Someone Pulled the Trigger

02Dec07

I was at a friend’s house. Directly across from her apartment was a parking lot. This street had tons of traffic, especially by the police, as it is one of the main streets leading to the police department.

I watched as a group of kids stopped right in front of the parking lot. One of the kids picked up a glass bottle on the ground; his arm quickly moved behind his head, as if he was going to throw it. I immediately yelled, “Don’t you dare throw that!” My friends rushed out of the apartment and one of them reiterated my demand.

He threw the bottle.

My friend, who I’ll call Jamie, quickly picked up the telephone and called the police. Because of the close proximity of the police department, they were there within seconds. The police officer began his normal routine. He asked for a description of the kids and sent it out over the radio. A very short time later, another police officer told the officer talking to us that he had the suspect in custody and that he was on his way to our location.

The officer started taking our information: our names, addresses, phone numbers. The severity of the issue, even if it was slight, began to hit me. Nervously, I asked, “Am I going to have to go to court?” I knew my parents would be utterly pissed and not even try to understand the situation if I had to go to court—even if I was merely a witness, rather than a suspect.

My friends laughed at my comment. I did not. The officer was polite and said, “You may. You don’t want people vandalizing your friend’s neighborhood, do you?”

Even with his rationalization, I was incredibly anxious. My good mood quickly transitioned to a bad mood, one with fear and anger. “What have I gotten myself into,” I wondered.

For the next week straight, I made sure I was at home when the mail arrived. If I was going to be subpoenaed, I wanted to be the one to get it in the mail. In other words, I needed to intercept it so my father did not receive it.

I never did receive a subpoena. In fact, I highly doubt it ever even went to court. Regardless, the incident acted, I believe, as a “trigger” to what would come later (in terms of anxiety). You see, this incident lead to a serious fear of the police. I was scared of being pulled over, being arrested, or really just having any dealings with the police. However, it was not this incident that “tipped the bucket.”

My friend, Jamie, was someone who I hung out with often. She was literally one of my best friends, but she was much older than me. Older by probably at least five years. However, she was shady: she had a tendency to be moody, she lied like no one else, and she had various other emotional issues.

She had started a relationship with a gentleman we saw walking down the street with his friend. I made some comment to them. I cannot remember the comment exactly, but it could easily be argued that my comment may have been a primary cause of my life being screwed up. If it weren’t for that comment, the events that transpired may never have, well, transpired.

She tried to appease the situation. She ended up inviting them in for a “beer,” although I was not drinking. She and another friend were, however.

The next day, Jamie claimed that Eddie, her new friend, had come over. She swore that he had tried to rape her. Because she had not always been honest with me, I did not believe her, but I did give her the benefit of the doubt. I talked to her about the situation. She was clearly upset, but she was also a good actress.

Another day later, I went to a belt test. Because Jamie lived right across the street, I decided to go pay her a visit. I rushed over there and the first thing I saw was the word “DIE” painted on her window. I ran back to the dojo and was told of the situation. Later, Jamie arrived at the dojo and she, too, explained the situation.

We went over and looked: “DIE” had been spray painted in big red letters on her front and back windows and her car window. She made a police report when she first noticed the issues, so we decided to clean the paint up. We removed it and I went back to the dojo.

Several minutes later, “DIE” appeared on her front window again. If I were in her situation, I would have been incredibly scared. This went on for a couple of days. She probably made 15 police reports over those days, too.

I called Jamie on the telephone one day. I received no answer, but I did not leave a message on her answering machine. She had CallerID, but she never returned my call. Now, this was in the midst of the whole “DIE” situation, so nerves were certainly on alert.

About an hour after the call, I was outside watering our plants. I looked up the road and notice a police officer coming down the street. He was driving slowly and talking into his microphone. I was literally frozen with fear as he stopped at the base of my driveway, exited his cruiser, and began his trek up my driveway.

My first question was, “Am I under arrest?” His response was him shaking his head slightly and saying, “Why would you be under arrest?”

He asked for my father, but he had not arrived home for lunch yet. I said he wasn’t there, so he asked for my mother. I went into the house and got my mom. At this point, I was nearly in tears, still frozen, and literally pulling on my hair like a maniac.

He told her the situation. Apparently, Jamie said someone called her and told her to “DIE.” They traced the calls and my number was on there. The police officer talked to my mom, and after the initial tenseness of the situation, the conversion turned more casual.

At this time, however, my father was arriving home: he was utterly pissed (he must not like seeing the cops at his house). I was embarrassed and my parents were embarrassed.

I pleaded for the police officer to believe me that I did not prank call her. I think he believed me, as he left and I never heard anything about that situation again.

The rest of the day, however, I laid in bed, looking out the window every time a car was coming near. I was sure the police were going to come back and “get me.” I was unable to sleep, unable to eat, and, really, unable to even talk.

I thought about the situation and realized how utterly stupid the cop was, unless he was just being extra cautious. My call was at 10:30 and he said the call came in at a 11 o’clock. There was no reason for him to be at my house!

The police never came back. Jamie, however, did call the next day. I think she apologized, and, of course, I forgave her. She talked to my mom about it, too. My mom had always been more understanding than my father, so she was okay with the situation and believed me, while my father was pissed and decided to tell my brothers about the situation so I could deal with their ruthless abuse.

In the end, it is truly my belief that Jamie was spray painting the words “DIE” on her own windows in an effort to garner the attention of others. There is absolutely no other explanation: she lives on a busy road and the incidents only occurred when she was by herself. Perhaps that’s a hint.

My fear of police was now very real and occupied many of my thoughts. However, I was still able to leave and able to function—that is until Jamie decided to steal.

More about that next time!

Filed under: Introduction, Personal, Social Anxiety   |  1 Comment
Tags: anxiety, fear, liar, police, vandalism