Telemachus Rising Read online

  “Alright, it's been twenty minutes. That should be plenty of time.”

  I swear he was lying to me when he said it'd been twenty minutes.

  “Blow all the way until the green light comes on.”

  I took a deep breath and exhaled until I felt the carbon dioxide wheeze from the bottom of my lungs. The hand held device gave a little beep and a green LED lit up an inch from my face.

  “Okay, that'll do.”

  I shivered. I really had to pee.

  “You are now being arrested for driving while under the influence of alcohol. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say...”

  Oh shit fuck, this was not happening. This was happening. I couldn't believe this was happening. Of course this was happening. It was fucking bound to happen. I had known I was screwed from the second those red and blue lights came on. What was I going to tell my mother? Maybe I could keep it quiet. Maybe nobody would have to find out. Shit, I was about to go to jail. What if I went to jail for real? I was going to have to have a trial. There was at least going to be a court date. What was this going to cost? What if I wasn't allowed to drive anymore? There was no way I was going to be able to keep this quiet. I couldn't hide the consequences. She was going to go ape shit. This was all we needed. Perfect fucking timing. Like our family hadn't had enough to deal with. At least my dad would never find out.

  “Do you understand these rights as they have been read to you?”

  Wow. Just like a cop show.

  “Yes I do.”

  The second officer was pawing around the front of my jacket.

  “Is there a hidden pocket in here or something? I can feel your keys, but I can't get to them. If you can tell me where they are I'll roll up your window for you.”

  Snow was beginning to fall. It was a nice gesture. He didn't have to do that. It didn't even sound like they were going to tow my car...I had assumed that was standard procedure.

  “I think I put them in the inside pocket. The lining in the other one is just torn”

  He reached into the inside pocket and fished out my keys. He held onto them as the other officer walked me to the back of the patrol car.

  “Watch your head. Careful sitting down, the bench is hard.”

  “Thank you.”

  I sat down harder than I'd intended. The bench in the back seat of the car was molded plastic. Even though he'd warned me, I hadn't been expecting it. For what it's worth, it's tough to sit down gently when your arms are handcuffed behind your back. I leaned against the seat and was surprised to find the back rest hollowed out to accommodate arms. It was more comfortable than I would've guessed. I felt relieved in a weird way. At least this was decided. The car was nice and warm after standing outside. The radio was on a classic rock station. I considered that we might get along under different circumstances. The officers were just doing their job.

  It was dark in the back of the police car. I felt cool air enter the cabin and heard the front door slam. The officer fastened his seat belt and pulled away from the curb. I watched as we passed my car, still parked on the side of the street. The snow was really coming down. The officer radioed in to the station to let them know we were on our way. We were only a couple miles from the county jail. The ride seemed short.

  I'd never been handcuffed before. The officer held me by the upper arm as we walked through the parking lot into the station.

  “You're not going to run on me, are you?”

  “No, I wasn't planning on it. That happen often?”

  “It's more common than you might think.”

  “What do you think they plan to do?”

  “I have no idea.”

  We went through several doors when we got inside. I'd been to City Hall before, but I couldn't remember ever entering that part of the building. We stopped in a tiny room where the officer uncuffed me and waited until enough time had passed from my previous breath test.

  “So how much did you really have to drink?”

  “I don't know.”

  “Alright, well just like before. Blow into the tube until you run out of air.”

  I did what he said, but apparently it didn't work.

  “Yeah, this one's tough. We're gonna have to try it again. Take a deep breath and then just keep going until there's nothing left in your lungs.”

  I was starting to feel really light headed. Only part of it was from the breath test. My second attempt seemed to work out. This time the machine, which was much bigger than the portable model, printed out a kind of receipt that he took with him. He held the door open and waited for me to pass through.

  “Just head right down to the end of the hall and wait behind the yellow line.”

  I did as he said. He followed behind me. A camera mounted high on the wall was pointed right where I was standing. I couldn't help imagining a breakout scenario. Hypothetically, what would it take to escape? It seemed like I had been through a lot of doors already. I wasn't positive I could find my way out, even if they unlocked all the doors and set me free. The one in front of us buzzed, and the officer reached past me to pull the handle. We walked through to a narrow room that had a long counter on the right with a one-way-mirror office behind it. There was a computer terminal and a height chart on the far wall.

  “Alright. I'm going to ask you to empty your pockets and remove your shoe laces.”

  I couldn't remember ever removing the laces from the shoes I was wearing. They felt strange on my feet with the tongues hanging out all the way to the toes. They kept slipping off my heels like sandals as I shuffled around in them.

  “Do you mind if I keep my coat? It's kind of cold in here.”

  The arresting officer shrugged and asked a uniformed guard coming from the office.

  “Can we let him keep it?”

  “Does it have a drawstring or anything in it?”

  “No, just the zipper.”

  They felt the pockets and checked each one.

  “You're not going to try to kill yourself with it, are you?”

  The idea hadn't occurred to me. To be honest, I felt pretty high, but I could only imagine how messed up you'd have to be to seriously consider committing suicide over getting arrested by the local police.

  “No sir.”

  “Okay, you can hang on to it. If you're all set, walk on down to the next yellow line on the floor and we'll do your fingerprints.”

  I remembered getting fingerprinted once on an ink pad as a cub scout. Wait a second. I had been here before. We visited the jail and got fake fingerprints taken back when my...

  “I'm going to start with your right hand.”

  They rolled each of my fingers across a tiny digital device. My prints came up on the computer screen. The officer had to do some fingers more than once because the pads were worn down. I don't know how they got that way. Typing maybe? When I was done getting printed, they took mugshots. I figured smiling would be inappropriate. We continued around the corner where the room seemed to wrap around the mirrored office.

  “Pick up a mat and take it with you.”

  There was a stack of gray gym mats on the floor against the wall. They were about two inches thick. I grabbed one and carried it with me until we got to my holding cell. The door was mostly metal, but there was a thick glass window in the upper half. I say it was glass, but I don't know for sure what it was actually made of. Probably some kind of unbreakable plastic. He locked me inside and spoke in a voice that was muffled by the door between us.

  “Based on your blood alcohol level, we're going to hold you for eight hours. When eight hours are up, we'll check you again. If you're still over the legal limit, we'll check you every half hour until you're safe to leave. Understand?”

  “So what time will I be free to go?”

  “I can't see a clock from here, but it'll be eight hours from the last test we did. So that'll be what, about ten o'clock in the morning? We'll check you again, and if you're under the legal limit we'll let you go.”


  “Alright, thank you.”

  “Oh, and in the morning if you don't have the money to pay your bond or you need a ride, we'll activate that phone on the wall. You can only make collect calls from it, though.”

  “Can I use my phone?”

  “We don't allow you to use cell phones once you're under arrest.”

  “Not even to get a phone number?”

  “Usually, no. You can ask in the morning if you need to. Maybe they'll say yes. I wouldn't count on it, though.”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  “You know, sometimes good people make bad decisions. I've arrested a lot of nice people who broke the law.”

  I nodded and he walked off. I tossed the mat down on a raised slab of concrete that was about the same size and shape. There was a combination toilet/sink/water fountain at the back of the cell. A concrete half wall next to it provided a minimal amount of privacy between two cellmates, but I was the only tenant at the moment. The upper ridge of the concrete was sloped and beveled in a way that eliminated the hard corner and prevented climbing on top of it. The toilet fixture itself was one continuous piece of metal without a lid or seat. A roll of toilet paper sat in a cylindrical cubby sunken into the side. No spindle. An angled hole above the sink formed the faucet, and instead of tap handles or knobs, there was a single button that made the water flow out in a little arc that you could either drink or cup in your hands. I was beginning to feel woozy and lightheaded, so I drank water until I felt good and sloshy inside.

  There was nothing breakable in the room. The walls were made of large concrete blocks and the ceiling was completely seamless. I was fascinated by the place in spite of myself. I couldn't help taking in all the details. Sitting in my otherwise empty cell, I tried to imagine a jailbreak attempt start to finish, but I couldn't come up with a reasonable starting point. There was nowhere to grab. Nothing to use for leverage. The “phone” on the wall was like a cross between an old pay phone and an intercom.

  The faucet fountain was leaking. As quiet as it was, I could hear the water running into the sink and down the drain. My ears focused in on it from across the room. There were different parts to the sound. I could hear the deeper, muffled pressure of the water running through the pipes in the wall. There was the soft hiss as it seeped through the hole in the fixture. Next came the hollow ring of the water traveling down the inside of the bowl, and finally, there was the gentle gurgle of it all trickling through the drain. So many components folded into one sound. Such a simple thing, but with so much hidden complexity. I wondered if anyone else had ever heard it the way I was hearing it. It was beautiful. Here I was, arrested for drunk driving. I ought to be miserable. The fallout was going to be terrible. In spite of all that, I was completely absorbed by the various aspects of the sound produced by my leaky jail faucet. Disassembling and reassembling the component sounds was incredibly satisfying in spite of my situation. The mystery shot from before I'd left the bar was beginning to assert its influence. “Just wait. You'll like it.”

  I flexed my ears. There was something else. Besides the sink. It was outside my cell. I turned and stood by the door, then closed my eyes so I could hear better. I followed the sound through the door to the hallway where it was louder. I recognized it. It was familiar. Music. Music I knew. Played back over cheap computer speakers. They were small, with little wire mesh speaker covers over the tweeters, filling my entire field of vision. I zoomed out from the sound. The computer and I were both in an office. I drifted back through a one-way mirror and found myself in front of my cell again. The music was clearer now that I'd found the source. I could hear through the filters of the door and the mirror to the computer in the office as I returned to my body.

  “...Mister city policeman sitting, pretty little policemen in a row...”

  My head spun. The music pounded in my ears. It swirled around me in stereo panning that filled the room from wall to wall. With my eyes closed, I could pick out each instrument's track floating toward me in waves. I could see the instruments – the actual instruments as they were being played – hovering in space – laid out just like they were in the studio - each individual string buzzing and humming - their vibrations compressing and rarefying the air between the recording studio and my ears.

  “...Sitting in an English garden waiting for the sun...”

  I laid down on the mat. Butterflies turned into bees and swarmed in my stomach. I shivered as electricity shot from the tips of my toes to the top of my head. Fireworks exploded behind my eyelids. Colors spread, shifted, rotated, duplicated. Kaleidoscopic. I began to sink through the mat until my back was resting directly on the concrete slab beneath it. I opened my eyes as the first song ended and another began.

  Variations in the texture of the ceiling formed patterns I hadn't noticed when I'd entered the cell. A wide band extended from one wall and branched out, forking into smaller and smaller lines until they reached each corner of the room. They formed a tree, from the trunk to the branches to each little twig, all of them shaking and swaying in the wind. They shimmered and rippled like a river delta, from rivers to creeks to streams. In another moment they became arteries, veins, and capillaries, pulsing to the beat of a giant invisible heart.

  “...Ticking away the moments that make up a dull day...”

  I sank down into the concrete as it turned fluid under my weight. My arms and legs melted and began to dissolve into the liquified concrete slab. We mixed, and as the concrete hardened, my arms and legs ceased to exist. I couldn't move. I would never move again. The throbbing ceiling pulsed more and more dramatically. It began to sink lower, closing in on me. The room grew darker as the lights dimmed. I watched the lines shift and turn until I saw their true form. The outline of a wolf's head snarled from the corner of the ceiling. It bristled, its hair tousled by the wind. I stared at it and it glared back. It was menacing. I knew it was on the ceiling and couldn't harm me, but it made me anxious. I couldn't look away.

  “...The sun is the same in a relative way but you're older...”

  I swallowed hard. I forgot how to swallow. Saliva pooled in my mouth. My tongue felt thick and clumsy. I lost my tongue. My tongue got lost in my mouth. I didn't know where it went or where to put it. It wouldn't obey me. I couldn't control it. I blinked. I closed my eyes. The view didn't change. Everything looked exactly the same whether my eyes were open or closed. I couldn't tell the difference anymore. My eyelids were gone. The ceiling disappeared entirely. I watched as the walls of the cell blew apart from one another. I felt a light breeze as I stared up into the night sky. Snowflakes fell onto my face, but I couldn't feel them. I couldn't feel anything. My entire body was gone. There was nothing left. I was dead. I was a ghost, a mind. I had never existed, but that was okay.

  I was asleep in my own bed. I was trapped in a dream. This entire experience was a dream. The whole last year had been a dream. None of this had even happened. I had imagined all of it. The girl from the party was too good to be true. She had to have been a figment of my imagination. Everything I'd experienced in the past year had been meaningless. It would all be gone and forgotten when I woke up. Wiped away. I cried inside when I thought of all the awful things I'd imagined as a part of the past year. What I wouldn't give to turn back the clock. What I wouldn't give if none of it had ever happened. I cried for how much that would mean to me, and I cried because I knew it was only a fantasy.

  I thought about my regrets, the mistakes I'd made, the people I'd hurt. I thought about the things in life that meant the most to me, the things that were truly important. I thought about how grateful I was, how lucky I was. I thought about the things I'd lost. I thought about the people I had lost. I think I cried some more. My limbs felt heavy and unwieldy, like they were asleep. There still wasn't any sensation in my fingers, but I could feel the pull of gravity on my arms when I moved them. I curled up into a ball as my head started to hurt, maybe from the crying. The buzzing in my stomach was dying down. I felt completely exhausted. I was w
orn out. I'd lost all track of time, but it felt like I'd been awake for a week. Even with my coat on, I was cold. I fell asleep shaking.

  A voice over the intercom in the cell woke me up. The faucet was still running from the night before.

  “Can you press the button on the sink?”

  I pulled myself into a sitting position. I was all out of sorts, like I'd been half drowned. I stood up and shambled over to the sink where I pressed the button. It stopped running immediately.

  “Thank you.”

  I laid back down and tried to go back to sleep, but it didn't work. It just made me more miserable. Time dragged. Eventually I got up to look for a clock through the window in the door.

  “Can you tell me what time it is?”

  Nobody answered. I knocked on the glass.

  “Can anybody tell me what time it is?”

  Still no answer. After about a week that probably only lasted a couple hours, the voice came back through the intercom.

  “If you need to call someone to help you post bond, I can activate the phone for you. It's collect calls only, so you have to dial a land line.”

  “That's alright. I've got my credit card.”

  Technically, they had my credit card.

  “Am I going to be free to go soon?”

  No answer. I have no idea how much time actually passed, but I think someone came to open my door about fifteen minutes later. I repacked my pockets and carried my shoelaces with me. When they asked me how I was going to pay my bond, I gave them my card. After that, they gave me a receipt and some paperwork with the date of my preliminary hearing several weeks away. I sat on a bench in the public part of City Hall and put the laces back in my shoes before walking the mile back to my car. One of the rear windows was rolled part way down. I brushed the previous night's snow off the seat and drove home smelling like jail.

  AEOLUS

  I sat down on the sofa bed to tie my shoes. Every time I sat down too hard, the cushions offered less padding than I expected and reminded me of the police car. As a piece of furniture, it didn't make a great couch or a great bed, but it was okay as both. I had to have something dual purpose for the studio apartment I lived in, and all the combination furniture I'd looked at was some kind of compromise. Either you got a great couch and a lousy bed or a great bed and a lousy couch. The giant corner sofa/pull out bed combo I got weighed about a million pounds and took up the entire room, but it served its purpose. It gave me a place to sit during the day and sleep at night. I hadn't gotten around to converting it back into living room furniture that morning. There were a lot of days like that, when I think about it. There were probably entire weeks my blankets and pillows stayed out on display. I guess I was focused on other things.