Island where bad boys in leather jackets could smoke cigarettes and play pool and crash cars. I turned to the lady cop and said, “Z-Y-X… F-U-C-K U! U! U! U!” And I kept saying that letter while two cops bent me over the smashed-up hood of my Nissan Stanza. They cuffed me and walked me to the cruiser at the end of the driveway. The lady cop was shaking her head. The others guided me into the backseat, pushing down on my neck as I yelled, “U! U! U!… ,” so loud. I tried to break Mrs. Bachman’s hearing aid. If I could just reach those neighbors and tell them, “U! U! U!”
A month later, I went to court. My dad took me. I was assigned a lawyer. She told me I had to call the judge “ma’am” or “Your Honor.” We waited for the judge and I kept hearing this line from this song in my head:
“You down with O.P.P. (Yeah you know me).”
It had nothing to do with anything, but it kept going around in my head. Then the judge walked in from the side. She was in the black thing and had a thin face and glasses and long brown hair. She sat and looked at my police record and my school record.
“You know, Teddy,” she said, “normally I get kids in here who can’t multiply fifty by two, but you, you’re smart.”
“Thank you, Your Honor,” I said. “O.P.P.” was blasting.
She told me she ought to put me in juvenile hall, but it was hard to hear because of all those guys singing in my head. She said she would give me one more chance and make me a ward of the court, which meant I belonged to the state.
“If you do
anything,
if you are caught jaywalking, I will put you right into juvenile hall, is that clear?”
“Yes, sir,” I said.
“Ma’am,”
said my lawyer.
“Ma’am.”
“And as part of your probation, you’ll do sixty hours of community service.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And you’ll make an official apology to Miss Grossman, the woman you hit.”
“Yes, ma’am.” We got to leave and finally, on the drive home with my dad, those guys in my head shut up.
The next week I reported to my probation officer and set up a supervised apology with Sally Grossman. We met at the little place Sandwich Etc. in midtown, not far from where the accident had happened. Sally Grossman was fat, and she came with her fat friend, and there was a moderator there, Jake. He had combed white hair and a weak, kind face. We all had coffee and we sat around a small round table and looked at one another. I said I was really sorry. Sally Grossman looked like she liked that, but the fat friend looked angry.
Then Sally said, “Look, you have a problem. You’re an alcoholic.”
I nodded that, yes, I was.
“I can understand that,” she said. “I have a problem too, eating. In some ways your problem is easier to deal with. I have to deal with temptation at least three times a day. You know?”
I said that, yeah, I did. Then Jake said that he had a problem too, that he had dealt with a gambling addiction. And that was it. The fat friend didn’t say she had a problem. So we drank our coffee and Jake talked about the benefits of 12-step programs and I said that it sounded like a good idea and I would probably go soon. Then we were done and the next week I started my community service at the Children’s Library.
The two old ladies who ran the library were nice to me. An old one with short brown hair in a bob was the assistant librarian, and a
really
old one with short gray hair in a curly flattop was the main librarian. The brown-haired one was named Judy; she was dry-skinned and thin. The other one was dry too, Mags; she didn’t say much. They must have seen a little kid inside me, because they smiled at me like they smiled at all the kids who came in.
I walked to the library after school twice a week and on Saturdays. The old ladies would give me a cart of books to shelve. But after the first day, I just started reading all the picture books and didn’t do the work. When the library closed at six, my cart of
A month later, I went to court. My dad took me. I was assigned a lawyer. She told me I had to call the judge “ma’am” or “Your Honor.” We waited for the judge and I kept hearing this line from this song in my head:
“You down with O.P.P. (Yeah you know me).”
It had nothing to do with anything, but it kept going around in my head. Then the judge walked in from the side. She was in the black thing and had a thin face and glasses and long brown hair. She sat and looked at my police record and my school record.
“You know, Teddy,” she said, “normally I get kids in here who can’t multiply fifty by two, but you, you’re smart.”
“Thank you, Your Honor,” I said. “O.P.P.” was blasting.
She told me she ought to put me in juvenile hall, but it was hard to hear because of all those guys singing in my head. She said she would give me one more chance and make me a ward of the court, which meant I belonged to the state.
“If you do
anything,
if you are caught jaywalking, I will put you right into juvenile hall, is that clear?”
“Yes, sir,” I said.
“Ma’am,”
said my lawyer.
“Ma’am.”
“And as part of your probation, you’ll do sixty hours of community service.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And you’ll make an official apology to Miss Grossman, the woman you hit.”
“Yes, ma’am.” We got to leave and finally, on the drive home with my dad, those guys in my head shut up.
The next week I reported to my probation officer and set up a supervised apology with Sally Grossman. We met at the little place Sandwich Etc. in midtown, not far from where the accident had happened. Sally Grossman was fat, and she came with her fat friend, and there was a moderator there, Jake. He had combed white hair and a weak, kind face. We all had coffee and we sat around a small round table and looked at one another. I said I was really sorry. Sally Grossman looked like she liked that, but the fat friend looked angry.
Then Sally said, “Look, you have a problem. You’re an alcoholic.”
I nodded that, yes, I was.
“I can understand that,” she said. “I have a problem too, eating. In some ways your problem is easier to deal with. I have to deal with temptation at least three times a day. You know?”
I said that, yeah, I did. Then Jake said that he had a problem too, that he had dealt with a gambling addiction. And that was it. The fat friend didn’t say she had a problem. So we drank our coffee and Jake talked about the benefits of 12-step programs and I said that it sounded like a good idea and I would probably go soon. Then we were done and the next week I started my community service at the Children’s Library.
The two old ladies who ran the library were nice to me. An old one with short brown hair in a bob was the assistant librarian, and a
really
old one with short gray hair in a curly flattop was the main librarian. The brown-haired one was named Judy; she was dry-skinned and thin. The other one was dry too, Mags; she didn’t say much. They must have seen a little kid inside me, because they smiled at me like they smiled at all the kids who came in.
I walked to the library after school twice a week and on Saturdays. The old ladies would give me a cart of books to shelve. But after the first day, I just started reading all the picture books and didn’t do the work. When the library closed at six, my cart of
Similar Books
