Nico Kiefer

On the Corner; at the Crossroads

September 22, 2007

            Shit…This is just what I need right now, I think to myself as I pull to the curb on the corner of Hopkins and Monterey. The inside of my car flashes in blue and red as a cop car pulls up behind me.

            “What did you do?!” comes Annie’s voice from the back seat, holding back none of her exasperation.

            “I didn’t do anything illegal, so I really don’t know…just stay calm.” I reassure her.

            I turn the music off and Bob Marley stops telling me that “every little thing is gonna be alright.” The windows are already down to vent the smoke, so I focus on fishing my registration out of my wallet. I hear a car door open and close, but I can’t see anything out of my rear view mirror because of the flashing lights.

            “I didn’t stop completely, did I?” I hear myself say aloud before I can think twice about it. There I go…mouthing off already…that’s going to get me in trouble if I’m not careful.

            An officer appears in my window and asks for my license and registration, which I’d already gotten out and ready for him. After taking them, he asks if I knew that my tail lights are out. Choking back a sigh of relief, I tell him I was unaware, hoping that he will just give me a fix-it ticket and let us go about our evening.

            “I see that you’re not eighteen… aren’t you driving too many people and breaking a curfew?”

            “No,” I say, “I’m allowed to drive passengers my age and be out, it’s only 10:30 and I’ve had my license over a year anyway.”

            “Is that the law?”

            “Yes, it is.” I say with varied confirmations from my friends.

            “Okay, you’d know better than I would. Everyone has a seatbelt on I hope…” he says, shining a light into the back and pausing at Sean.

“…Passenger with no seatbelt.” He informs me and walks back over to his car. Everybody turns and glares at Sean. No one says a word, and I look around to the faces of my companions, each sporting their own “oh shit” look.

The cop returns to my window, but hands me neither a ticket nor my license and registration. That can’t be good.

“Okay, sir I’m going to have you step out of the car first, close the door, and stand on the curb.” He tells us, indicating Tim, who is seated to my right. Shit…

“Then I’m gonna have you open your door and do the same” he tells Sean, “and ladies, you’re going to follow him out that door.” Shit! Shit! Shit!

I watch my friends exit my car, knowing that my night will probably get worse from here.

“Can you step out of the car, close your door, and place your hands on the roof please?”

Following his instructions, I slowly step out of the car, close the door and stare at my hands on the roof of my car, breathing deeply as hands run up and down my sides, expecting to be cuffed any moment. Thankfully I have nothing on me. More thankfully, the handcuffs never come. Breathing a sigh of relief, I walk over and stand with my friends upon instruction. Their eyes ask me what’s going on and mine answer that I don’t know.

“Okay…” he begins, walking over to us, “I had you all get out of the car because when I approached the vehicle I noticed a strong smell of burnt marijuana, which gives me probable cause to search the vehicle and each of you. First I’d like to give you all a chance to come clean and tell me what you’ve got on you. I’m not worried about pot, just more dangerous things like alcohol.”

“Yeah…I had a joint lit.” Tim answers, raising his hand.

“So you were smoking it in the car?”

“Yeah… with the windows down.”

“Okay…” he stops and thinks for a moment, then shines his flashlight in my face, “you could have a contact high, but I’m not going to bother to test you because your driving wasn’t the issue and you look okay. But you should know that driving while high holds the same penalty as driving drunk.”

I nod to confirm that I heard him and silently watch as he has Tim, Sean, Annie, and Jane empty their pockets. I’ve conveniently forgotten to mention that the joint had been passed to me several times, but now that I’ve realized it I won’t bother the officer with more details. Ten stoner points for me; I’m loaded and passed off as sober in front of a cop. The idea that we’re going to be let off with a ticket hasn’t yet escaped me.

The officer finishes with my friends and mutters something into his radio, then tells us he’s going to search my car, again asking if there is anything we should tell him about. The answer is a silent “no”, and he opens the front passenger door, beginning his search with the glove box and center console.

“What’s in this leopard print bag here?” he asks me holding up the bag that I keep my pipe and lighters in.

“That…” I begin with a bit of a laugh, “uh…I keep my pipe and lighters in there.”

“We call that paraphernalia” he informs me, “no dope though?” he inquires looking through it and placing it on the dash when he’s done.

“None” I assure him. He continues his search with the back seats. A moment later he holds up a set of house address numbers that Tim had lifted during our scavenger hunt earlier; a friend’s birthday festivities. They spelled out the numeric date for Sean’s birthday.

“Oh…” Tim starts, “the numbers to my house…we’re remodeling.”

The officer shrugs a bit and goes to the rear door to search the back. We all snicker a bit over the house numbers.

“Whose checkered backpack is this?” My heart jumps into my throat and everyone is quiet. I’d completely forgotten about Sean’s backpack, which contained an ounce of pot and two forty’s. The silence continues because we’re all too terrified to speak up.

Everyone remains silent as he goes through the bag, appears, and gestures for me to come over.

“Whose bag is that?” he asks aloud again with no reply, then turns to me for the answer.

“Sean’s…Kid with the curly hair…The tall one.” I manage to say, fighting my heart back into my chest and hating every word as I rat out my friend.

“Okay…are you aware that there is an ounce of pot and two 40oz. beer bottles in there?’

“I knew about the beer, but I don’t drink.” I answer, “They aren’t open as far as I know.”

“And the dope?”

“I knew about the dope, but not how much.” A half-truth.

“Did you know he has a scale?”

“…No…” I manage, presenting a tone of surprise.

He says something into his radio again and I hear another car pull up, the flashing blue and red intensifies, and I’m instructed to go back over to my friends as the two policemen talk. After a minute or two, they call Sean over to talk to him. A moment passes, and we all watch in shock as the second officer puts handcuffs on Sean and put him in the back of the first squad car.

As I watch this, my arrogant and naïve idea that we are going to be let off with a slap on the wrists dies away. The cop comes over again and tells us that Sean has been arrested for possession with intent to sell.

Upon hearing this I close my eyes and rub my temples. My friends are standing behind me in shock and my head is filled with so many voices, quiet and loud, that I have to sit down for a moment. The moment passes. I stand up and, somehow, can keep myself composed, which my pride tells me I need to do.

When I turn around, Tim is standing and staring at nothing. Annie has buried her face in his shoulder, and Jane is standing there with her arms crossed, looking concerned and a bit frightened.

I look around a bit and what I see feels so surreal it could be a dream. A third car arrives, and the officer driving it is talking to the one who pulled us over. Officer number two is standing, arms crossed, about eight feet from me. The flashing lights are playing with my head and making the shadows jump about. With a deep breath, I walk back over to my three friends.

“You guys alright?” I ask, mostly addressing Annie. She just stares me down and after a moment says,

“I don’t want to talk to you right now.”

The blow from her words hits like a punch in the stomach, because my best and oldest friend is hanging onto her boyfriend as if for dear life, and will not talk to me. But I’m able to fight away those feelings with more deep breaths and my pride, again, telling me to keep my composure. I turn to face the street because I can’t look in their direction, but what I see instead isn’t much better, because two of my friends stop at the intersection, meet my eyes, and keep going with horrified looks on their faces.

It makes sense, because we’re expected at a party, haven’t arrived, and can’t answer our phones because we’ve been instructed to turn them off. They know where we are coming from and could accurately guess the route we’d take, but none of this occurs to me. All I fee is another punch in the stomach and more pain for my pride and I to beat back.

Two more officers arrive, bringing the total to five; one cop per kid. This only makes me angrier than I already am, because it keeps confirming the truckloads of trouble I am about to be in. The added lights only make the street corner dance about more than it already has been.

The two new officers are quickly briefed, then officers three, four, and five each take one of my friends aside for questioning. I am left standing there with the very bald officer number two in close proximity, arms still folded. I’ve lost track of Officer Number One, but I know he’s around.

 Even though they won’t speak to me, the presence of my friends helps ground me. Now that I am separated from them, my mind is my worst enemy, and my pride is the devil on my shoulder. My angel has long since told me to fuck off and get myself out of this one or deal with the consequences of my actions.

Deep breaths no longer help, and although I am still able to hold back tears, I’m pacing like a madman. If I don’t get someone to talk to soon, the voices in my mind will make me crazy.

“Ya have a name?” I ask officer number two, hoping that he’ll talk to me and appear a bit more human.

“Officer Goldman” he answers, making no gestures to shake my hand or appear less statuesque.

“Goldman…” I repeat. “I’m Nico…good to meet you.”

He remains inhuman. Even though I have a name to put with a face, he is still more suited for “Officer Number Two”, so I step away from him again to look around some more and see how my surroundings have changed. Annie is on the other side of a hedge with Officer Number Four, seated at one of the outdoor tables of Café Roma. Tim is on the corner with Number Three, and Jane is fifteen feet down the block with Officer Number Five. They all have their phones out, which can only mean one thing: parents.

Well…there it all goes…guess I’m going to have to call Mom and Dad soon too…they’re going to be damn unimpressed by all of this…shit…what’s my sister going to think?!...she’s at a sleepover…okay, I don’t have to see her tonight…

My thoughts are interrupted by Officer Goldman, telling me to get a hold of my parents. I nod, pull out my phone, and begin going through the steps to call them. They’re at the movies aren’t they? Dad’s cell…no answer…okay…home phone then. I stare at the screen on my phone, taking deep breaths. Contacts. Letter H. Home. Send.

I put the phone to my ear and wait for it to ring.

“When they answer, hand me the phone.” Officer Goldman instructs me.

Again I nod in acknowledgement of what I’m supposed to do. As it rings, my self hate grows for this call.

“Hello?” My mom answers, with her calm and soothing voice that takes a shot to my ribs. No mother should have to hear her child say this:

“Mom, I’ve got an officer here who needs to talk to you.” I say quickly, handing the phone to Officer Goldman who takes it and walks away.

At this point my mind goes wild, and all the feelings and pain that I’ve been holding back to stay composed hit me all at once with the force of a semi barreling down the interstate. My eyes fill with tears, but still my pride is telling me to fight away this pain. I stand there breathing and clenching my fists and gnashing my teeth and pacing and hating myself for getting pulled over and getting my friends in trouble and hating myself for fighting my pain off but I do it anyway because I don’t know what else to do.

My mind, my pride, and my surroundings are all at odds with each other. My mind, my own mind, is throwing everything it can at me, until finally it finds the image that hits too far below the belt to handle. I realize that I am right where my dad was at my age, and that was painful to admit because I never wanted to make his mistakes. I’ve known that I’ve been making them anyway, but have found ways to forget that until now, so I let myself cry.

Tears run down my face and my mind goes further. It moves on to how my parents will react to this. Then my sister’s reaction. It goes back to my best and oldest friend refusing to talk to me. Each thought brings its own feelings and those feelings take baseball swings at my now crippled ego.

My friends’ parents arrive, and I can’t look at their faces either. I can’t decide if I want to sit or stand, I’m still pacing, and as much as I don’t want them, I know I need these tears. The parents don’t though. Each one of them tells me to “get a hold of myself” or “straighten up”. They tell me “it’s okay”, and none of them can understand that I need to cry, because feeling the pain is far better than fighting it off.

I don’t know how long it’s been since I started crying, but after what feels like centuries, my tears dry up and I can’t cry anymore. Things begin to move much faster. Officer Goldman comes back with my phone and tells me that my parents are going to pick me up at Tim’s house.

Jane had left with her parents. Two of my friends had arrived sometime during all of this and are taking to Annie and Tim. Both of them try to console me, but I don’t want to hear it. Annie, seemingly forgetting that she’s furious with me, comes over and hugs me, and I cry into her shoulder. She tastelessly tries to lighten the mood my telling me that I am a silly boy for getting her shoulder wet. I’m neither surprised nor impressed by this.

I stay quiet on the walk up to Tim’s house, only three blocks away. We arrive before my folks, but Sean’s mom and Annie’s dad are there waiting. Somehow they all found a way to laugh and be merry, never mind everything that had taken place, and the fact that Sean’s parents aren’t allowed to speak to him because it might interfere with police business.

This cheerful and sickening veneer lasts until my parents come to collect me, looking damned unimpressed. Home doesn’t really sound like the greatest place in the world right now, but anywhere is better than where I am, and I can hear my bed calling to me. I know I’m about to be in way more trouble than my friends, who will most likely tell half-truths or, more simply, lie.

I find it ironic that I was stopped at a corner- a crossroads- because I’m put at a crossroads now; so I choose my path. I have no interest in lying anymore. My parents wouldn’t buy it anyway, so I decide to come totally clean with them, knowing that my life was going to change. Maybe change won’t be so awful though…

Epilogue: Monday, October 29, 2007

I sit in silent contemplation of the speaker’s share, slumped quite comfortably into a couch that will most certainly reek of cigarette smoke forever. My thousand yard stare through the floor is broken as the meeting secretary’s voice breaks the silence and thanks the speaker for his share. A short applause follows on cue, adding spice to the nicotine haze and lightening the previously somber feel of the room. Tonight’s speaker has one hell of a story.

“So, Scott?” the secretary begins, “How about a topic for discussion?”

“Okay…well, my sponsor always says that moments of spiritual meaning are a good topic, but, as always, you may share about whatever you like.”

Several hands shoot up to share, while a few others are slowly riased. This is a slightly less popular topic than others, or maybe it’s just more difficult, so fewer and fewer hands stay up after each share. Several shares go bye and I raise my hand and get tagged by Lia at the end of her share.

“Nico” she says and points. My hand falls and a smoke filled breath fuels my arms enough to free me from my slouch.

“I’m Nico; I’m an addict” I begin with a stretch, smiling at everyone’s response.

“Alright. So, the other night- Saturday night- I was hanging out with my friends…my using friends…I felt safe because no one had anything on them. I was feeling good too, ‘cause I just got my Thirty-Day Chip.

“That was a trip too, because I showed my chip to my friends and their reactions were priceless. The wanted me to explain its significance and why I carry it around… all that. Anyway, that’s not what I wanted to tell you all about.

“Around 10:30 we decided to go rent a movie, so I had to call my parents and get the okay to stay out later than I’d originally planned. That was fine, as long as I agreed to take a piss test the next morning- standard procedure these days. My friends think it’s crazy, I see it as the key to my social life and regaining my parents’ trust.

“On our way back to Tim’s house, I got that little voice in the back of my head. It was telling me that I should go home, even though I got the ‘okay’ to stay out later. And it kept bugging me… so I listened to it.

“I dropped my friends off and went home. Now, here’s where it gets interesting. I’m driving down Marin, and stop at the light on Marin and Masonic, and sitting on the corner are four kids. Cops all over the place, and their car is getting searched.

“Now, I’m not huge on the idea that everything happens for a reason…but that did. I needed to see that, because I was there a month ago, and it made me think. It made me glad that I was going home. That I was going to sleep in my bed. I was so fucking glad that it wasn’t me sitting on that corner.

“It made all of this real to me…ya know? If I can keep this up, I won’t find myself on that corner again- or anywhere worse. And, I knew that already, but I needed to see it. I needed to see it… That’s all I’ve got right now…”

My words trail off a bit and I look up to tag somebody. Paul has his hand raised, and after tagging him I go back to my comfortable slouch, taking my Thirty Day Chip out of my pocket. I greet a few friendly eyes around the room with a smile. I like this room. I like these rooms. Whether or not I actually am an addict, I like being here and staying clean.

I don’t want to be an addict, but I’ve been calling myself one because I think that it’s safer if I do. I have no shame about this. I have no shame about what happened. I figure that if I’m going to learn from my experiences, I need to keep an open mind.

It’s like I said; if I stay clean, I won’t end up back on that street corner, or anywhere worse. The bottom that I hit was shallow, and I don’t intend to dive any deeper.