Breakin' the Law
In the Wrong Place at the Wrong Time Dressed the Wrong Way
“Put that cigarette out! Now! RIGHT NOW.” The Soft-Faced Boy behind the wheel begged as he pulled over to the side of Bridge Street.
“Why? I just lit this one!” I protested from the back seat.
Pretty was calm as she leaned over the bench seat, “Bree, we’re getting pulled over.”
“What?” I jammed the freshly lit smoke into the little silver ash tray that slid into the back of the bench seat with a soft grating noise, “I didn’t even see any lights!”
“There were lights! Just… don’t say anything unless you have to!”
Pretty was a few months younger than me, but she spoke in a mom-like tone as if she was coaching a toddler through a doctor appointment. She always knew more about these kinds of things than I did. Pretty was the one who educated me about hickies, tampons and statutory rape so I assumed that police stop etiquette was also in her arsenal of tweenage wisdom.
So Pretty, the Soft-Faced Boy and I waited.
My body wanted to jump out of the car and run but my brain exploded with images and sensations of getting shot in the back, falling onto the grass or into the lake, gasping for air. In about 30 seconds, I envisioned about 30 grisly deaths for myself. This kept me rooted to the vinyl seat.
The Soft-Faced Boy rolled down the window as Officer Rectangle approached the driver’s side. At first, I could not see Officer Rectangle’s face, but his body was broad and tall with sharp shoulders and a wide stance that made the nickname I gave him inevitable.
“License and registra…” Officer rectangle pulled out a flashlight and shone it into the car. The beam of light hit Pretty in the passenger seat first. I blinked hard into the circle of harsh yellow light when it swung my way. “Do your parents know where you are right now?”
“I was just driving them home.” The Soft-Faced Boy offered.
“That’s not what I asked, son.”
The Soft-Faced Boy gripped the wheel hard at 10 and 2. His knuckles went freakishly white. My eyes whirled around in their sockets as if they had been greased and could not find stillness. I looked at Pretty then Officer Rectangle then Pretty then Officer Rectangle and so on. The air felt annoyingly fresh on my eyeballs. I realized that my eyelids must have peeled themselves all the way back in horror.
“He was just giving us a ride home.”
My voice felt small, like Cindy Lou Who, who was no more than 2 in How the Grinch Stole Christmas. I wished that I could sound more in control or at least, older than 13. I pulled at my acid washed denim miniskirt, hoping to convince Officer Rectangle that I was wearing more modest attire. I could not see his face past the glare of the flashlight, but I heard him sigh.
Sneaking out had been outrageously simple. Pretty and I got permission from her parents to camp out in the back yard. We pitched a tent and had a wholesome evening of sandwiches and books on the small patch of lawn in front of the tent. Reading together had been part of our sleep over ritual since we had met in the third grade. When the sun went down and the bugs came out we zipped ourselves inside the nylon walls then talked and giggled by flashlight until the light in her parents’ room went off. We changed into the clothes we had smuggled from Pretty’s bedroom, unzipped the tent and walked downtown.
See? Simple.
At the Red Owl parking lot we knew we’d find a reliable crew of Hessians (what we all called kids who listened to heavy metal) who would have cigarettes and maybe a few sips of Schnapps or beer to share. If we stood around long enough, some boy with a car would surely to take us for a spin up and down the main drag.
Pretty knew all the Hessian boys that hung out at Teens Encounter Christ.
Teens Encounter Christ, (TEC) was a protestant joint with pool tables and board games to keep local teens “cool and in school”. I had plenty of friends who hung out there in the afternoons and on weekends. They were all Lutheran or Presbyterian or whatever. As a Catholic girl who went to a small country church, TEC was not my scene. I did not understand the concept of “youth pastors” or “being cool with Christ”. No doubt about it, Jesus was pretty badass and all, but he wasn’t ever going to be my “funky, skateboarding BFF”. It seemed fundamentally unserious to me, maybe even sacrilegious, to take the Son of God out of his historical context to make him seem hip.
I also thought it was a little lame to voluntarily hang out doing church stuff during your free time. Wasn’t that stuff we only did while our parents were looking? How did it make sense that the kids who were banging heads and screaming I will occupy/ I will help you die/ I will run through you/ Now I rule you too! with me on Friday were reading to little kids and joshin’ around with Pastor Pete on Saturday morning? I mean, pick a lane! You’re either all about death, darkness and misery or Heaven and helping people.
Catholic kids know that religion isn’t about “being rad”, its about gruesome death, suffering and torture. Just ask the saints how you get closer to God- through enduring mutilation, degradation and torture while staying steadfast in your love for God! Burned at the stake, flayed alive, drawn and quartered, body parts cut off, skewered, crushed to death, mauled by wild animals, slowly grilled in the town square, all without renouncing their faith. Catholicism is sooooo very metal.
By the time The Soft-Faced Boy had picked us up to drive around the lake, Pretty and I had been in and out of maybe 4 cars. Guns ‘N Roses Appetite for Destruction was playing in nearly every car. Sweet Child O’ Mine was a mega hit and we must have sung it out the open windows at least once in every car. Except for The Soft-Faced Boy’s car.
The other four cars had been crammed with kids. Some were kids I knew, some I didn’t know., and some I knew by reputation only. Cruising the strip could put you inside an abused jalopy with a local teenage celebrity that had reputations for sleeping around, beating the shit out of people for looking at them funny, or both. But the Soft-Faced Boy’s car was empty. Our last ride of the evening was sort of special because Pretty and I were the only passengers. Metallica’s Master of Puppets played as softly as that album could possibly be played. We tooled around Fountain Lake at breakneck speeds up to 20 MPH smoking cigarettes and talking about next to nothing.
The Soft-Faced Boy didn’t have a lot to say beyond, “YOU GOTTA hear THIS!” every time Metallica fell into a heavy riff. Aside from the cigarettes and the fact that it was about 2:00 am, the whole exercise was pretty wholesome. We were just a bunch of kids blowing off steam after hours, until we got pulled over by Officer Rectangle.
“How old are you girls? Hmm?” Officer Rectangle asked.
“We’re… thirteen.” Pretty said.
The Soft-Faced Boy gripped the wheel even tighter. I heard him gulp and then sigh as he lightly tapped the back of his head against the head rest.
“And you’re… eighteen…” Officer Rectangle sighed deeply as he stared at The Soft-Faced Boy’s license, “Alright. You know you ran that stop sign back there…”
“I-I- I did?” The Soft-Faced Boy sounded legitimately surprised, “I’m sorry, I thought I… I … guess… “
“That’s enough.” Officer Rectangle said softly as he put up a tired hand, “You’ll be better off if you don’t talk much right now. Ladies, what are your names?”
I heard Pretty give her full name, address and the names of her parents and I hoped against hope that would be enough. Maybe he wouldn’t ask for my parents’ names. Maybe I’d be safe. Maybe…
“Steckman?” Officer Rectangle asked, “Are you…?”
“Yeah. Yeah. That’s my dad.”
My dad wasn’t famous or anything, but he was known in the area- a pillar of the community. Officer Rectangle shook his head as if my father’s status in the community made my offense that much greater. I pulled at the neckline of my off the shoulder crop top to make sure I wasn’t flashing an indecent amount of flesh.
A few hours earlier I had felt on top of the world. My legs, my hips, my waist, my boobs, my hair, they were all perfect and beautiful. I could make people look at me and they would give me things that I wanted just so they could be next to me, so they could keep looking at me. But the flashlight and Officer Rectangle looked at me as if I had fallen low, as if it was clear by the way that I was dressed that I had been doing unclean things all night long.
Protestant Jesus was not my funky-cool BFF. Skateboarding Jesus would never hang with such a harlot! Sad Catholic Jesus? Oh, he’d hang. Just ask Mary Magdalene.
“OK.” Officer Rectangle sighed. Then he leaned over to his shoulder and pushed a button the little handset clipped onto his epaulet, “I got a teenager with a traffic violation and two… YOUNG girls in the car.”
Kssssssshhhhhhhh, “How young?” Kssssssssshhhhhhh.
Officer Rectangle pushed the button again, “They SAY they are thirteen.”
Kssssssshhhhhhh, “Oh, for Pete’s sake, Brian!” Kssssssssshhhhh.
The Soft-Faced Boy dropped his head low.
“I’ll be back. Don’t you move.”
Officer Rectangle and the shoulder static disappeared into the squad car behind us.
“Why couldn’t you just tell him that you’re sixteen?” The Soft Faced Boy hissed.
“You wanted us to LIE?” Pretty’s spine straightened, “He would have found out anyway and then we’d be in more trouble for lying!”
“He might have let us go!”
“And monkeys might fly out of my butt!”
Pretty’s rejoinder silenced the Soft Faced Boy.
Officer Rectangle’s business in the squad car took about 2 minutes short of an eternity. I took a peek out the back window and saw him talking into the air and shaking his head. When I turned back around, Pretty was leaning her head on the passenger side window and The Soft-Faced Boy was slowly and softly bashing his forehead into the steering wheel. Each one of us was dreading the parental encounter to come.
“Do you think they’ll take us to the cop shop?” Pretty asked no one in particular.
I hadn’t considered the logistics of how they might return us to our parents. I thought I’d would be magically “poofed” into my home. It didn’t occur to me until that moment that Mom might have to pick me up at the police station. Of course it would be Mom. Mom’s job was to come get us. Dad didn’t do pick ups unless it was on his way… and it was never on his way.
Mom never put restrictions on my clothing or my make up, but I felt a knot tighten in my stomach as I imagined her looking at me in this outfit under what I assumed would be unforgiving florescent lights. Maybe it would look like the police station in Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. Would I end up kissing Charlie Sheen or at least his small town equivalent? Of course, Mom wouldn’t say anything, but I could hear the assumptions that would obviously be echoing in her skull. Great. My daughter is a hussy.
Funny how parents think sexy things only happen between midnight and 4 am.
“Oh, no.”
“What?” Pretty whirled around in alarm.
I immediately felt guilty for my stray thought, “I had plans to hang out with Cat this afternoon.”
Pretty looked bewildered. Cat (Catechism Katie) was a friend from church. She was incredibly sweet but somewhat sheltered.
“So?”
“I’ve already cancelled on her like four times. She is going to think I don’t like her if I cancel today!”
“What are we supposed to do about that now?” Pretty’s eyes flashed. The Soft-Faced Boy was eerily quiet.
“I… I just thought of it now and… I dunno…”
Officer Rectangle arrived at the Soft-Faced Boy’s window and my concerns about Catechism Katie beat a hasty retreat toward the back of my mind.
“Alright, I am issuing you a ticket for running that stop sign…”
I stared at the ashtray stowed in the seat ahead of me. The edges of my vision went fuzzy and the world in the car started to feel faraway, unreal. St. Jude, as the patron saint of lost causes, you are now my only hope. Please get me out of this situation. I haven’t done anything terrible. I didn’t hurt anyone. I didn’t have sex. I didn’t even kiss anyone, Jude! Have mercy on me. My parents don’t need to know. I don’t want to hurt Cat’s feelings. Please help!
“… Bree, your parents will pick you up ...”
The sound of my name brought me back into the car. I shook my head in an attempt to will myself back to full attention.
“My… my parents?” My stomach churned and I felt light headed
Officer Rectangle paused, “I think your sleep over has come to an end.”
I nodded and stared at my knees, my naked, naked knees. I was a little surprised when The Soft-Faced Boy pulled away from the curb and proceeded toward Pretty’s house. There would be no Cop Shop pick up, no Ferris Bueller’s Day Off scene with some sexy loser, no rescue from the stain upon my reputation. Sure, my peers won’t think anything of it. They might even think it is funny or cool, but my parents will overreact. They will assume I’ve had sex with all these guys but they will be too humiliated to talk about it. I won’t be their smart little girl anymore. I am going to be… something else.
What is that something else?
My mother was already at Pretty’s house when the Soft-Faced Boy let us out of his car without so much as a ‘good bye, see ya later’. Pretty’s mom whisked her inside and Mom motioned for me to get in the car. They were too angry to even speak to us but I was silently thankful that Dad didn’t show up for this part.
Mom asked me what I had been thinking and I answered in a daze. I don’t think she believed a word I said. Why would she? I was a liar.
“Well,” Mom said as she finally pulled into our gravel driveway, “you better get some sleep because you have to be up in a few hours so I can drop you off at Cat’s.”
My head nearly flew off the top of my neck because I swiveled it so fast. Mom continued.
“You aren’t going to cancel on her again. It’s not Cat’s fault you made a dumb mistake.”
Somehow my mother made visiting a friend feel like a harsher consequence than a straight up grounding. I got the message loud and clear.
Cat is a better person than you.