What Happened Next...

Christopher Meija was a rapist.

His first words out of the car were, “You’re drunk.” I hadn’t even had a chance to say anything. He was a hospice care giver who took advantage of the elderly. I bumped into his car at a light after helping Rebecca move.

His second set of words out of the car were, “I’m an EMT.”

In the front seat was his girlfriend. In his backseat was a confused elderly woman he had taken from her home.

His third set of words was, “I’m calling the cops.”

Christopher’s lesson that day was don’t call the cops when you’re in the middle of a crime. Meija was in the process of taking the woman back to his home so that he and his girlfriend could film themselves having sex with her in comfort.

Maybe his second lesson was don’t talk your girlfriend into raping the elderly. Or at least don’t let her anywhere near the cops after the fact.

Me, my lesson was never to admit to any wrong doing, whether it’s true or not.

Yes, I had one beer.

Rebecca and I… I thought we were still together. I guess I was wrong. I helped her move into her new place because I loved her. Because I wanted to be a part of her new life. At the very least because I thought we were friends.

I also thought one beer couldn’t hurt.

When we were done, she offered me a drink. I took her up on it. If she were sitting in a burning building, I would have sat with her. I would have done anything for another moment with her. So, yeah… I had a drink.

The cops showed up, I admitted to having had a drink. I passed the field sobriety tests with Meija and his girlfriend watching and scoffing at me. Over a fender bender. That caused no damage.

The cops held me until a special unit could arrive, one with a breathalyzer in the trunk of the car. I blew a .04. Turns out, though, a cop can arrest you for that, even though it’s half of what the legal limit. Because there was “an accident” involved, because Meija started to feign a neck injury, the officer arrested me.

Because there was “an accident” involved, I was charged with felonious drunk driving.

Meija talked about suing me.

But it was because of the accident that the arresting officers talked to the witnesses, including Meija’s girlfriend. Nervously, she mentioned the woman in the backseat was of no relation to either of them, contrary to what Meija was saying. They pressed her on it and she told them her family didn’t know she had been taken from her bed.

Within a month, Meija was arrested for raping the elderly in his care. He talked a lot more about suing me, then. I guess he was trying to use one attorney to pay for another.

I think about that fat, sack of crap sometimes, “I’m an EMT. You’re drunk. I’m calling the cops.”

My life wouldn’t be perfect if he had kept his mouth shut, allowed me to exchange insurance information and kept driving. Maybe I wouldn’t have been working so much because I had legal penalties to pay off. Maybe Rob wouldn’t have found me at work and through the wholly unlikely and unplanned events discovered the worst thing I have ever learned… that eating my flesh can reverse the Ratfanger’s Disease (Jesus, my life sounds so… unreal).

If he had just driven off, he might still be raping the elderly. I wouldn't have been arrested. I wouldn't have had to community service. I would be forced to take DUI classes. It’s hard to take comfort in the sacrifice, though.

Last Monday, and forgive me for how long it has been since I wrote last, since I began telling this story…

Last Monday, I walked into my DUI class, after dropping Charlie off at home. I was almost late. If I had been stuck in traffic even a minute longer, I would have been late. My group leader would have closed the door and not let me in. I would have had to pay a twenty-five dollar fine and had an extra session tacked onto my schedule.

But I was not late. I was just in time.

As part of our intro, we have to say our name, a class rule, and talk about our day. I felt very bad for Charlie. After all, she was the one who had gotten me a job, put me back on track to getting out of the Bronco, getting my life back after Rob attacked me at work and the store decided to appeal to protesters that I was a… “negative presence” that needed to be removed.

So, to tell the group about my day, I told them I found Charlie sitting on the edge of the hillside, drinking wine and watching the sunset. I told them all almost exactly what I told you. They asked if I had accepted a drink when she offered it to me. I said “yes”.

It was just a sip of wine.

But you’re not allowed to have even a drop of alcohol twenty-four before attending class.

My group leader locked the door, hit a button on the intercom.

She asked me if I had driven there.

I should have lied.

I should have lied.

I didn’t learn my lesson, standing there as Meija accused me of wrongdoing. I hadn’t learned it by the time I walked into class and told everyone a story I should have kept to myself. Or even immediately denied.

I had already told the class I’d given Charlie a ride home and that I was stuck in traffic on the way there. But I should have lied in that moment and started back-peddling.

“Stay with me, guys,” she said to the class. Within moments there were security guards outside the door. “The police will be here soon,” she said.

So, I Met a Girl...

Since running out on my dad, I’ve had a hard time… I don’t know. I’m trying not to think too much. 

So I left the Bronco and wandered through the old homes and poorly lit streets until I reached the peach-lit crowds of idiots that make up this neighborhood. I found my way into a bar, one close enough to hear the waves breaking down the block, sat down at a table and did quiet a nice job of not thinking of anything until a young woman in front of me threw a punch.

It was refreshing to see the punch wasn’t directed at me, but the man in front of her. He was almost a foot taller than she was, but it was a good solid punch and I don’t think I ever saw him get back up. People were standing so closely together, he hit a clump and slid down to the floor slowly, like a thawing sheet of ice.

By the time he had disappeared from view, she was looking back at me from the other side of the table. “Are you next?” she asked.

It seemed very likely she would decide the answer was “yes”, no matter what I said. It was to my great surprise that not long after we were holding each other up as we walked back through the old homes and poorly lit streets. “I’m telling you, you don’t want to go back to my place,” I said to her.

“I’m telling you, I don’t like to be told I like,” she said back to me. The unreal color of her skin seemed more natural in the street lights, and the faded green color of her sleeve tattoos seemed then to be a shimmering, fresh black color. Her hair was long and tightly wound to the back of her head with dark red chopsticks protruding out. She looked lean, but I had no idea how really strong she really was until she grabbed me by the collar and pinned me to the Bronco.

I thought maybe she’d kiss me. Instead she looked over my shoulder into the cabin. “What the hell is this?” she asked.

“Someone burned my house down,” I said to her. “This is… just what I have now.”

She nodded slowly, either she was falling asleep or resigning herself to the rest of her night. “Get in the car,” she said.

“Don’t you have a place you’d rather go to?” I asked unlocking the door.

“Yeah, I have a really nice place with an infinity pool and a third floor balcony. I just really love fucking losers who live in their car,” she said crawling into the driver’s seat in front of me.

“There’s a charm about you that’s hard to place,” I said, getting in.

She sat in the passenger’s seat and pushed her foot against my chest, driving me between the chairs into the backseat. “Yeah, I’m a charmer,” she pulled the driver’s door closed and crawled back, straddling me. Her breath smelled like the whiskey we’d bought at the pharmacy on the way back, but her neck still smelled of sun tan lotion. It was salty, and firm against my tongue. She leaned into me, working her fingers into my hair, until taking a hand full and pulling me back.

She held me there, looking down at my face maybe twenty or thirty seconds. “I have to admit,” I said, “I’m not really sure what’s going on right now.”

She looked to the left and right of me, to towel that has begun to collect cat hair draped across the back. “Are you sure it was your house that burned down?”

“It’s been kind of a bad year,” I told her.

She looked down at my lips, tracing her tongue against the rim of her lower. “It’s only February,” she said.

I sort of shrugged my shoulders. What a depressing thought.

She continued to hold me by the head, shifting left and right on my lap, either content to slowly work her way closer into me or like a cat wriggling its tail before it’s pounces. “Why did you punch that guy?” I asked.

She leaned in, biting down on my lip. I’m sure you can imagine how scary that is for me. I could feel it where my nipple used to me. But she didn’t go down too hard at first, but slowly got there, sliding her hand down the side of my face, breathing into my mouth.

This is a bad idea, I thought as I placed my hands upon her waist.

My heart began to pick up, I could feel it in my wrists as her wriggle became a forceful rocking.

Good ideas aren’t all they’re cracked up to be.

On the plus side: I managed to stop thinking about whatever I had set out to stop thinking about.

Catching Up

I’m sorry I haven’t been checking in more. I don’t want to be one of those people who only writes when there’s something bad going on.

And, when this is all over, when there’s a cure for Ratfanger’s Disease that doesn’t involve harvesting my tissue and “#EatADick” is no longer trending in social media, I want to be able to read all this and remember life for what it was and not only the misery I seem to always be writing here.

Life has actually been pretty good and I need to take the time to recognize that. I bought a notepad and when I find myself stressed out about stuff, I try to write what I want to be believe and focus on that. I don’t know if you’ve seen my sloppy penmanship on Twitter, but I try sharing those thoughts as much as I can. I figure if I can come out on top of all this with a better attitude than I used to have, maybe I can help other people stay positive when their lives get rough.

That way it will all be worthwhile.

So, one thing I’ve found is that since all this homelessness stuff, since saving all the money from work for getting a new place to live, I’ve lost some weight. That and the fact that I completely changed my hairstyle seems to keep people from recognizing me as much. I don’t have to walk with my head down when I’m in public. When I go out I don’t feel the need to hide my face. It’s been really nice.

Since that morning crawling back onto the beach, I’ve cut back on drinking. Admittedly I still go out, but it’s just to be social. Spending every night in the Bronco on the burned out remains of my backseat can be a little tiresome. People seem to like me when I go out. It’s been a while since I felt that way.

It doesn’t feel fake, either, even though I’m not really being completely honest about who I am. I feel more like myself than I have in years.

Work is good, probably part of the reason I’ve lost weight and look a bit different than I used to. It involves a lot of heavy lifting. They still call me “Pepe” which apparently stems from Charlie talking me up to my boss and tell him I’m very “peppy”. But on brake I get to hang around the museum and relax outside. Charlie and I have lunch every once in a while in her office. She’s been a tremendously good friend to me. After Trevor and “Rebecca”… It just feels good to trust someone.

Mostly we sit in her office and she plans her wedding. Her fiancée lives up North so after work I’ll run errands with her. Wedding planning is… tedious, by most standards. But when you’ve been living alone in your car for months, when your only other friends are the people in your DUI classes or in your mandatory community service, going from bakery to bakery and trying cake is actually pretty nice.

In fact, there’s one in Lemon Grove, and they give you a whole slice of the cake and coffee and on your year anniversary, they give you a layer of your cake for free. They were really nice. If you’re getting married, and you’re probably not if you’re reading this, you should go there.

No judgment on the “if you’re reading this” part. No one who reaches out to me or DM’s me ever seems to be over 14.

On the plus side: There are a lot of people calling me “faggot” in Twitter DM’s.