Long Blue Line: Based on a True Story (46 page)

My relationship with my father had improved in the prior months. When I had the relapse that caused me to land myself back in jail the last time, I gave up on trying to hide anything from him. I came to the conclusion that lying to him didn't do any good. If anything, it only made him more frustrated. I decided to be brutally honest with him. When I told him everything over an email, I expected him to write back and be totally furious. When he responded and thanked me for being honest with him, I was surprised. If I had known that brutal honesty was all that he wanted, I could have done that a long time ago. Most parents have a hard time handling the truth, especially if it involves illegal activity. My dad had his own history of making mistakes in his younger years. He just wanted to know what was going on.

In the few days before my Court Hearing, I called my dad to let him know what was going on. Of course I didn't come out and say that I was still using drugs, but I told him about the rest of the drama. "Well, I don't have any jobs that day. Do you want me to go to Court with you?" I was glad that he was offering to do this because I knew that Derrick couldn't go with me. I knew that I was probably going to be arrested, and I was definitely nervous. "If you don't mind, I would definitely appreciate that." Before getting off the phone, he told me that he would meet me in front of the Court fifteen minutes prior.

I woke up that morning feeling sick to my stomach. I was slow to get dressed, and I honestly didn't care if I was on time or not. Either way I was going to jail. Derrick dropped me off in front of the Court, quickly kissed me goodbye, and told me he loved me. I nervously headed towards the entrance where my dad was standing. "Well, if they do arrest you, I'll head over to the Sheriff's office and put money on your books," he offered. I knew that I would need some money on my books because I was going to have to get shower shoes. We walked into the Court and took our seats next to the crowd of other nervous people waiting for their case to be called. Two hours went by before they called me. I was so nervous that I had to walk out of the Courtroom to pee every fifteen minutes. The female Judge called my case, and I walked up where my Attorney was. I hadn't seen her in a while and I wished that I could have talked to her and explain the situation before they called me. I left the details with her secretary a few days earlier, but I wasn't sure if she had gotten them.

The Judge went through the paperwork and started speaking as if the other cases didn't exist. Clearly, the Court was unorganized. For a moment I thought that I was going to get off without going to jail. Before I knew it, the Bailiff sitting at the desk to my right quickly jumped up and walked up behind me. "I need you to place your hands behind your back," he calmly said as he put those heavy metal cuffs around my wrists. Not only was I miserable, I was also embarrassed. There were probably at least one hundred people in the Courtroom and they all were seeing me be handcuffed. There wasn't much else to do except to go to the booking area. The Judge scheduled an Arraignment Hearing for the next day. I walked over to booking with the Bailiff escorting me and instructing me to stay on that all too familiar long blue line. The reality sunk in. As I was sitting at the same table I had sat at three other times, I realized that this time I really did not do anything wrong. It made me think back to all of the other times I had spent in jail. I had done something wrong at some points to end up there, but every single arrest involved Derrick. Whether it was his powerful influence that he had over me, or actions of my own, he played a role. When I was escorted to my new cell after changing into my oranges, I made my bed and lay down. My depression and grief quickly turned into anger and frustration. I was angry with Derrick. I was angry that I was sitting in jail and he was not. He was supposed to be the one sitting in jail.

When I went to my Arraignment the next day, it was a little bit after 12:00 noon. Before the Judge called my case, my Probation Officer came up and sat in the chair next to me. "Okay, so here is what's going on," she said as she looked at her clipboard. "I know that you don't want to be here, and honestly, I don't know what your involvement was. If you can tell me where we can find Derrick, I can probably get you out of here in a couple of hours." I became eager to give him the information that I had. I was done with jail, and I wanted my life back. This last round of heartache got me to my wits end. When I had time away from Derrick and was sitting in my jail cell, I was able to really think about the situation that I was in. It wasn't good. It was full of empty promises. We couldn't just wish our lives to be better. Something serious had to happen before I could fully understand this. For me, it was happening in this moment as I sat in an orange suit with shackles on my wrists and ankles.

I gave my Probation Officer as much information as I could. I told him what Derrick was living and I told him where he might be. I didn't remember what the physical address was, but I had a rough idea of how to get there. My Probation Officer helped me draw a map on a piece of paper from the clipboard, and he said that he would keep me updated. I wasn't let out of jail that day, but the next day I was. Both my Probation Officer and my Lawyer came to see me. My Lawyer explained to me that the Court didn't want to let me go because they thought that I might either run or help Derrick continue to hide. My Probation Officer expressed the same concern. He told me that he wanted to recommend that I be let out, but he didn't know if he could trust my judgment. I reassured him that I was completely done with getting in trouble, and I was thinking about filing for a divorce. I gave him my word that I would not run, and I reminded him that out of all of the other times I was in trouble, I never ran. This worked in my favor, because the next day when I went to Court, the Judge let me go home. She reminded me that if I were to run or even help Derrick hide, she would send me straight to prison.

After putting my own clothes back on and collecting my personal items from the calendar, which was my purse, a pack of cigarettes and thirteen dollars, I walked out of the exit door, and I was on my own. Luckily, my house was only a fifteen-minute walk away. I smoked a cigarette as I made the walk, pondering how important it was to have my freedom. I value my freedom and I knew that it would always be at risk as long as I stayed with Derrick. When I got home, my house was empty and cold. I didn't know what to do, so I called my older sister. She listened to me while I cried on the phone, and a few hours later she brought me a bag of groceries and a book that she thought might help me. I cleaned up my house, got into my pajamas, and made myself cozy on the couch with my book. When I opened it, I saw that she had written something on the inside flap.

Lizzie,

You are the bravest person I know. I'll always love you not matter what.

Lilah

Although unexpected, I thought that it was extremely nice of her to write that. She went out of her way to do something to help me feel better, and it helped me to regain a little bit of my self-worth. I read the first few chapters of the book, and it really did help me feel better. It had a bunch of positive affirmations in it, and it helped me to understand why I had put myself in these situations.

Later that same night, I got a phone call from Derrick. He was calling me from a payphone because he was too paranoid to use his cell phone. "I'm so glad you are out of jail. I really want to see you. I'm so miserable without you," he said, genuinely sounding miserable. "I want to see you too, but I'm so worried about getting caught. They will send me straight back to jail," I said, hoping that he would understand. "I'm running out of clean clothes, and I really need some stuff from the house. If you just walk down here, no one is going to find out. I'm staying in the trailer that's next to the old house that Donnie and I used to live in," I sighed, and agreed to bring in his stuff. I felt bad for him, but I was also really worried that I was going to get caught. I put on my jacket, packed up the bag for him, and started walking. I left through the back door, and cut through the rest of the mobile home park where it would be more difficult to spot me. It was freezing outside, and the walk was longer than I thought it was going to be. It was really dark and making me nervous. I got to the trailer and called out so he would hear me. He opened the door and I walked in. It was abandoned, dark, dingy and cold. Right away he hugged me and told me that he loved me. I gave him his things and sat down on the couch that he was sleeping on. Technically, it was the seats from a two-door pickup truck. He was cold and depressed, and I had mixed feelings about it. I didn't know it at the time, but I had lost complete respect for him. I had a defensive wall that had been formed, and he was partially to blame. I showed him compassion, talked for about an hour, and told him that I had to go.

Before leaving, he pulled me next to him one last time. "Let's just run. We are never going to get out of this. In my mind, the only way to get back to our daughter is to run." I could see where he was coming from, but I had just gotten out of jail. There was no way in hell that I was going to risk going back. I gently responded, "We can't. We just have to hang in there. Maybe you should just get it over with and turn yourself in. The sooner that you take care of it, the sooner that we can leave." Deep in my heart I had no intentions of leaving with him. I was hoping that he would turn himself in so I would be free to really beginning my life. I would never be able to live an honest, safe and content life if I were to stay with him.

Only a few days after I was released from jail, I was sitting at home watching TV when I got a phone call. It was the County Jail. They had finally caught Derrick, and he was arrested and being charged with three felonies. I also got a call from Derrick after he was in jail. "I just wanted to let you know that they arrested me, and I don't know how long I'm going to be here. I got tired of hiding, so I guess I'm kind of glad that I'm just getting it over with." He regained a little bit of my respect because he was showing some willingness to take responsibility for this. Tears fell down my cheeks. "I love you, and as soon as I can, I’ll put money on your books. Try to hang in there, and when I get the car I'll come and visit you." Somehow, our car ended up with the old man that was friends with our neighbor and his name was Lowell. I didn't know how to say his name right, so I just called him Lolo. I sent Aaron a text message asking if he could have Lolo drop the car off. Within a few days, the ugly burgundy car was back in my driveway. I had decided that I was going to try my very best to stay away from drugs, and see what I could do to support myself.

Less than a week after getting out of jail, I realized that I needed to get a job as soon as possible. Since the whole town thought nothing of me anyway, I went straight to McDonald's. When I walked in, I saw one of the girls that I was in jail with while I was pregnant working behind the counter. She smiled and asked me what I wanted to eat. I told her that I was actually looking for a job, and I needed to start working right away. Her eyes lit up with excitement, and she went back to get the manager. He hired me on the spot, issued my uniform shirts, and I was going to start that same night. I was embarrassed that I was going to be working there, but it was a lot better than sitting in jail or going without food. I called my mom to tell her. I was curious to see what the reaction was going to be. "Aww, good job. Lizzie! Most people wouldn't do what you did today, and I'm very proud of you. A job is a job, and you are doing what you need to do." Her reaction gave me a little bit more confidence, and I went to work that night feeling a little less ashamed. I was lucky that the manager was there full-time. When I got home every night, I was pretty tired, but I felt like I was doing the right thing. Everything was going okay until I agreed to give my jail buddy a ride home after work. Instead of taking her home, we stopped at one of her friend’s houses, only to get a sack of meth and start the self-destruction all over again. I just could not say no.

I went to the jail to visit Derrick as often as they would let me. He seemed to be hanging in there pretty well. The District Attorney's office was trying to charge him with two strikes. In the State of California, if a person gets three strikes he or she is subject to a minimum of twenty-five to life. Derrick was sticking to his guns and not talking to the detectives. Apparently Donnie was trying to put most of the blame on Derrick for the assaults that took place at night. Donnie was just as guilty as Derrick. As far as the case with the baby, I hadn't heard any more news. I quickly gave up that they would solve it at all. If they couldn't solve the case with my daughter, I had no reason to believe that they could solve this one. The baby never ended up having a funeral. The family was too broke, and his body was in the custody of the State for so long, that they just decided to cremate him. I spoke with Derrick. Derrick’s parents called occasionally, and his mother and I emailed him every day. I told her about my job, and she was updated with everything that was going on. She sent me pictures of Danielle. When I thought about leaving Derrick, I felt extreme conflict. This was only because we had a child together. It was one thing for me to leave. Derrick, but it was a total other thing to completely disregard Danielle. I knew that somehow I had to at least try to be with her. I didn't know how it would happen, but I had to try.

I got high with my friend from jail every day for the next week. I was surprised to learn that I actually liked my job. It was easy, and they switched my job to meet up with my tasks enough to where it didn’t get too boring. At this point, my mom was calling me almost on a daily basis. I think that she was worried about me because she knew that I was by myself and she knew about my neighbor. I decided to take the brutally honest approach with her too. I knew that the only way to really help myself was to be honest with everyone else, and in turn I would be forced to be honest with myself. On my night off from work, the old man Lolo came over. We were bored, and he had meth. When my mom called, I went into the back room to talk to her. I was feeling guilty, exhausted and out of ideas, so I told her that I had been high for the last week. "Well, why can't you just get away from it?" she asked, not completely understanding how addiction to this particular drug manifests. "It's just not that easy. It is everywhere, no matter where I go. My neighbor has it, my neighbor's friend has it, and people at work have it. People are always stopping by here when they have it and they know that I won't say no," I confessed. "Liz, that's dangerous. You could end up dead. Those people are dangerous and unpredictable. What are you going to do?" "I don't know but all I can do is work. I don't know how to get away from it because it's everywhere. And if I know that someone has it and it's offered to me, I can't say no. It's a physical and mental addiction."

She started to understand a little bit better. "Well can't I just come and get you out of there?" she asked, and I knew that this could be my only chance to really get out. She hadn't asked me this question in a while, so I knew that when she did she was serious. "If it's okay with you guys, then yes. I don't know how to get away from this, and I think that if I just leave, it might be my only chance." "Okay, Lizzy, have your stuff packed and be ready to go early in the morning. I'm probably going to leave here around 5:00 a.m." "I'll be ready. Just call me when you are a few minutes away. Love you." We got off the phone. I walked out of the back room, and Lolo was in the kitchen, crafting up some gourmet spaghetti dinner. I don't even know where he got the ingredients, because I barely had any food. He sure was creative, though. I guess he had to learn how to improvise over the years, because from what I had heard him say to Derrick, it sounded like he was living this lifestyle for over twenty years now.

The last night that I spent in Tahoe, with Tahoe being my official place of residence, was a night that I probably won't ever forget. Lobo was actually an interesting person who had once lived a very interesting life. He told me stories about his younger years and how quickly his success turned into nothing. "You should have seen me back then," he laughed. "I had the 70’s Afro, I already had a house paid for, and I had a beautiful wife and a little girl." "Then, I started using drugs, and I just liked it way too much. I spent all of the money that we had saved up, and we lost everything. Of course, my wife was furious, and she ended up taking my daughter and leaving. I've tried to see her over the years but haven’t been able to. Her name is Rihanna. I would do anything to see her again." This got me thinking. With all of my obsessive research I had done over the last few years, I wondered if I could find his daughter online. After doing some research for only a few minutes, I pulled up a profile picture of a woman who fit her description. I showed the picture to Lolo, and he was convinced that it was Rihanna. I sent her a Facebook message and explained who I was and why I was contacting her. I gave her Lolo's phone number and told her that he was trying to get in touch with her. Lolo took off to find more drugs, and I let him take my car. I knew that I wasn't going to need it because I wasn't going to take it to my mom's house. In the back of my mind, I knew that he wasn't going to come back in time to say goodbye.

It was already 4:00 in the morning, and the only thing I had left to do was pack and shower. My mom called me around 6:00 a.m. to tell me that she was a few minutes away. I didn't know how I was going to stay awake because I was starting to get tired. I was going to end it. I was ready to say goodbye to crystal meth. I took one last residual hit out of the empty glass pipe, and I smashed and broke it in the toilet. I flushed the remnants of the broken pipe down the drain, and I thought about how much I had lost over the drug. I can't honestly say that I let this drug into my life willingly. It snuck into my life as I was trying to find my own identity. I caved to the peer pressure by experimenting with cocaine. My heart knew that it wasn't right, and I ignored the warnings of my subconscious. The first time I ever used drugs, I thought that I was snorting cocaine. I ingested methamphetamine in extremely large quantities. Even as a recreational cocaine user, I still knew that I never, ever wanted to try meth. That was one drug that I was not willing to experiment with. I had heard the horror stories and I had seen the before and after pictures. It was never going to be a part of my life. When it suddenly invaded my body without me even having a chance to contest, it was over. While it was normal to everyone else, it was trash to me. I had allowed trash into my life and eventually that's what I had become. I lost my self-worth, my sanity, my values, my family, and most tragically, my babies. Even years after losing them, it still cuts like a knife to say that to myself. It was still extremely difficult to grasp the fact that they were no longer with me. It was unbearable. I looked at myself in the mirror, and I didn't know who I was looking at. I wasn't that young, confident mom and full-time student. I wasn't that young married woman happily taking care of her family. I wasn't that girl getting ready for her senior project. I wasn't the teenager who was in love with the idea of being in love. I wasn't the girl who spent her entire summer vacation locked up in her bedroom obsessively reading the novels that she couldn't get enough of. I wasn't the aspiring musician who would spend hours teaching herself how to play songs on the piano. I wasn't the little kid getting ready for her first cheerleading competition. I wasn't the twin who was beating up her other twin in fifth grade. I wasn't the five-year-old little girl running around and screaming in excitement because she got a baby alive doll for Christmas.

I didn't know who I was. I didn't know who I was supposed to be. My babies had given me the unexpected gift of preserving and prolonging my own childhood. Although I was their mother, I was still able to live and enjoy everything about being young and innocent. I still had an excuse to buy Barbie dolls. I had a reason to watch Charlotte's Web again. Some would believe that my childhood was taken away when I became pregnant. My beliefs are much different. My happiness and childhood was given back to me when my babies came into my life. My true childhood, those years that I most vividly recall as a young person, were ripped from me when my little girls went away. That was when I lost my childhood. That was when I lost my innocence. That was when I lost my young heart and bright future. It would take a long, long time and a miracle to ever recover from the painful damage caused by methamphetamine. My post-traumatic-stress disorder hadn't even begun.

“How are you Lizzie?” my mom asked as she walked in to help me put my bags in the trunk. “I’m ok, just tired,” I replied. She hugged me. “I’m so glad that I get to take care of you. I get my Lizzie back!” she said, patting my head. I wasn’t sure how she was going to get me back when I couldn’t even get myself back, but if anyone could do it, it would be my mom.