Ocala Is Calling
Sirens
It's incredibly hard to choke out something as simple as your name with red and blue lights flashing in your eyes. It's even harder when you have police officers yelling at you, and even harder when you're alone. I would have never imagined i would be put in this position, because I had never done anything to get me to this point, or even close. I had never been one to experiment with drugs, consume excessive amounts of alcohol, or even indulge in acts of sex. But that's not to say my friends didn't.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not entirely innocent. I went to the occasional party, but only for my friends' sake's. those of which I'm beginning to question. If you heard sirens would you drop everything, and leave the only unparticipating one behind to sort things with the police. I wouldn't, but they did. I don't blame them though. It probably did get irritating have that one kill-joy of a friend who wouldn't do anything worth doing. I often wondered why they didn't drop me sooner, but then I thought about my house. Often empty, my mom always out with her boyfriend. My kitchen, abundant with snacks for the typical high school stoner. Set back from the city of Denver, it wasn't largely populated or popular for crime. It was free reign. It was unadulterated teenage heaven.
So as I watched my "friends" jump to there feet and create a hazed stampede, anxiously stuffing clear plastic bags of substances into their pockets haphazardly, the beer bottles clatter to the cold faded asphault, while every joint in my body locked. It felt like stepping in a bear trap. Iron jaws caught my ankles. Every inch of me tried to escape, but it was impossible. A tsunami of anxiety hit me, fourty thousand terrible thoughts struck me at once like a lightning bolt seering through my bare flesh. I was stuck. Frozen.
I heard stiff boots squeak and shuffle towards me, and then quickly watched a full beam of yellow light flash in my eyes.
Ouch.
I squinted, and shielded my eyes with my right hand.
"I CAN SEE YOU!" I sarcastically blurted out,
implying that he could remove his god damn flashlight from my line of vision so I could concentrate on my possibly arrest.
I'm not quite sure why some things come out of my mouth, but I would be so much better off with them firmly behind my lips, deep down in my stomach, lungs, somewhere where no one could hear them.
It is not a rare occasion that I find my self watching words leave my lips, wishing I could grasp them up and cram them back into my mouth before anyone could acknowledge them. Of course, I lock up in nervousness, but my jaws just as well oiled as any other day of the week.
"You can lose the attitude, young lady." The officer sneered
"This has only got to be as difficult as you make it."
I stared at him blankly out of pure fear.
"YOUNG LADY?!"
"y-yes?"
"NAME" he demanded
So rude. It wasn't even a question. Just a statement. Deep down inside of me I wanted to say
"yes, I have a name."
just to be a bitch, but that wouldn't get me anywhere tonight.
"Verr-Veronica F-F-Fullton" I stumbled over my own name.
I hated my name. It was just so... un-me.
But then again, what was me?
Before I had a chance to mull over my mother's name choice anymore I was interupted by the police officer.
"Do your parents know you're out this late, in such a questionable place?"
Such a questionable place? I was behind the local McDonald's. That's where all the hard criminals meet. Police officers always over react. You'd sware they had a lesson on it during law enforcement training or something.
"Uhh-Uhhm, well no."
"Well don't you think they'd be a little worried?"
"I think s-s-o."
"Sit down on the ground, and don't move, do you understand me?" He questioned.
I felt the need to assure the officer that I was not and never have been a dog, but once again I bit my tounge with everything inside of me, to prevent yet another comment slipping out.
I dropped to the ground, and crossed my legs over each other, like they make you do in kindergarten. I figured maybe he'd appreciate that. Though I'm not sure why.
He nodded in approval at my obediance, and did the cliche holster grab, then wobble over to the apparent "crime scene".
As he turned, I caught a glimpse of his name tag. Officer Goodman. I found that kind of ironic. Such an ass and his last name was Goodman. Gotta love surnames.I pondered, while Officer Goodman pawed through the spilt beer bottles, and continiously-burning substances. I humored myself for a moment, and wondered if his wifes name was Anita. That would make sense. I let out a small laugh and he glared at me for a moment, lowering boths brows in a disapproving gesture. I sucked in air and gathered it in my cheeks, and then slowly let it out. I was beggining to grow tired of his charades. I didn't do anything.
He gathered the trashed leavings of my "friends", asked me to close my eyes, and tell him when I thought it had been 30 seconds, and then escorted me to the back of his cruiser.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not entirely innocent. I went to the occasional party, but only for my friends' sake's. those of which I'm beginning to question. If you heard sirens would you drop everything, and leave the only unparticipating one behind to sort things with the police. I wouldn't, but they did. I don't blame them though. It probably did get irritating have that one kill-joy of a friend who wouldn't do anything worth doing. I often wondered why they didn't drop me sooner, but then I thought about my house. Often empty, my mom always out with her boyfriend. My kitchen, abundant with snacks for the typical high school stoner. Set back from the city of Denver, it wasn't largely populated or popular for crime. It was free reign. It was unadulterated teenage heaven.
So as I watched my "friends" jump to there feet and create a hazed stampede, anxiously stuffing clear plastic bags of substances into their pockets haphazardly, the beer bottles clatter to the cold faded asphault, while every joint in my body locked. It felt like stepping in a bear trap. Iron jaws caught my ankles. Every inch of me tried to escape, but it was impossible. A tsunami of anxiety hit me, fourty thousand terrible thoughts struck me at once like a lightning bolt seering through my bare flesh. I was stuck. Frozen.
I heard stiff boots squeak and shuffle towards me, and then quickly watched a full beam of yellow light flash in my eyes.
Ouch.
I squinted, and shielded my eyes with my right hand.
"I CAN SEE YOU!" I sarcastically blurted out,
implying that he could remove his god damn flashlight from my line of vision so I could concentrate on my possibly arrest.
I'm not quite sure why some things come out of my mouth, but I would be so much better off with them firmly behind my lips, deep down in my stomach, lungs, somewhere where no one could hear them.
It is not a rare occasion that I find my self watching words leave my lips, wishing I could grasp them up and cram them back into my mouth before anyone could acknowledge them. Of course, I lock up in nervousness, but my jaws just as well oiled as any other day of the week.
"You can lose the attitude, young lady." The officer sneered
"This has only got to be as difficult as you make it."
I stared at him blankly out of pure fear.
"YOUNG LADY?!"
"y-yes?"
"NAME" he demanded
So rude. It wasn't even a question. Just a statement. Deep down inside of me I wanted to say
"yes, I have a name."
just to be a bitch, but that wouldn't get me anywhere tonight.
"Verr-Veronica F-F-Fullton" I stumbled over my own name.
I hated my name. It was just so... un-me.
But then again, what was me?
Before I had a chance to mull over my mother's name choice anymore I was interupted by the police officer.
"Do your parents know you're out this late, in such a questionable place?"
Such a questionable place? I was behind the local McDonald's. That's where all the hard criminals meet. Police officers always over react. You'd sware they had a lesson on it during law enforcement training or something.
"Uhh-Uhhm, well no."
"Well don't you think they'd be a little worried?"
"I think s-s-o."
"Sit down on the ground, and don't move, do you understand me?" He questioned.
I felt the need to assure the officer that I was not and never have been a dog, but once again I bit my tounge with everything inside of me, to prevent yet another comment slipping out.
I dropped to the ground, and crossed my legs over each other, like they make you do in kindergarten. I figured maybe he'd appreciate that. Though I'm not sure why.
He nodded in approval at my obediance, and did the cliche holster grab, then wobble over to the apparent "crime scene".
As he turned, I caught a glimpse of his name tag. Officer Goodman. I found that kind of ironic. Such an ass and his last name was Goodman. Gotta love surnames.I pondered, while Officer Goodman pawed through the spilt beer bottles, and continiously-burning substances. I humored myself for a moment, and wondered if his wifes name was Anita. That would make sense. I let out a small laugh and he glared at me for a moment, lowering boths brows in a disapproving gesture. I sucked in air and gathered it in my cheeks, and then slowly let it out. I was beggining to grow tired of his charades. I didn't do anything.
He gathered the trashed leavings of my "friends", asked me to close my eyes, and tell him when I thought it had been 30 seconds, and then escorted me to the back of his cruiser.
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