getting arrested on the Bay Bridge

I’m playing pool at a friend’s house. Drinking beer with his ghetto want to be gangster friends. They hate me. Thought I was a criminal but I guess I just don’t make the cut. Phone rings. Check it. Hit the cancel call button. This is the tenth time she has called me tonight. I briefly wonder why then I remember the e-mail. Jesus the fucking e-mail.

In a state of being utterly drunk off of jack and cokes (my favorite drink at the time) I had recently written my girlfriends’ ex-boyfriend an e-mail. He was constantly trying to take my girlfriend out on “dates” and in my mind trying to fuck her one last time. Grieving? Everyone does it differently. I respect that. Lies. Fuck him. So I wrote him an e-mail politely saying that I don’t really care how he feels and to stay the fuck away from my GF. Perfectly Reasonable.

Earlier that night.

Text: Abigail (my girlfriend) writes: how do you spell my name? what the fuck is she talking about. Already drunk. Text back: Abygail?…jesus bapu. That is incorrect. Epic fail. She leaves me a couple of angry voice messages. She needs to talk. He must have showed her this e-mail with her name misspelled all over the place. Nice move dude. Now instead of you backing off I’m in the doghouse. Fuck it. I’m drinking beer and playing pool. Hit the cancel call again on my phone.

The party is over. I walk to Abigail’s house. Stumbling. Drunk. Gearing up for a fight. It’s go time baby. How do I talk my way out of misspelling my girlfriend’s first name? typo? That would have worked if I hadn’t done it over and over and over and over.

Abigail’s house:

“Do you like me? Do you really? Cause you can’t even spell my first name. We have worked together for over a year. I wear a fucking name tag.”

Can’t argue with that. This chick makes a good point. Don’t like her tone though and I tell her so. Balls of steel. This guy.

“Not to mention how wildly inappropriate that e-mail was in the first place!’ Don’t e-mail my x’s! It’s non of your fucking business what kind of relationship I have with my ex-boyfriends. They are a big part of my life and what are you?”

No answer.

“Nothing. That’s what you are. So keep your fucking mouth shut until I tell you to open it.”

Wow she is really handing me my ass now. I feel the stench of rage start to boil in my veins. Fuck this shit.

“I’m sorry. I’m really bad at spelling?” a poor excuse. Mumbling now.

“I do not accept your apology. You don’t even sound sorry.” Her beautiful blue eyes are piercing their way through my heart. Stop staring at her tits. Think. Look sorry. Fuck.

“I’m sorry…. Let me explain, I was just trying to…” she reaches over and flips the light switch. The room goes dark. Something about how she cut me off in midsentence makes the blood rush to my head and explode. Did you just turn the lights out on me? Fuck you. I want to put my fist through her wall. Lacking visibility I can’t punch anything. Acting on instinct I take my glasses off my face and break them in half at the bridge. Now holding my broken glasses I feel the hatred rise up and enter my hands. I chuck the broken glasses at her head as hard as I can. I miss. Fucking horrible throwing arm. I storm out and slam the door. What else was I supposed to do? There go a perfectly good pair of spectacles.

Her roommate, a chunky artist chick is downstairs watching TV. She stares at me. Wide-eyed. She must have been listening. I collect my feelings and slowly walk her way. Offer out my hand.

“It was nice to meet you.” I say.

“You too.” She looks confused.

I turn and walk out of the house. Time: 2:30 AM. I am on Treasure Island. I live in San Francisco. The bus is an hour wait then a thirty-minute ride. Fuck this. I’m walking. I call her phone as I go. Across the bay are the glowing lights of SF. Fucking beautiful. I tell her that we are done. It was a nice ride but obviously it isn’t going to work out. Good-bye Abigail.

I’m walking across the bay bridge now. Totally illegal. Car horns are blaring at me as they past. Fuck them. I turn on some music on my phone; sliding it into my jacket pocket. I’m having fun now. It’s cold and beautiful. The city is in the near future; lit up like giant Christmas tree. The water is sparkling 200 hundred feet below me. I briefly consider jumping. It would be a beautiful fall. The idea of death brings me back to reality.

I call my best friend. Tell him where I am. Bragging. Laughing. Drunk on the rush. He is worried. I hang up. Fuck it, I’m having the time of my life.

Whoop whoop.

Blue and red lights flash behind me. On the loud speaker I hear someone yelling at me.

“Get down on the ground!”

I turn to see the police cruiser for the first time. They have their guns out. Smile. Really? Guns? You really gonna shoot me? I lay down on the steel bridge. Face down. Cold hard steel on my cheek. I briefly think about germs. They cuff my wrists and throw me into the back of their car. Roughly. Whatever.

These seats are so uncomfortable.

“What were you doing?”

“Just trying to get home, my girlfriend kicked me out of her place.”

“You weren’t trying to jump?”

“No sir. I love my life. I just didn’t have money for the bus.” Lies. I have exactly a dollar fifty in my pocket.

“You know it’s illegal to walk across the bay bridge?”

“No sir. Although in retrospect it seems obvious.” (There is no pedestrian walking path on the bay bridge.) They bombard me with a series of random questions, to which I answer “no sir” and “yes sir.” (This is how you talk to cops BTW)

Parked underneath a bridge now. Open the door. Get out. Breathe into this tube. Longer. Longer. Winded now. I get back into the back seat.

45 seconds later.

The cop leans his head into the back window.

“Your not as drunk as we thought you were.” No shit? Sweet.

“I told you, sir I am just trying to get home. My girl friend kicked me out and I didn’t have money for the bus.”

I have been secretly trying to get the dollar fifty out of my pocket this whole time. Gotta make that lie real. Strangely every time I have been arrested I have never been searched. White boy.

“Where do you live?”

“I live on Sutter and Taylor.”

He nods his head and gets back in the Po-Po car. They drive me to about five blocks from my apartment. The worst part of town. Park. Lights on. He opens the door and lets me out.

“If I catch you on the bridge again, I will take you to jail.”

I laugh. How could I not?

“You will not sir, I promise.”

He un-cuffs me.

“Get home safe.”

“Thank you sir.” I reach out my hand and we shake (I do this to all the police officers that arrest me.) Thanks.

Walking home. Need a drink. Fuck you Cali! Don’t sell booze past two in the morning. I buy two packs of smokes. Walking home now. Jesus I’m lucky. Stepping out of the shadows is a bum covered in dark green shawls. I see the flash of steel. A Knife? Really?

“Give me your wallet.” He says brandishing his four-inch fold out blade.

“Fuck you.” I say. I just got arrested and let go; like a catch and release fish. I’m not dealing with crack heads.

“Give me your wallet or I’ll cut you!”

I laugh out loud. Weird reaction. Reaching into my back pocket I pull out the smokes I just bought and throw them on the ground. Here. I run up the hill.

Home now.

Calm the best friend.

I’m safe.

Smoke some pot.

Drink every drop of booze left in the house.

Draw a bath.

Climb in.

Fall asleep.

Wake up to my best friends’ girlfriend peeing.

My phone has one text message from Abigail, it reads: What happened last night? I was wasted. Don’t remember a thing.

Fuck.

We date for the next three years.

Go figure.