Lamont and when I got home he wasn't happy, half because I'd been drinking.
A.J. stayed outside in his car to make sure I got in okay, and Lamont didn't like the way I waved to him. I explained that he was a friend from work, but Lamont wouldn't let it drop. All I wanted to do was get in bed.
"He's just a good friend," I said.
"Now he's a good friend," he said. "How come I never heard of this good friend until tonight?" He said some other things he didn't mean, and I was too drunk to let them slide. It was silly, really.
"Look," I said, "can we talk about this tomorrow?"
"We're talking about this now," he said. When I walked past him into the bedroom, he pointed at my face and told me not to walk away.
I locked the door on him.
He was slapping it and yelling all kinds of stuff and I was yelling back sometimes —really unnecessary stuff, telling each other what kind of people we were, what was wrong with each other. We didn't really mean it. Finally he started kicking the door in. It was so cheap his foot came right through it, which of course he blamed on me. I just sat on the bed and laughed.
Someone downstairs called the cops. By the time they knocked on the door we were done fighting; we just weren't talking to each other.
The woman cop took me into the bedroom.
"We were just having a discussion," I said.
"Looks like a good one," she said, pointing her pen at the door.
"He didn't touch me," I said.
"You've had a little to drink tonight, is that right?"
"Not much," I said. "Two beers."
I gave her all the information. No, he'd never struck me before. No, he had no prior history of drug usage.
When we came out to the living room, Lamont had cuffs on.
"Thanks a lot, Marjorie," he said.
"He never touched me," I kept telling them, but the guy was steering him toward the door. I got in his way.
"I can't believe you'd do this to me," Lamont said. I was crying, my nose was running all over the place.
"Ma'am, step aside," the woman said. "Ma'am, I'm only going to tell you this once. I don't think you want to go to jail tonight."
I just wanted to kiss him, to tell him everything was all right between us.
"I'll come down and get you out," I said. "Okay?"
"That's it," the woman said, "you're gone."
She grabbed me by the shoulder, spun me around and pushed my face into the wall. Lamont was shouting now. The woman bent one arm up behind my back and snapped the cuff on. Before she could get my other wrist, Lamont bowled her over and all four of us were on the floor.
"Marjorie," Lamont called.
"I'm okay," I said, because I was then.
If you have the mug shot, you can see where she pushed me into the wall. Look how full my face is. We'd only just started snorting it. Look how young we look. That was December of '84. I was twenty then. It seems a lot longer.
That was one reason my mom wasn't talking to me when I was living with Rico. When we were drinking, we used to beat on each other. We used to throw things. The toaster, the remote —it was just crazy. One time when I was in the emergency room, they called my mom to come pick me up. Rico and me had been lighting over him seeing this other girl from his work, and I told my mom that was it, I was leaving him.
I was just mad, and when I calmed down I tried to explain to her why I was going back. She didn't even try to understand. She only saw that he hit me. We had this huge Fight, and she begged me not to go back to him. She said I was being stupid and that he'd kill me and all this other stuff, and finally she said that as long as I was with him she wasn't going to speak to me.
"Fine," I said, "I don't need this kind of stuff anyway."
And in the end she was wrong, that wasn't why we broke up at all. We broke up because Rico got in a bad accident one night in his old Grand Prix and didn't get hurt. It was raining and he was coming home from the Golden Corral. He was coming up Classen when this guy in an Imperial pulled out into his lane. Rico swerved to miss
A.J. stayed outside in his car to make sure I got in okay, and Lamont didn't like the way I waved to him. I explained that he was a friend from work, but Lamont wouldn't let it drop. All I wanted to do was get in bed.
"He's just a good friend," I said.
"Now he's a good friend," he said. "How come I never heard of this good friend until tonight?" He said some other things he didn't mean, and I was too drunk to let them slide. It was silly, really.
"Look," I said, "can we talk about this tomorrow?"
"We're talking about this now," he said. When I walked past him into the bedroom, he pointed at my face and told me not to walk away.
I locked the door on him.
He was slapping it and yelling all kinds of stuff and I was yelling back sometimes —really unnecessary stuff, telling each other what kind of people we were, what was wrong with each other. We didn't really mean it. Finally he started kicking the door in. It was so cheap his foot came right through it, which of course he blamed on me. I just sat on the bed and laughed.
Someone downstairs called the cops. By the time they knocked on the door we were done fighting; we just weren't talking to each other.
The woman cop took me into the bedroom.
"We were just having a discussion," I said.
"Looks like a good one," she said, pointing her pen at the door.
"He didn't touch me," I said.
"You've had a little to drink tonight, is that right?"
"Not much," I said. "Two beers."
I gave her all the information. No, he'd never struck me before. No, he had no prior history of drug usage.
When we came out to the living room, Lamont had cuffs on.
"Thanks a lot, Marjorie," he said.
"He never touched me," I kept telling them, but the guy was steering him toward the door. I got in his way.
"I can't believe you'd do this to me," Lamont said. I was crying, my nose was running all over the place.
"Ma'am, step aside," the woman said. "Ma'am, I'm only going to tell you this once. I don't think you want to go to jail tonight."
I just wanted to kiss him, to tell him everything was all right between us.
"I'll come down and get you out," I said. "Okay?"
"That's it," the woman said, "you're gone."
She grabbed me by the shoulder, spun me around and pushed my face into the wall. Lamont was shouting now. The woman bent one arm up behind my back and snapped the cuff on. Before she could get my other wrist, Lamont bowled her over and all four of us were on the floor.
"Marjorie," Lamont called.
"I'm okay," I said, because I was then.
If you have the mug shot, you can see where she pushed me into the wall. Look how full my face is. We'd only just started snorting it. Look how young we look. That was December of '84. I was twenty then. It seems a lot longer.
That was one reason my mom wasn't talking to me when I was living with Rico. When we were drinking, we used to beat on each other. We used to throw things. The toaster, the remote —it was just crazy. One time when I was in the emergency room, they called my mom to come pick me up. Rico and me had been lighting over him seeing this other girl from his work, and I told my mom that was it, I was leaving him.
I was just mad, and when I calmed down I tried to explain to her why I was going back. She didn't even try to understand. She only saw that he hit me. We had this huge Fight, and she begged me not to go back to him. She said I was being stupid and that he'd kill me and all this other stuff, and finally she said that as long as I was with him she wasn't going to speak to me.
"Fine," I said, "I don't need this kind of stuff anyway."
And in the end she was wrong, that wasn't why we broke up at all. We broke up because Rico got in a bad accident one night in his old Grand Prix and didn't get hurt. It was raining and he was coming home from the Golden Corral. He was coming up Classen when this guy in an Imperial pulled out into his lane. Rico swerved to miss
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