My father got up and grabbed the tissue box. I was blubbering incoherently and he was trying very hard to understand what I was saying. What happened thereafter was a blur of events. But true to my style, it illustrated my impulsive behaviour.
Again, my mind did not connect with my mouth. There were so many racing thoughts that I attempted to control and categorize them before saying them out loud. But no matter how hard I tried, my father sat dumbfounded at my ramblings. I was laughing, crying and angry all at the same time. Each time, he asked me to breathe deeply before speaking but I broke down every time I opened my mouth. I finally gave up. I shook my head and motioned to him that I needed to go upstairs.
When I reached the landing, I grabbed my purse and keys.
"You are in no state to drive," my father cautioned. But I didn't listen and he did not stop me. My brother came down and caught a glimpse of my tear-streakened face and knew better to say anything. "Go drive your sister," my father waved him over. But I shook my head and left without anyone interjecting. Our car at the time was a Pontiac Parisienne--a huge boat and one you couldn't tear out of the driveway and burn rubber for a dramatic effect. However, once you laid your foot on the gas, it was very easy not to notice how fast over the speed limit you were going. I turned down the window and gulped the air. I did not know where I was heading although my father's cliched phrase of My way or the highway did cross my mind.
"Can I see your driver's license?" the officer asked me, after pulling me over ten minutes later. My hands were shaking very badly and I caught my reflection in the rear view mirror. Black mascara was running down my cheeks. I looked like an escaped lunatic. And to top it off, the officer was young and handsome. Couldn't flirt my way out of this one. He shone his flashlight in my face.
"Miss, have you been drinking?" he asked as I passed over my license. I started to laugh but stopped when he looked back at me, puzzled. Imagine, me drinking--although the notion to start was not far off.
"No, I do not drink. Never have drank a drop. Its against my religion to drink so you will never..." The officer stopped me with his hand and smiled. "You know you were 10 km over the limit in a residential area." Instead of arguing with the him, I swallowed loudly and nodded my head in agreement. I could feel the food rising up in my throat. Oh God, please don't let me puke on the cute police officer...
"Clearly you are not drunk but you do seem very upset. Big fight at home?" I shook my head. "Just needed some air," I lied. He took my license and walked back to his cruiser. I caught myself gripping the steering wheel so hard that the tips of my fingers were blue. I looked back in the mirror. My eyes were red and I grabbed a tissue to blow my nose and wipe my face. Man, I was a sight. He returned and handed me back my license. "I will let you off with a warning." He paused and then leaned his elbows on my window. "You know, whatever you are going through, it will blow off. But just do me a favour? Next time, leave the car at home and take a walk."
I mustered up an embaressed smile and nodded. He winked and then returned to his cruiser. The officer remained in his car as I slowly pulled out and turned around to go home. I checked my mirror and sure enough, he was following behind me! ALL THE WAY HOME. Great. He does think I'm a lunatic. Doesn't he have some real criminals to capture? It amazed and bothered me at the same time but later I realized he just wanted to make sure I got home ok. You would never think the police would have time for an emotional teenager today but that night, he was my guardian angel.
As I turned into the driveway, I saw the curtain open and my father's bald head peer out. The living room lamp was on. He was waiting for me. Thank God he checked for me after the police cruiser drove by. I was only gone a half hour so I was not about to tell him about my run in with the law. I was smiling to myself when I walked in the front door. He followed me home.
My brother was waiting for me inside. He pulled me into the family room and shut the door. "What is going on?" he demanded. "Dad looks happy. What did you do?" I sighed and slumped into the couch. I would never think that I would be reprimanded for making my father happy! He continued to drill me. I was exhausted. "You look like crap. What did you fight about?"
I was too tired to talk. I just wanted to go and curl up in my bed and throw the covers over my head.
"Its over. Done. Finito. And I don't know how I am going to do it," I whispered.
"Do what?" My brother sat down next to me with a concerned look.
"Break his heart."
And unfortunately, that is exactly what I had to do.
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