Bailing Out

Despite Jamie’s missing tooth—two over from the front—and his love of country music, he was ridiculously handsome. Tall, ropy, with young Richard Gere hair. And the first time he kissed me, right on the grimy dance floor, I felt myself go liquid. Though that might have been the two-for-one Long Island ice teas. He lived with his ‘mama’ and they did everything together—cook, slow dance, and argue. They always seemed to be three fist shakes short of a domestic violence incident.

I had two things that earned my position wedged into the corner of their sofa next to the slumbering German Shepherd: a truck and an ATM card. I had about $1000 left in the account and I was feeling kind of itchy to just get it spent, so I would be forced out of the limbo I’d malaised myself into. I’d been fired from the bookshop I worked in (apparently, you can’t borrow books from there or show up drunk) and I didn’t know if it was worth it to pay the $600 rent due in four days because I surely wouldn’t have my shit together to survive the month on $400.

I brought over drive-thru barbecue dinners; the Styrofoam containers squeaked as I hit the potholes on the gravel road which led to their tiny house. I distributed the food, cutlery and napkins. They didn’t thank me, but they didn’t mind when I helped myself to a beer either. The room soon filled with the smell of grease and tang and the sounds of meat ripped from bones. The dogs whined and the air-conditioner rattled just slightly louder than the motors of whatever vehicles were going around in circles on the TV.

I could go home for $365, exit the square tube of the airplane into my mother’s waiting arms, sleep on a real bed, and watch crime-dramas like a civilised person. How did I get here on a battered sofa in the middle of nowhere in Texas? Oh yeah, I got fired for drunkenly stealing a book that I already had stowed away in my mother’s attic, went to a bar alone, and met a guy who said I was cute when I bought him a bottle of Coors. Jamie was a man of limited words and in general, didn’t look in my direction. Which suited me. If he didn’t look, he didn’t see and if he didn’t see, I didn’t exist. And I didn’t want to exist.

Jamie borrowed my truck to help his friend move something or maybe to go to Mexico or maybe to rob a bank. I don’t really know because as I continued to drink their cheap beer, I couldn’t really hear. I sat and pet the dog who looked at me with one eye open, head on paws, ears folded back, us both wary but lazy. I could have changed the channel on the giant TV but I didn’t. The cars continued to go round and round, the crowd hungry for a crash or a win; they were happy either way.

When I woke up, Jamie’s mother and another woman were looking at me. “You ready to keep the party going, Princess?” She hated me because of my college degree and flat Midwestern accent. But she knew I’d buy the rounds.

“Where y’all going?” my attempt at Southern drawl sounded drunk, which I realised I still was. The ladies looked like they were going to a rodeo.

“The Wrangler. But you ain’t goin’ dressed like that.” I was in all black save bright feather rainbow earrings that tickled my chin.

“No. I’m all right. I’m going home in a bit. Where’s Jamie?”

“He’s already there. He’s expecting you.” Translation: “He’s expecting your wallet.”

“I’ll meet up with him later. Y’all go on without me.”

“Lock the door when you go and stay away from the booze.” Thinking she was concerned about my drinking and driving, I smiled until she added:

“It’s for when we get back.”

They left a cloud of perfume as the door slammed shut.

The bottle of vodka sat on the countertop like a vase full of flowers, brightening the effect of the entire room. I had a headache and too many thoughts so I poured a plastic cup full of orange juice and the centrepiece and sat back down in my spot, which the dog had not stolen from me. I decided I was going to drink the bottle and leave it propped up in the paws of the dog before I left.

Three hours later, a collect call startled me and the dog awake. It was from the Harris County jail and the voice on the other side was begging me sweetly to come and post bond at the jail. Jamie had had an “alteration” at the bar when a fellow got a little too friendly with his mama.

“What about your mom?”

“She’s here too. We ain’t got that kind of money right now.”

“Ok, I’ll be there soon.”

Three things happened in the next ten minutes: I couldn’t find my keys anywhere. Second, while looking for my keys, I realised I could barely see straight and knew I wouldn’t be able to find my way to the highway. And three, I knew if I made it the highway, I would purposefully drive my truck right into the path of an oncoming semi. I played the scene out in my head like it was an upside-down bizzaro world car race show. I imagined the crowd cheering upon impact, my fist in the air for the victory, the sweet oblivion that would follow.

With only a purse and a book, I entered the mild Midwest 15 hours later with $400 and bad breath. My mother gave me a hug and a grimace. What we didn’t know then and for a long time after was that a bail out is only temporary. It gets you out of the holding cell, but not the prison.