning him in myself. This was now business. I also paid the retainer fee for a top lawyer. Hate.
My phone rang off the hook that night. I couldn't even answer. I had to take my friend to another friend's house so that she would not be asked for papers. I was alone. As I kept seeing the "unknown" caller ID pop up, I knew it was him. I couldn't bring myself to talk. I didn't want to hear the "I love you's" and "I'm so sorry". I wanted to sit in the ash and ponder my rise. I was threatened by the big wig who was still free so I knew that my options were limited. I answered investigators questions in a state of unknowing shock. It was the toughest role I had ever played. Dumb girlfriend.
I went to work the next day still shellshocked. I knew what my options were. I grabbed an atlas and stared blankly at all the faceless cities. This was not the time for NYC, so I had to reevaluate. I picked 10 cities that I always liked and put there names in a pile and drew........
He was home when I walked in. A million apologies ensued. A million promises. I was numb. Then it happened. He dropped to his knee and proposed. It was all I could do to keep from laughing. I had asked before, if he had to choose, drugs or me, what would he choose? The answer was always silence. Now, my competition had fallen out of the race. I just stared blankly at him. "I am moving. And I will never come back here." I then called my parents and told them I was leaving. Two months later, job and apartment lined up, I was gone.
I hated him for using me as the branch to cling to as he had willfully jumped into the raging floodwaters.
Oddly, I learned the lesson from afar three years later. Valentines day and I got the "busted" call from another boyfriend's sister. It was like Groundhog's Day. But I digress. By this time, I kept men at arm's length.
So, Valentines' Day is two things to me. A heartbreaking reminder and a chance to hope for more. This year, I am just trying to post bond for my heart.
posted by Dejenerate @ 5:09 AM
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