“Look. It’s your hometown.”
“What?”
A quick aside: the population of my hometown is 18,000. It was 18,000 when I was growing up and it’s 18,000 today. It’s never been in the news, save for shootings or crooked politicians, and has never seen any great art come from it.
“Are you sure?” I asked.
“It says, ‘Dyersburg, Tennessee.’”
It was no mistake. I’d recognize the barren landscape, the stripped branches of kudzu trees anywhere. Two-thousand miles away in a modern art museum was a picture of a cotton field in my hometown. The world can seem a shrunken place at times.
Leaving the museum, we ordered fruit drinks from the outside deli and sat under a portico to rest. We needed to be at Jason’s by 6:00 but had a couple hours to kill. As it was raining heavily, we decided to go back to my place and do a crossword puzzle.
She revealed she hadn’t slept well the first night there, disturbed by the movie we’d seen. I’d been thinking about it, too, and realized why it affected me. I don’t mind dark subject matter. I often gravitate toward it. The book I was finishing was about a serial killer on a final murder spree, which should bear testimony to the fact. But even when writing a dark, somewhat troubling story about a killer, I tried to interject hope into the pages, no matter how slight. It’s one thing to look at the world in all its ugliness and gripe about it. But what purpose does that serve? Anyone with breath and a brain can see what a broken and fallen world ours is. There’s a movement I see in art that wants to be dark and edgy but has nothing to say, no optimism toward which to point. Though the goal of an artist may be to point a mirror at the world—with all its folly and handicaps—it should also be to inspire. Fatalism leaves weary those longing for hope. That was my problem with the movie. Jessie’s, as well. We were of the same mind in that regard.
We spent the next hour working the puzzle and left for Jason’s.
I moved to Seattle in June of 1995. I didn’t know anyone. I had two goals: to sing in a rock band and become involved in high school ministry. At the time, I was undergoing a spiritual awakening, conversion or whatever one wants to call it. I’d grown up in the church but it never meant anything. The only God I saw being worshipped was a back-pocket God, one called upon in times of emergency. I wasn’t interested in that God. I went to college and fell off the deep end, transferring in and out of different schools, angry and proud. After graduation, I traveled around the country for several months with everything I owned packed into my Celica, reading too much Kerouac, visiting friends from high school and college. It was during that time I finally came to understand what the Gospel meant.
I drove into Seattle fueled by excitement and faith, going wherever my desire took me, knowing I was walking with God now, that He was taking care of me and doing something miraculous in my life. After three weeks in town, I’d already interviewed and signed on to be a Young Life leader at Roosevelt High School (The Roughriders). My mother started Young Life in my hometown when I was young, and I’d been active in it during high school. I wanted to be an encouragement to the kids at Roosevelt.
The second part—the band. I’d never sung before. Didn’t know how to, really. I’d started writing songs a year before and had written lyrics and poetry for as long as I could remember. What I lacked in talent I made up for in confidence and enthusiasm. I answered an ad posted in The Rocket, Seattle’s weekly music newspaper. Some guy was looking for a Christian singer to play in a band. He listed U2, Smashing Pumpkins and The Posies as his influences. Was he kidding? Those were three of my favorite bands. I’d spent high school trying to dress and grow my hair like Bono’s. I think that’s why the principals couldn’t stand me.
I called him from my hotel room. I had decided to go by a stage name and decided on the name “Micah.” I thought it unique, and also I wouldn’t have to completely abandon my given Christian name. However, I had no experience with stage names. Did I introduce myself by my stage name upon first meeting, or did I work it in slowly? If I told him my name was Michael, was I allowed to change it to a cooler stage name later?
“My name is Micah,” I told the voice on the other end.
It only got worse from there. I told him I had sung in bands during college. I figured if I told him I had no singing experience he’d never want to meet me.
I expected him to grill me over the number of shows I had played, whether or not I could play guitar, or what was my vocal training. But it seemed secondary to this guy. He asked mostly about my faith, that’s what I remember the most. He wanted to know where I stood on the issue of God, and with that I didn’t have a reason to make up silly names or anecdotes. It was the passion of my life, the driving force within me. I could talk about it all the time and with anyone. I bled to talk about my faith and told the guy on the phone, Jason whatever-his-last-name-was, everything related to the last few months of my life. The Screwtape Letters, seedy hotels, traveling the country.
He wanted to meet me.
I agreed, and we set a time.
A foreign city: I’d come to its door without a plan or a friend. Within a month and a half, I’d signed on to be a Young Life leader and was the singer in a rock band. God’s hand was wrapped around the details in those days. Probably in every day, I just hadn’t been looking.
I was slightly nervous about Jessie meeting Jason’s family. With me, this is what you get. You get my friends. And these are my oldest and dearest friends, whose kids own a large chunk of my affection. I wanted them to like her and for her to feel the same way about them, which is why I was somewhat glum to notice Abby being shy. Eli, as well. Abby gets that way around strangers. She warms up once she feels a certain amount of familiarity, but it sometimes takes a while. Eli is more social, however. I didn’t expect him to be hiding in his room playing video games.
“What are you doing, buddy?” I asked. “I want you to talk to my friend Jessie.”
“I’m in the middle of a game.”
“Will you come out and talk to us when you’re done?”
“I guess.”
Jason’s sister and her family live near San Jose, so there was common ground on which to talk, but soon everyone felt comfortable enough. Jason cooked tri-tip and roasted garlic, while Sherrill told stories of me wearing vinyl pants and long hair. Jason threatened to bring out a demo tape we recorded ages ago. (My voice was grossly out of tune for every song.) I threatened revenge if he did. Soon, the kids warmed up to Jessie. She won Abby over immediately when she asked if she could draw in crayons with her. Soon, Bella was fighting for her interest and Jessie was the center of the kids’ attention. I smiled.
After the meal, Jason and Sherrill got the kids ready for bed. I helped brush their teeth (Bella was in Jessie’s lap by this point). I asked if we could put Abby to bed, and Jessie and I followed her to the room. She climbed to the top bunk and picked out a book for Jessie to read. “Click, Clack, Moo: Cows That Type.” Jessie stood beside her and read, while I sat on the top bunk with Abby. I’m sure we both enjoyed hearing her moos. After she finished, I came down and prayed for Abby.
“Thank you, Jesus, for Abby, my best friend in the whole world. Please help her in school tomorrow. Let her have a fun day. Thank you for Eli and Bella and their mom and dad. We love you, God. Amen.”
I dimmed the lights, took Jessie’s hand and returned to the living room. The four of us talked quietly for another hour, but it was getting late (at least for them) and we said our goodbyes. Sherrill gave Jessie a hug. “It’s great to finally meet you,” she said. Jessie thanked them for a wonderful evening and we left.
Culver City is one of the few neighborhoods in Los Angeles where a parent can feel comfortable raising a family. There’s more of a small town feel to it: quiet streets and several parks. There was one nearby and we walked there. For a moment, it felt like we’d left Los Angeles, or perhaps escaped to its calmer, more domesticated twin city.
“Were you nervous?” I asked.
I’ve always heard it’s not the destination that’s important, but the journey. It sounds trite, hearing it so many times, but clichés often have foundations in truth. It’s not the park I remember. It’s the slow walk getting there.
That Tuesday, it was still raining. We’d long since scrapped the Ferris wheel idea; there’s only so much one can do given inclement weather and higher-ranked priorities. Perhaps another time. I left work early, picked up Jessie and drove downtown to meet Sonia at a deli near her office. The meal was nice; it was good to catch up. I didn’t want Sonia to walk back in the rain and gave her a ride to the office. Checklist complete.
With the strict security at LAX, I knew there would be no long goodbyes. I kissed her and told her I’d miss her. She said the same. I pulled away from the terminal. Halfway around the airport, I noticed she’d left her sunglasses on the seat. I called and told her I’d found something she might miss, and said I would bring them to her. I pulled to the curb, hopped out of the car and hugged her again—glasses in hand, of course.
“I think you just wanted an excuse to see me again.”
“I did, and it worked out perfectly.”
Chapter Twelve
When I arrived the next Tuesday for 541 class, there was already a line of people waiting to pay and get in. It seemed I wasn’t as alone in this as I thought. How many DUI arrests were the police making these days? I paid the woman behind the Plexiglas and she gave me a receipt and my credit card back and buzzed me through the door. “Room #2,” she said.
So this was Walter. Not at all what I expected. He was sitting at the desk, sharing a laugh with one of the ladies in the room, a young Hispanic girl. He talked with big hand gestures and arched eyebrows. Looked to be sixty, with gray hair. Tall, medium-build. The other students, sitting in small metal chairs arranged in a half-circle, all seemed okay. No depressed looks or agonized faces. In fact, there was laughter in the room, mostly coming from Walter, the young girl and a bald-pated Latino named Freddie, whom Walter was needling for being a huge Lakers fan.
“It’s my last night, Walter. As soon as I leave here, I’m going to a bar to watch the game and celebrate.”
“Freddie, I’ve known you for three months. You don’t need the Lakers game as an excuse to drink.”
“Come on, Walter. Why you got to be that way?”
“It’s because we love you, Freddie. We’re going to miss you. If I didn’t have you to tease, I wouldn’t have anybody.”
I introduced myself, handed him my card and sat against the side wall. Kept silent mostly, taking it in.
“We have two new people starting tonight,” Walter announced. “Gerald and Michael. We’ll hear from you both shortly. Give you a chance to tell your story. When you speak, don’t speak to me. Speak to the class. Tell us where you were. What night of the week it was and what you were doing. What time of night was it? What did you blow? Did they impound your car? How much did it cost? How long were you in jail?”
Great. I was going to have to tell everyone what I blew, the most shameful part of it. I couldn’t believe I let myself get that drunk. What a fool I was for thinking I could drive home…or not thinking. That was the worst part. I wasn’t thinking.
“First, we have two graduates tonight.”
“Lucky,” began the chorus of cheers. The young girl’s face was beaming.
Twelve weeks, I calculated. That would put me at what, the second week of January? Nothing says the holiday season like a DUI class. Throw in six AA meetings to add to the excitement. I wasn’t going home for Christmas, anyway. I’d only spent one Christmas away from home, while living in Seattle, and I hadn’t enjoyed it.
After the graduates finished speaking (what they had learned from the class, what they would do differently in the future), Walter said, “The floor is yours, Gerald. Tell us your story.”
Gerald didn’t seem happy to be there. Slouched in his seat, long legs that reached the center of the floor, he spoke in a monotone voice with a one-sided smirk on his face that announced, “If I have to talk to you people, I’m only going to do it once and that’s it. Don’t expect anything else from me.” At least that’s how I interpreted it. He’d gone out with friends the night he was arrested. It wasn’t too exciting of a story, or perhaps he wasn’t sharing it all. He’d blown .17%, the same as me. They’d impounded his car. He hadn’t hired a lawyer. Listening to his story, I realized I’d been lucky. My car wasn’t impounded. I remembered, though vaguely, the arresting officer saying he would park my car on the street for me. I thought it was standard procedure at the time, but now I realized he’d gone out of his way to help me. I also remembered he was kind to me during the arrest.
“Alright, Michael. Your turn. Tell us your story.”
“Well, here goes,” I thought. This should be good for a reaction. “Hi, my name is Michael. I was coming back from a church dinner when I was arrested.”
Stunned faces. It worked every time.
“Church dinner? Did you have too much communion wine?” Walter asked.
I elaborated—Dinner for 8, the birthday celebration. However, when it came time to answer the “What did you blow?” question, I nodded to Gerald and said, “I blew the same as him.” Still couldn’t bring myself to say it. I felt like such a creep.
“Did you hire a lawyer?”
“Yes.”
“How much did you pay him?”
“A lot.”
Walter smiled. “Fair enough.”
“This is the shortest DUI class there is,” he said. “Three months. It’s a 30-hour program. If you miss 21 consecutive days, you will be dismissed. You can be reinstated, but you’ll have to go to the court of authority and stand before the judge again. It’s just throwing money away. You could take us to dinner for that much money. If you miss six classes, you will be terminated. You can stand before the judge and he’ll most likely allow you to re-enroll, but again, it’s an inconvenience and will cost you money. A $45 re-enrollment fee.
“You’re not allowed to come to class under the influence. That means anything. If I suspect you are under the influence, I’ll get one of the other instructors, we’ll evaluate you, and if we think you are, we’ll ask you to take a breathalyzer. If you pass, nothing happens. But if anything shows up, it’s grounds for termination.
“I let my students bring food into class. Technically, I’m not allowed to, but it’s dinnertime. If you want to bring something to eat, feel free, as long as you clean up after yourselves. Another thing I do that I’m not supposed to: I break you guys for ten minutes midway through. This class is three hours. Nobody can sit in these chairs for that long without going crazy. I figure they haven’t fired me yet, so I’ll keep doing it until it happens. Just make sure you’re back in ten minutes. Not eleven.
“First offense, you can expect to pay anywhere from $8,000 to $10,000—once you take into account the court fees, if you hired a lawyer, whether or not your car was impounded. Your insurance is going to go up for three years. There’s the interlock device for those who have to install them. I tell this to everyone so hopefully it will sink in. It’s like throwing money away. $8,000? That’s a vacation. You can travel Europe for two weeks on $8,000, at least if you know how to get around. I could do a month in Europe for $8,000.
“Fifty percent of first timers will get a second DUI. That means, statistically, half of you will get arrested again. Why is that? Well, first, a DUI stays on your record for ten years. (He held up both hands, fingers outstretched and bent slightly backward.) Ten years. You’ll be on probation for three of those. What is probation? It means you can’t have anything in your system. Have to be at 0.0% BAC. If you get a filling done at the dentist, you can’t drive yourself home. The codeine will be in your system. If you get pulled over and the cop sees a DUI on your record, he’s more likely to ask questions. He can give you a breathalyzer on the spot. Admin per se. If you
blow anything higher than a 0.0%, he can arrest you. A second DUI is eighteen months in this class. You’re looking at anywhere from $20,000 to $25,000. And if you think it’s bad now, just wait. This state has no money. It’s going bankrupt. The fees are going to skyrocket over the next few years.
“The second reason is what I call ‘the creep.’ Years go by and the shock of the DUI wears off. You start forgetting about it and give yourself small allowances. I have one student who got a second DUI one week before his ten-year anniversary. He decided to celebrate a few days early and got caught. He sits in class with a bitter look on his face, watching the second hand on the clock. It’s my goal for my students to be better than the statistics. I won’t be happy until it’s 0%.”
At 7:00, Freddie and Lucilla stood to leave. Walter hugged them, told them he was going to miss them and walked them into the hall. Several students used the opportunity to check messages on their cell phones.
“You decide what you want to get out of this class,” Walter said when he returned. “I have some students come and I can tell it’s torture for them. They stare at the clock the entire time. I try to make it fun and, at the same time, help you all. You’ve already paid the price. You know what you did. I’m not going to stand here and tell you what horrible people you are. I don’t believe that. You made a mistake.
“Look at the diversity in this classroom. It’s the reason I love this city. You’re all bright, intelligent people. You’ll get through this. I want that for all of you. I don’t want you to make the same mistake again. I want you to learn from it and move on to wildly successful and happy lives.”
Not what I expected. Not in the least. Obviously, Kyle had a different teacher. Or maybe he was the one who watched the hands of the clock from 6 to 9 p.m. It didn’t matter. I was encouraged by what I’d seen and heard. Getting through a DUI takes resolve and determination. Small steps in a constant direction. This was the first step, and it hadn’t been that bad. I could manage this. Not only manage, I could learn something from it, something to help me become the man I wanted to be. There was no room for excess. Whatever it took to make sure this didn’t become a problem, I’d jump in with both feet. I called Jessie when I got home.
Arresting Grace Page 13
