servant to her, washed her face, and gently brushed her hair stroke by stroke carefully and slowly. I am human; I have feelings and the ability to be hurt and cry. If anything, I am superior to her in that I was willing to give her life had she but tried to be nice and polite to me.
I remember very little of the first two hours of the drive, but at some point I could no longer stay focused on the road. I had to pull over on a small dirt lane, the same dirt lane that I had pulled over on the night that I had gotten Delilah. I had picked up Delilah for the first time from a breeder in Pleasanton. She had been returned as the owner thought her too insane to keep. Truthfully, it was the poor sap’s wife who thought this and had forced the guy to return his new best friend to its origins.
Finding the breeder on Craigslist, I had contacted her. And one evening on my drive up for a weekend in Twain Harte, I had picked Delilah up with the girls and driven her to the house in the mountains. I had been afraid with her being in the car for three hours that she might have to let go of her small puppy bladder, so I had pulled over on this very road and walked her for the first time. She never actually went, but had acted crazy running, then choking, from her collar only to run again and choke again. That was the beginning of a pattern for her, as she was very loving and affectionate, but not very bright.
I pulled over on this dirt and gravel road and parked under a tree that was about 100 yards from the highway and cried. I curled up in the fetal position with the car shaking from my violent movements as I hysterically and uncontrollably let go of all my pent up despair. I must have drifted off to sleep as I woke up with my phone ringing in the passenger seat next to me.
It startled me, as this was the phone I had purchased at Wal-Mart. It was the kind of phone where you can pay for it with cash, activate it with no contract and no name, and use it anonymously. It always seemed odd to me that these phones existed, as gangsters and drug dealers used them all the time. They were untraceable. To circumvent this, Wal-Mart only allows you to purchase these phones two at a time. It seems odd that this is our solution to gang violence – limiting your purchases. The phone rang again, so this time I picked it up. “Hello, who is this?” came across the line.
“Who is this?” I responded.
“This is Detective Takhar of the Palo Alto Police Force,” was the response. “Will you please tell me who this is?”
I hung up the phone, turned the power off, and threw it on the floor of my SUV.
How could this be happening to me?
At times in my life, I lost connection with myself. To state it clearly, I completely lost all ability to form movements with my limbs and direct my actions consciously. It was as if I had left my body and observed myself from a distance as somebody else seemed to control my physical being. While these episodes are infrequent and last briefly, this time was different. It was as if somebody completely took control of my being; yet it was not me. At that time, I realized I was changing and that my issues were deepening. I realized that I needed help, but also realized that I would never allow myself to go back to who I was. The only way that I would ever be whole was in death as my essence was now broken forever. It is like walking in the woods on a quiet day. You are all alone and suddenly you step on a small brittle branch, and you hear the crack as it breaks, resonating, echoing throughout the trees as it bounces from one to another. Once you break beyond repair, there is no going back.
Making Progress
Sudhir’s tasks had been limited to the computer and the cell phone company. Mike and Scott had taken the friends, family, and restaurants. The computer was very simple. Sudhir dropped it off at the precinct software guru’s desk and asked him to find out any recent activity. Look for dating
I remember very little of the first two hours of the drive, but at some point I could no longer stay focused on the road. I had to pull over on a small dirt lane, the same dirt lane that I had pulled over on the night that I had gotten Delilah. I had picked up Delilah for the first time from a breeder in Pleasanton. She had been returned as the owner thought her too insane to keep. Truthfully, it was the poor sap’s wife who thought this and had forced the guy to return his new best friend to its origins.
Finding the breeder on Craigslist, I had contacted her. And one evening on my drive up for a weekend in Twain Harte, I had picked Delilah up with the girls and driven her to the house in the mountains. I had been afraid with her being in the car for three hours that she might have to let go of her small puppy bladder, so I had pulled over on this very road and walked her for the first time. She never actually went, but had acted crazy running, then choking, from her collar only to run again and choke again. That was the beginning of a pattern for her, as she was very loving and affectionate, but not very bright.
I pulled over on this dirt and gravel road and parked under a tree that was about 100 yards from the highway and cried. I curled up in the fetal position with the car shaking from my violent movements as I hysterically and uncontrollably let go of all my pent up despair. I must have drifted off to sleep as I woke up with my phone ringing in the passenger seat next to me.
It startled me, as this was the phone I had purchased at Wal-Mart. It was the kind of phone where you can pay for it with cash, activate it with no contract and no name, and use it anonymously. It always seemed odd to me that these phones existed, as gangsters and drug dealers used them all the time. They were untraceable. To circumvent this, Wal-Mart only allows you to purchase these phones two at a time. It seems odd that this is our solution to gang violence – limiting your purchases. The phone rang again, so this time I picked it up. “Hello, who is this?” came across the line.
“Who is this?” I responded.
“This is Detective Takhar of the Palo Alto Police Force,” was the response. “Will you please tell me who this is?”
I hung up the phone, turned the power off, and threw it on the floor of my SUV.
How could this be happening to me?
At times in my life, I lost connection with myself. To state it clearly, I completely lost all ability to form movements with my limbs and direct my actions consciously. It was as if I had left my body and observed myself from a distance as somebody else seemed to control my physical being. While these episodes are infrequent and last briefly, this time was different. It was as if somebody completely took control of my being; yet it was not me. At that time, I realized I was changing and that my issues were deepening. I realized that I needed help, but also realized that I would never allow myself to go back to who I was. The only way that I would ever be whole was in death as my essence was now broken forever. It is like walking in the woods on a quiet day. You are all alone and suddenly you step on a small brittle branch, and you hear the crack as it breaks, resonating, echoing throughout the trees as it bounces from one to another. Once you break beyond repair, there is no going back.
Making Progress
Sudhir’s tasks had been limited to the computer and the cell phone company. Mike and Scott had taken the friends, family, and restaurants. The computer was very simple. Sudhir dropped it off at the precinct software guru’s desk and asked him to find out any recent activity. Look for dating
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