On the edge

I didn't know why I was still in the holding cell, but I was and I had to get the fuck out. I had just refined my definition of bullshit. Not exactly how I had hoped my weekend would turn out but there I was, lying foot to head with 5 other men, some with stories about Pablo Escobar marrying their cousins in Peru, about getting pulled over with an ounce of pot and questioning if they might spend the rest of their life in prison, and others with stories they only let their eyes explain. Jail always feels like a the back page of the Sunday newspaper. Chaotic cartoons and I easily drew myself in. Kaki shorts falling off me, no shirt and a bloody lip. Model citizen.

I flagged down an officer after I realized no one was getting released. I was not going to spend another night in there and everyone who was getting arraigned had already seen the judge. But I hadn't. Shit, I hadn't even been told my charges. For all I knew, I was lost in a system of bars, sticky benches and cartoons. The officer came across the cat walk to see what I wanted.

"Yeah?"

" 'Scuse me ma'am, I dont know why I'm still in here. I was told I was just being held over night to let things calm down and I'm still here. Can you find out if I'm getting released or whats going on?"

"... Yeah I guess I can do that."

" Thank you ma'am"

" I'm a sir."

For some reason, I kept calling the him ma'am. I still dont know why, but it happened at least 4 times. Not the best move when you really need the guy to come back with some good news. Let alone, just come back at all. An hour passed and then I heard someone call my name.

"Minor?"

"Over here."

"Your leaving"

Watching the bars open felt like Jesus. Not that I've felt Jesus, but I have heard that he touches you and that seems special to me. I assume thats what it feels like. I was given my belongings and after giving a few guards a hard time for having to stare at ball sacks, I promptly got the fuck out of there. I didn't know where I was going or what I was doing, but I knew I was going to smoke a cigarette and start walking. Purple prison flip flps and all.


The next few days, I spent the majority of my time overwhelmed with everything being on the edge of change. Everything. I knew the only thing that was going to stay consistent was my dog and myself. That was it. I had a car. I had my bags and some money and a drive to leave everything and go anywhere so thats exactly what I did. I packed everything into my car and without hesitation, jumped on the highway heading north. I figured the best place to collect my thoughts and my life was some place secluded. Some place I can escape into and no one can find me. Also, some place with a view wouldn't hurt. Fortunately, my family has owned a condo in the pinky of Michigan for decades so thats where I pointed and thats where I was going.


About 20 minutes into my excursion, everything started closing in on me. It felt like I hadn't left that cell. Like I was stuck and every fiber in my being was telling me to turn around. All the strength I thought I had disappeared. All the positivity and hope for the future, all of that came victim to my never ending trail of despair and inevitable loneliness I was going to be thrown into. What happens if something goes wrong? What if I get really sick or Mercedes gets really sick or what if I can't stay up there?

What happens if I can't do this?

I called a friend of mine freaking out and told her about what I was drowning in. She listened and calmed me and said,

" Listen, I know this has to be scary. I understand that. Change very rarely comes easy and smooth. Its usually pretty bumpy. But the thing about change is that if it isn't scary, it probably isn't right. That feeling you have means your making a decision outside of your comfort zone and thats a good sign that your heading the right way."

She was right. I took a deep breath, wiped my eyes and kept driving, knowing that where ever I ended up... was where I was meant to be.