My mood was outwardly upbeat as I prepared to leave, but underneath the giddiness, I was frightened of what awaited me in Bangor. We exited his room as we had done so many times in the past several weeks carefully hiding my presence from view until I reached the first floor. I got on the elevator carefully placing myself at the very back of the car behind everyone else. As everyone exited on the first floor, I easily blended in with the other visitors and no one knew I had been in a restricted area of the halfway house. As I walked towards the exit of the building with my lightly packed backpack in hand, I was suddenly filled with panic. I hesitated momentarily as I opened the front door. I started to change my mind about leaving, but then the noise from the streets interrupted my thoughts. A rush of cold air hit my bare face and then I turned to blow him one last kiss as I stepped into the icy urban holiday chaos. That was the last time he ever saw me.
Did he think I had died or had just gotten sidetracked somewhere along the way between Boston and Bangor? Did he think my wanting to go home was just an excuse to get away from him? I wanted to flatter myself and believe he missed me… that someone somewhere missed me, but I knew his only love was the love of what went into his veins. I knew I soon would be forgotten and replaced by someone else. If he did miss me, that feeling would subside with his next fix. I only hoped that his freedom would outlast any drug-testing he may have to face as a condition of his parole. I smiled at the thought of realizing he didn’t care about that and that he lived as much in the here and now as I did. And then I felt sad as my thoughts were once again interrupted by the thought of going home and what that really meant. As I walked towards a place where I could start hitchhiking, Eric crept into my thoughts. Merry Christmas, Eric! Oops! I mean Happy Hanukkah!
Although it had been weeks since I had last thought of him, his presence still haunted me. I wondered just how long he would stay ingrained in my memory and how long I would feel guilty about how badly I had treated him. For just a moment, I felt safe and sane and then reality hit me again. I was alone. I had left Eric far behind a few months earlier because I knew he deserved better than what I was ever capable of giving him. The harder he tried to reach me, the more I resisted until I finally felt the kindest thing I could do for him was to sever our connection completely by disappearing forever.
His life would be so much better without me in it contrary to what he had expressed to me on many occasions. This one time I was sure I was right. With all traces of him tucked safely away in my memory, I knew he would visit me during those times when I allowed myself to remember the good things in my life. Perhaps one day I would be able to thank him for being there during those dark days and those tumultuous months when my self-discovery first began. He helped me from becoming completely lost and gave me a voice of logic when I needed it most. Then, for the first time in such a long time, I thought about my first love. Would going home for the holidays include seeing Wayne? With that thought, I shivered and stuck my thumb out to start my journey home.
My last ride dropped me off at the Clinton, Maine exit about 50 miles outside my hometown. Yes, I knew I should hitch a ride from the entrance ramp, but the traffic was sparse and it was a bitterly cold winter day. The grey sky promised there would be more snow before nightfall. Ironically, it was once again a Sunday afternoon and Lynne’s voice once again echoed in my head, but as I grew colder I knew I needed to get up on the Interstate if I was ever going to get a ride. Almost as soon as I walked up the ramp and situated myself along the shoulder of the road with my thumb out, a State Police cruiser stopped. As I became filled with that feeling of impending doom, I knew I was not going to be able to talk my way out of this one.
Hallowell was immediately buzzing from word of my capture, but I was quickly whisked away to lock up as soon as I arrived, so only a few people actually saw me arrive. With no word directly from me, most of the stories that circulated weren’t even close to what had actually happened. As the stories filtered their way back to me over the next few weeks, I laughed at how bent and twisted each story was.
I was more than familiar with lock-up from all my past infractions of the rules at Stevens, so I knew that my time spent there would be spent without any contact with anyone, but the matrons who could barely tolerate me. Being in lock up gave me plenty of time to replay my most notable antics in my head. My thoughts became like a movie. I smiled as I remembered when I was locked up for a week for refusing to roller skate. As part of the rehabilitation process, everyone was expected to roller skate for recreation. I suppose some well-meaning philanthropist donated roller skates to Stevens and the rest was history. I wonder how many professional skaters that place produced! I guess I missed my golden opportunity for fame and fortune the day I refused to skate my way into being a well-adjusted teenager.
My first time on roller skates was probably much like anyone else’s first time. I reluctantly laced up the skates and logically deducted that since I had ice skated since I was a small child, roller skating would be an easy feat to learn. I stood up and immediately fell flat on my ass. I sat there stunned not knowing which hurt more… my derriere or my pride. Chuckles and applause came from others as they whizzed by me. I sat there contemplating my next move and what I had done wrong so I wouldn’t repeat it again as soon as I got back up on my feet. As Mrs. Reardon [fictitious name] approached me, I assumed she had come over to offer me help up and to find out if I was hurt.
As soon as she spoke, I learned that my assumption had been wrong. Immediately my relaxed attitude reverted back into my normal defiantly defensive demeanor accompanied by a rather large chip on my shoulder. I knew Sharon would have been proud of my defiance and that made me have a huge smile inside my head as well.
“No, I’m not going to do this and you can’t make me skate if I don’t want to skate. I didn’t roller skate on the streets and I certainly won’t ever roller skate when I leave this hellhole. This whole thing is so stupid and you know this isn’t going to help anyone change.”
“Either get up and skate or else you’re going to lock up. I’m not going to argue with you over this.”
I got up slowly and wobbled back to the stage almost falling again several times. I’m sure I resembled a circus clown going through many exaggerated gyrations to get a laugh, but in my case, the gyrations were no act. As I sat down and unlaced my skates, the matrons watched me in utter amazement. I knew they thought they could bully me into participating, but as soon as I put my shoes back on, I stood up and walked over to where Mrs. Reardon was standing with her co-workers.
“Okay, I‘m ready. You can put me in lock up until I rot, but I’m not going to roller skate. Not now! Not ever! You can’t make me do something this fuckin’ ridiculous. I can’t believe anyone actually thinks this is going to help anyone.”
“Using that kind of language just earned you a couple of extra days in lock-up.”
“Do I look like I fuckin’ care?”
We walked in silence as we left the building and headed across the parking lot to the building where lock up was located. That stunt cost me a whole week in lock-up, but to me it was worth every minute I stayed confined in that room. I’m sure Mrs. Reardon and several of her cronies would have preferred to have locked me up and thrown away the key. I certainly wasn’t their favorite and each of them knew I’d never kiss anyone’s ass just to make it easier on myself. The whole incident amounted to a good old Mexican standoff with no clear-cut winner. I always envisioned them drawing straws to decide who would be the lucky one who would have to deal with me especially when I was being obstinate. That thought brought a much-needed smile to my face and made the week go by faster.
I can’t say it was entirely bad being alone. After all, I had my thoughts to keep me company. How long could they keep me locked up this time? I really didn’t know what they did with people who had escaped and gotten caught, but I knew I was about to find out. For some reason, I hadn’t been questioned about Sharon yet. Did they know where she was? Had she been caught already? No mention of Sharon! I found that odd, but it gave me an opportunity to come up with some colorful story to tell them by the time I was questioned and her name was finally mentioned to me.
Perhaps I’d tell them a ghastly tale of getting so hungry that I ate her. No, I couldn’t do that because they might take me seriously. Thank God, Sharon was safe and still free! Or at least that’s what I had assumed. I had left her behind in Amherst, Massachusetts with Chuck, a friend of Eric’s who showed an immediate interest in her. As for me, I guess I was about to find out what creative forms of punishment they had up their collective sleeves.
Whatever it was, I'd no doubt be as defiant as always. Was my hardheadedness part of my Irish heritage to be worn proudly like a badge of honor or was it indicative of my emotional collapse and self-destructive tendencies? That was a very good question and one that had no clear-cut answer at this point. Lock up was different this time. Somehow I sensed a change but couldn’t quite put my finger on it. Or was the change that I felt one that had occurred inside me? Instead of dread, an underlying sense of perverse peace filled me as I developed my plan to keep myself and others entertained for the duration of my time in lock-up. Was that my true calling in life? Was I here to keep people entertained? Those also were great questions worthy of serious contemplation. Someday when I had nothing better to do, I’d figure it all out.
Upon my arrival, I went straight from the cruiser to the room I would call “home” until they thought I could be trusted again. I smiled at that thought because I knew I had a long road ahead of me and I wouldn‘t see that light of day for a while. I laughed because I couldn’t cry. I had forgotten how to cry. As I sat on the bed awaiting someone to come strip search me, I thought I'd throw a little something creative their way. I’m sure I’d have awhile by myself while they drew straws and decided who could deal with me best.
I quickly unhooked the small safety pin I always kept attached to the inside of my heavy flannel shirt. One never knows when a safety pin will come in handy! I held the safety pin between my fingers and carefully straightened it. Then I methodically unhooked my belt and removed it from my belt loops with one quick tug. Just as I had seen John do so many times in the past several weeks, I tied my arm off with my belt. I held the belt taut with my teeth freeing my other hand to hold the safety pin. Then as the veins on my left arm became prominent, I carefully jabbed my arm several times in strategic locations along my vein to give the appearance of track marks made from the repeated use of a hypodermic needle. I knew some bruising would probably occur soon, but by the time anyone would see my arm, the “track marks” wouldn‘t look so fresh.
I was going to test how good my acting abilities were by playing the part of someone strung out and going through withdrawal. Could I convincingly fake withdrawal? I remembered so clearly how sick another one of my flavors of the month had been many months before as I sat with him for several days as he got clean before he returned home to Citrus Heights, California. To this day, I still wonder if he gave me his real name… Wyatt Baker aka Eric James Flagg. I had resigned myself to accepting that was something else I would never know. I laughed out loud as I thought of what most 16 year old girls were doing and what events filled their lives. Boyfriends! Proms! Chatting with female friends about boys, boys, boys! Make-up! Clothes! Music! School! Silly, frivolous things, but none of those things were on the list for me!
Yes, those 16 year olds may have done some wading in the pond by smoking a little weed from time to time, but I was out there treading water with the sharks and the real bottom feeders. I saw how John acted when he went any length of time without a fix. I helped him shoot up many times when his hands shook too badly to hold his set of works. Yes, I was sure I could be convincing and would thoroughly enjoy the whole mind game I was about to play. And so what if they didn’t believe me! The worst they might think is that I had crossed over into the world of insanity and no longer was in touch with reality. If they only knew how real my life and pain was!
My performance would throw an added flair of drama into the whole capture and story of my few months of freedom, but in reality, I was worse than a junkie. At least a junkie loves something. At least a junkie needs something and at least a junkie wants something. All I wanted at that moment was to toy with the minds of my captors. I knew I could easily keep myself and everyone else entertained by playing this role. Who knows where this role would lead me? And who really cared? Certainly not me! I really didn’t care what the consequences to my actions would be this time and I refused to look at anything, but at the here and now. I had stopped thinking of the future several months earlier when I knew my path would only bring those people who loved me pain. I had to distance myself from that and I surrounded myself with people incapable of really caring about me. They acted as my buffer.
As a result of my splendid performance, I was given Valium routinely during the days ahead to ease my withdrawal symptoms. One of the many uses for Valium, especially during that time period, was to help ease withdrawal symptoms from opiates and alcohol. How I loved those little blue pills and the feeling of calm they created!
When I was examined by the doctor, I refused any type of lab work from being done. Being physically combative kept anyone from touching me for more than just a second or two. No one wanted to chance trying to draw blood from a half-crazed dope fiend going through withdrawal, so my lab work was put indefinitely on hold. During my performance, I paced and I was easily agitated by everything. When I did lie down on my bare mattress, I made myself throw up and have the shakes. I even went as far as wetting on the bed on which I slept. That may have been taking it a little too far, but it got me a little better mattress.
I suppose I was also put on suicide watch during that time because my belt was taken from me and I wasn’t given any sheets. I assumed my act had been convincing because I was kept sedated and even if I wasn’t a believable junkie, I really didn’t care. The important thing was that they gave me drugs to keep me calm. It was almost as easy as taking candy from a baby to get them to keep me chemically pacified while I resided in their cage.
My happy haven and stage had a heavy metal door with a small window with unbreakable glass in it. The walls were the typical shade of sterile faded gray that spelled out a fabulous, trend-setting “I-N-S-T-I-T-U-T-I-O-N-A-L” decor. The floors bore the high gloss finish from all the hours we spent waxing and buffing them with the large industrial buffer. With the exception of the heavy metal frame of the twin size bed and the thinly padded and badly worn mattress they allowed me to have, the room was bare. And I was alone!
I was just an accessory placed there as a decoration. I was a vase filled with beautiful wildflowers. I was a best-selling novel placed on the coffee table as a conversation piece. I was that funky-looking piece of art owned by some radical bohemian type that had been strategically displayed to illicit some “ohs” and “ahs.” How many others had decorated this same room before me? How many others bore the scars of Stevens? I staged my act for several days and then when I was lucid once again, they had their big powwow with me. I was given a choice and I chose the lesser of two evils.