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.

Where Things Went Wrong

I’m sorry for not writing sooner. This is the story that begins with me at work and ends with me in jail.

Again.

This weekend was fun, if not confusing in its own ways, but Monday came and I still found myself feeling very guilty about preferring to sleep in my car rather than stay with my dad and his boyfriend. I had tried everything I could think of to come to some resolution to how guilty I felt, drinking until things made more sense, confiding in a stray cat, fucking an absolutely bonkers chick who made it clear she did not care about my problems. Nothing worked.

For the record, yes, it is unusual to say “bonkers” unless you’ve met someone like Sam.

However, Charlie has a good head on her shoulders and I really figured, if nothing else, I’d be able to talk to her. I showed up to work early but she wasn’t in her office yet. The day went slowly, every task felt menial. I tried talking to some of my co-workers, but their English is poor and my Spanish is entirely absent. One of them does speak English a bit more so I tried getting his thoughts on the matter. Now, instead of calling me “Pepe” he calls me “Pussy”. I guess worrying about hurting your father’s feelings is not a tremendously masculine plight in his eyes.

I got to lunch early and went to Charlie’s office. Since she got me this job, I’ve always been able to swing by and talk to her about her wedding, about work, about whatever. She always makes time for me, is always gracious and kind. But she wasn’t in her office. In fact, this time I simply opened the door and went in, only to discover nothing was in her office but an empty desk and a chair that lay on its back, a few feet from where it normally sat.

I text her. I called. I DM’ed her on Twitter. No response.

I walked through the office trying to find out what happened. People pretended to not hear me. At first it seemed clear something terrible had happened. Halfway through the rest of my work shift I realized people always treat you that way when they routinely see you scraping the bottom of their trashcans clean.

On my way out to the car, I saw her car parked not too far away. Normally she parks much closer to the museum. The janitorial staff, we park way out by the Hall of Champions, a rundown gymnasium rotting in the foreground of the boarded-up Spreckels Theater. It would be a far more dismal location if not for where the parking lot drops off, above the 5 and 163 junction, looking at eye-level upon the downtown city skyline. Out there, on the edge of the parking lot, just where asphalt ends and the grass bends shortly before it’s drop into the golden shimmer of the setting sun, I saw Charlie.

“I’m sorry I’ve not been answering my phone,” she said as I approached. There was a plastic bag tucked under her folded legs, she strangled the neck of the wine bottle in front of her.

“I was afraid something happened. I thought maybe someone grabbed you to get to me… maybe.”

“Not everything is about you,” she said, patting the grass beside her. I took a seat, looking out at the buildings turning shades of blue and purple in the fading day, glowing orange at their tops the more the sun met their level. “Do you know how much time I put into this job?”

“What happened?” She passed the bottle to me but I waved it off.

“They said there’s not been enough funding to keep me on. Those fucking morons.”

“Aren’t you – Isn’t that your job, raising donations?”

“Yes. But donations have been drying up for eight years. Only in the last three years since I took this job has that been leveling out.”

“So, they just got rid of the one person who was getting them any donations?”

“So they fired me. Told me I’m not good enough at my job. They’ll bring in someone else, maybe pay them a little less. It’s not like you can just get rid of the position.”

“I’m so sorry,” I said. Around the green glass, her hand was turning red and purple, until I had to place my hand on her wrist and take the bottle away for fear it was going to shatter in her hand. 

“Don’t make me drink alone,” she said.

“I can’t. I’ve got that dumb DUI class tonight.”

She scoffed a bit, tried to hide it with a smile, then reached over and took the bottle back. “I worked a long time to get this job. I don’t know why I was stupid enough to even want it.”

Below the streets were still, filled with cars. Even the green-lights failed to move anyone forward as the intersections were so congested there was no longer room for anyone to move forward. “Did I ever tell you what I was doing here the day you met me, offered to get me this job?”

“Someone had kidnapped you. You had that gunshot wound.”

“Yeah, well, that was part of it. After escaping, I ran to a homeless encampment not far from here. I had to clean it up one day for community service which was the only way I knew it was there. I spent the day just hiding. There was a guy I’d seen there before, a complete and total mess. I mean, I try not to judge too much, but when you stand out at a homeless shelter… it just feels mean to get into too much detail. It wasn’t pretty. But a few weeks after I started working here, I saw him. He was working at a coffee shop, clean, together. I don’t know where he’s living but he made it out of that camp.”

“That was the worst story anyone has ever told me,” she said.

“Yeah, I think–”  

“That was the worst timing to tell that story, too. If you were to call me right now, tell me my mother had been sexually assault in a Banana Republic before going into extreme detail about how it happened, it would not be worse than the story you told me just now.”

“I feel like that’s sort of an extreme response to what I said.”

“I’m in sort of an extreme mood,” she said, taking another long drink.

The blues and purples had spread everywhere now. The orange glow was no longer even a lining on the buildings. The sky warmed pink. The cars remained stuck in traffic.

“I can’t pay for this wedding,” she said.

“What about−”

“My parents can’t pay for it, either. His parents can’t pay for it. We’re going to have to take out a loan, anywhere from $25k to $30k just to pay for it. I just bought my house. I’ll have to use it as collateral. It shouldn’t be too hard to make the payments… once unemployment comes through.” Her cheeks were red, and there were dried streaks stretching from her eyes to her ears.

“Have a small wedding. Have no wedding. Do a civil ceremony, maybe go somewhere with your parents. You don’t have to spend that much. Weddings are ridiculous. You won’t even remember it. You’ll spend the whole day worrying about one thing or another, hoping everyone else is happy, and then you’ll be in debt.”

“Do you know what your problem is, Ricky?” I hate being called that, too. “You’re too damn practical.”

“It really is that easy.”

“It really isn’t,” she said. “You don’t know my family. I’m not saying you’re wrong or that they’re right. I’m just telling you the way it is. I don’t want a wedding. At all. They’re childish narcissism-machines. But if a woman in my family were to elope, everyone would take that as a personal offense. They’d write her off.”

The warm pink had cooled and the sky was falling a dark blue. “C’mon,” I said, helping her up, “it’s time to go.”

“Have the rest,” she said, pushing the bottle into my chest. “If I drink alone then I’m an alcoholic.” Down the steep slope of the hill, I saw two other bottles of the same brand, wedged beneath the brush. Standing up, I could see three corks in her plastic bag. “Don’t make me an alcoholic on top of everything else.”

I took the last drink, hardly even enough left to have called it a drink. But it made her happy and that was worth something. “Let me drive you home,” I said.

Red in the Face

“Where have you been living?” Tim asked me. I hadn’t had lunch and our food wouldn’t be arriving for some time. I was determined to be nice, give Dad the happy family he wanted to believe we were, but Tim’s voice. Oh my god… I was still waiting for the server to come by so I could order another beer. Tim’s question felt like an attempt to embarrass me.

“A cul-de-sac in Ocean Beach,” I said flatly. “Not too far from the water, no homes. No one really comes through other than a few bums. No one seems to give a shit that I’m there.”

“Language,” Tim said.

Fuck off, was the response I bit down on. I was determined to be a good son.

“It doesn’t really sound safe, son,” Dad said.

“It doesn’t sound…” Jesus Christ, it’s not safe but I can’t live with you. I scratched that response. Oh, my god, it’s safer than people trying to take bites out of me. Though it had been a week or two since that had happened so I kept it to myself rather than temp fate.

I was working on a third response when Dad continued, “We want you to come live with us. At least until you can get your own place.” I looked at Tim. Tim didn’t seem at all welcoming, but he didn’t seem against the idea, either. There was a crawling sensation in the back of my neck, something pulling my face back. “Look, the truth is, the doctor says I’m really responding well to my therapy. He says there’s less risk of me of me catching something I can’t shake.”

“Until now, I felt it was best to minimize your father’s exposure to other people, to anything they might not realize they were carrying. Now that he’s getting stronger, we agree it’s for the best to bring you in out of the cold. Like your dad says, just until you’re not sleeping in your old Bronco anymore.”

There wasn’t any response ready for that. I sat there, uncertain what they expected me to say, hoping that each moment they didn’t say anything meant it was more likely they never would. “So how ‘bout it?” Dad said. “Do you want to come by after work Friday and move in whatever you keep in there into the living room? We don’t have a lot of space but it’s better than sleeping in your car.”

“No…” I began. “I can’t then. Actually, it’s really no problem. I’ll be out of the car soon enough.”

“Do you have a place yet?” Dad asked. No. “How much money do you have saved?”

“Seven hundred,” and my words got caught as I wished I hadn’t been honest about it.

“Son, it’ll be weeks before you have enough to get out of the Bronco. Why don’t you just stay with us?”

Normally I’m smarter than this, faster with my words. I’m good at evasion. Now I felt sincerely trapped. “I’ve moved around a lot,” I said. “The last couple months have been really turbulent for me but I’ve found a spot I like and I don’t want to give it up. I just… I want some consistency.”

“I want you to have consistency. I want you to have consistency some place where I know you’re safe, where there aren’t bums wandering around outside looking at you through the window.”

I want that, too! I couldn’t figure out what my problem was. “There’s a cat that comes and stays with me. She’s a stray but she comes and sleeps on the center console next to me sometimes.”

“So bring the cat.”

“I can’t just bring the cat! It lives around there. What if it belongs to someone?”

Tim leaned in, driving his pointer finger into the table, “Andersen, when are you going to accept your father for who he is?”

“Tim, how many times am I going to have to tell you to shut the fuck up?”

“Stop!” my father shouted. I couldn’t bring myself to look, but I knew the other tables were turning to us. Even the manager across the floor had stopped what he was doing and was assessing the situation.

I wasn’t sure what to do or say. Knowing everyone was looking at me, my face started to burn. I couldn’t bring myself to meet my father’s eyes.

I just stood, said I was sorry and left.

On the plus side: My dad loves me better than I know how to be loved, I guess. I don’t really know what the plus side is to this.

Apology

I want to take a moment and apologize for what I wrote yesterday.

To be clear, I’m not sorry about what I did. I didn’t know Jesse or his friends and that three strangers would…

I understand why people are afraid of Ratfanger’s Disease. If anyone knows the horror of an auto-immune deficiency disease, it’s me. But it’s not like AIDS. No one knows how it spreads. And no one really knows how to treat it, what the survival rate really is.

That all makes sense to me.

Frankly, I’m as scared as everyone else. What if I really am the only person with an immunity? What if I spend the next few years watching my loved ones get sick and die? My sister, Charlie… my mom. Even Rebecca. Even the people who have hurt me the worst, who have smashed my heart through my ribcage in their willingness to exploit me.

I desperately don’t want to see anyone die.

Even now, though, I think about holding Jesse down. There’s no visual image in my head to go with the memory of lashing down on him with the broom, on the feeling of the –

I’m trying not to be swept up in my emotion again. But I do want to make it clear, I don’t regret standing up for myself. I don’t feel bad that they were the outlet of months of persecution and pursuit.

I fear indulging violence, even in self-defense. I fear the way talking about it makes me feel. Even now as I write all this into my phone, surrounded by the tranquility Cabrillo Point. As I try to talk about how it felt, my thoughts become thick and run slowly. A sense of elation begins to light. It feels so good.

And I wanted it. I wanted so badly to keep striking until he was simply gone.

So I came up here before work today in order to try and distance myself from those feelings.

The reason why I’m writing is to apologize to you.

In no way did I mean to endorse my indulgence. What I did was wrong, even in defense. I want to make it clear to you that I realize that and apologize for exposing you to it.

I am trying to be my better self.