Read Online The Dark Lake by Anthea Carson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Anthea Carson
Ads: Link
fuck her up," one of them said.
"Be careful what you say in here," said the tall , lanky one.
"She the one that stole your identity?" said another one.
"All my credit cards, my driver's license; I get pulled over and accused of something she did with my license."
"What are you in here for ?” asked the girl next to me.
"I threw a brick into a tavern."
They all cracked up laughing.
"She funny , that girl,” said my former cellmate. “I kept buzzing the officer and she kept going, be cool man, it'll be fine man; she a riot."
"You gonna do time in county , you think?"
"I don't know, I hope not. What's it like in there?” I asked.
"It's nasty, but it's like anyplace."
"What do you mean?”
"You know, days pass, some people are nice, some are bad, you know, but you gotta stand up for yourself in there," my former cellmate said. "You gotta let ‘em know you ain’t takin' shit."
"They'll probably let you off ; this your first offense?" another girl asked.
"Yea h,” I said.
"You'll get off I bet, if it wasn't too bad. Was anyone hurt?"
I'd never thought of that.
"I don't even remember what happened. I was drunk."
This set them off on a whole new diatribe of drunk stories, one topping another. They had a lot of remember-when’s and was-you-there's? They went on for quite a while with this. Then this segued into other issues, like their own particular issues at trial, and what would they say to the judge. One had it all planned out. She would cry at just the right time. Always worked, she swore. They kept high-fiving each other.
I took some kind of plea bargain when my turn came (first of course) , and agreed to some classes and assault on my record, and a one-year probation. I would have to come back here and meet with an officer once a month.
I waited for my mom to pick me up in the courthouse waiting room. When she got there , I had to try to figure out where the car was. Once I did, I told her I was too afraid to drive, and didn't think I could make it. She said we would leave it there and try to get it later. I told her I'd lost my job, and that I think I needed to see Miriam. She seemed to soften up, and the drive home wasn't too unpleasant.
"Mom," I began . "I want to get help. I know something is wrong with me."
"We'll get you some help,” she said, choking back a sob.
"I'm trying. Or, at least I was."
"Maybe this will be a real turning point."
"I just want to know one thing , Mom. Why are they dragging the car out of the lake?"
There was an uncomfortable pause.
"Talk to Miriam about that. I'm in over my head."
The drive home was quiet after that.
I had a few peaceful weeks. I went back to AA. I was told I would need to be taking a drug test monthly, or weekly I guess. I said all the usual things at the meetings about how I had a slip, and how it was no different out there.
I was actually glad to be there. And I could sense the pressure was off about me getting a job , too. In fact, my mom started talking about how I might qualify for disability.
I took to sleeping a lot, and watching a lot of TV. I went to my weekly anger-management class. I had to jump through some hoops to get them located in Oshkosh as opposed to Milwaukee, but in the end I ended up really liking them. The guy who ran them seemed genuine, and he seemed to want to help. And I also had to take an alcohol class.
Things were beginning to stabilize.
10
During the first few anger-management classes I kept arguing with the teacher. After a few weeks I began to settle in, even learn a few things.
Among other things , I learned that Angela—a woman with long, red hair down to her fat ass—had a worse anger problem than I did. I learned that she was completely in denial about her temper as well. And I learned that Colleen—a pretty, young blonde with a ponytail—had a serious drinking problem. In fact, she passed out while driving with her two kids, all under three years old, in the car, and she was going to lose her
"Be careful what you say in here," said the tall , lanky one.
"She the one that stole your identity?" said another one.
"All my credit cards, my driver's license; I get pulled over and accused of something she did with my license."
"What are you in here for ?” asked the girl next to me.
"I threw a brick into a tavern."
They all cracked up laughing.
"She funny , that girl,” said my former cellmate. “I kept buzzing the officer and she kept going, be cool man, it'll be fine man; she a riot."
"You gonna do time in county , you think?"
"I don't know, I hope not. What's it like in there?” I asked.
"It's nasty, but it's like anyplace."
"What do you mean?”
"You know, days pass, some people are nice, some are bad, you know, but you gotta stand up for yourself in there," my former cellmate said. "You gotta let ‘em know you ain’t takin' shit."
"They'll probably let you off ; this your first offense?" another girl asked.
"Yea h,” I said.
"You'll get off I bet, if it wasn't too bad. Was anyone hurt?"
I'd never thought of that.
"I don't even remember what happened. I was drunk."
This set them off on a whole new diatribe of drunk stories, one topping another. They had a lot of remember-when’s and was-you-there's? They went on for quite a while with this. Then this segued into other issues, like their own particular issues at trial, and what would they say to the judge. One had it all planned out. She would cry at just the right time. Always worked, she swore. They kept high-fiving each other.
I took some kind of plea bargain when my turn came (first of course) , and agreed to some classes and assault on my record, and a one-year probation. I would have to come back here and meet with an officer once a month.
I waited for my mom to pick me up in the courthouse waiting room. When she got there , I had to try to figure out where the car was. Once I did, I told her I was too afraid to drive, and didn't think I could make it. She said we would leave it there and try to get it later. I told her I'd lost my job, and that I think I needed to see Miriam. She seemed to soften up, and the drive home wasn't too unpleasant.
"Mom," I began . "I want to get help. I know something is wrong with me."
"We'll get you some help,” she said, choking back a sob.
"I'm trying. Or, at least I was."
"Maybe this will be a real turning point."
"I just want to know one thing , Mom. Why are they dragging the car out of the lake?"
There was an uncomfortable pause.
"Talk to Miriam about that. I'm in over my head."
The drive home was quiet after that.
I had a few peaceful weeks. I went back to AA. I was told I would need to be taking a drug test monthly, or weekly I guess. I said all the usual things at the meetings about how I had a slip, and how it was no different out there.
I was actually glad to be there. And I could sense the pressure was off about me getting a job , too. In fact, my mom started talking about how I might qualify for disability.
I took to sleeping a lot, and watching a lot of TV. I went to my weekly anger-management class. I had to jump through some hoops to get them located in Oshkosh as opposed to Milwaukee, but in the end I ended up really liking them. The guy who ran them seemed genuine, and he seemed to want to help. And I also had to take an alcohol class.
Things were beginning to stabilize.
10
During the first few anger-management classes I kept arguing with the teacher. After a few weeks I began to settle in, even learn a few things.
Among other things , I learned that Angela—a woman with long, red hair down to her fat ass—had a worse anger problem than I did. I learned that she was completely in denial about her temper as well. And I learned that Colleen—a pretty, young blonde with a ponytail—had a serious drinking problem. In fact, she passed out while driving with her two kids, all under three years old, in the car, and she was going to lose her
Similar Books
