Background
The true story of how I was adopted by an unknown stranger I begged money from in a Wal-Mart parking lot.
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***Unwanted Dog finished 3rd in the July 2017 Book of the Month contest. Thanks to all FanStorians who made that happen***
Immediately the gumshoe broadcasted, "Juvenile now headed south in the alley behind Caldwell Bank. All units move into position." He was in avid hot pursuit.
It was time to set a world speed record as I sprinted down the back street. The narrow passage was my only opportunity for liberation. If Davidson County's Finest wanted me they'd have to capture me first. I would attempt anything to avoid being rejoined with Hermitage Hall.
Breathing became laborious from running like my blond head was on fire and my tiny hind end was catching, which I did for six city blocks. My lungs burned as air grew harder to inhale. I glanced back over my right shoulder and saw the uniform staying with me. I was picking them up and putting them down rapidly.
I'd never attempted to outrun the Police before. Passage away from this locality was what I desperately needed. Being nailed, jailed, collected up, and sent on my way did not fascinate my better senses.
I cut back around to the roadside of 3rd Avenue South. There I observed four more adversaries, all dressed as my stalker was. A loud horn blew as I darted across the street without looking where I was going.
I didn't have time to explain the finer points of life to the senior citizen behind the wheel of the turquoise Isuzu Florian sedan that almost broadsided me. His tires squealed loudly as he slammed on his brakes. I thought he might have a heart attack. Instead of exchanging polite conversation with him, I rounded the corner of the Havernasher Furniture Restoration Store on Elm Pike and gained a second wind as I continued running.
Certain I could find a route to escape my trackers, I raced past a green Dempsey Dumpster. I rounded another corner, smack dab into a brick retainer wall I did not know was there. Fortunately, I braced the impact with my hands and bounced off the barrier unharmed.
If I had been a proponent of profanity I would have said, "Son-of-a-B----! Definitely a wrong turn at Pismo Beach." (Confidentially, I'd learned when I was much younger, the hard way of course, that I did not like the taste of soap in my mouth, so at that time, my language had not incorporated the multitude of cuss words I have since acquired.)
"Got'cha!" the lawman said as he grabbed me by my shoulders and spun me around to face him.
I watched his partners in crime as they swiftly approached. Surrounded on all four sides, I knew it was time to surrender. So much for my eluding the long arm of the law. I didn't last a hot minute.
A squad car pulled up to the scene and I was loaded onto the backseat of the cruiser. I noticed the steel bars that separated the front seat of the vehicle from the section where I sat, "So, this is what it feels like to be a common criminal," I thought to myself.
Reluctantly, I stared out the side window of the car as I was transported to the Main Street Police Subdivision. My freedom unceremoniously stolen from me. At the stationhouse, I was escorted past three holding cells. I had never been inside a Police Department before.
As I entered the facility, I noticed how steadily busy they were on a Saturday night. Officers scurried about in all directions. Although I didn't understand much of what was relayed, I overheard several radio transmissions.
"What kind of drunks are those?" I asked to no one in particular as we passed by the lockups.
I was delivered to Waiting Room A at the end of a short corridor. The room contained an oblong wooden table and four chairs. I was placed in the one at the head of the table. A middle-aged officer joined me. He was kind of a paternal-appearing figure from what I deduced.
"I'm Sergeant Edward Smalley," he introduced himself to me in a friendly manner.
I did not respond. I would not have cared if he was Santa Claus.
In an attempt to make conversation he asked me, "So, you ran away from Hermitage Hall, did you?"
"And, I'm not going back there no matter what!" I boldly predicted.
"Awesome," Officer Smalley smiled back at me, "as soon as we have a cruiser available we'll return you back to where you belong."
Back to where I belong? Did he not hear what I aforementioned? Hermitage Hall was the last place I intended to revisit.
"In the meantime Brett, why don't you tell me a little about yourself. The floor's all yours. I'm listening. That's what I'm here for," he pronounced.
Small talk was not on my mind. Exhausted from my day's capers, I looked away from him. What I wanted was to be released from incarceration. I was fairly certain that was not going to occur.
"Suit yourself," he gave up in frustration. He rose from his seat at the table and told me, "It's almost seven pm. You must be hungry. I'll bring you back some dinner."
Feasting wasn't on my mind either. Getting out of there was all I cared about. Since I did not have a keycard, like the one I watched him use to leave the room, I was trapped to my own devices. I felt like a prisoner on Death Row. Even being left unattended in that holding room was better than the dreaded prospect of being returned to Hermitage Hall.
The clock on the wall told me it was 1:28 am, the next morning. Time flies when you are having fun, doesn't it? The problem remained I was not enjoying myself at all. Two hours earlier, I'd taken to pacing back and forth from one corner of the room to another.
"Where were these boys in blue?" I stewed in my own juices.
Finally, Officer Smalley returned with a pack of Lance's peanut butter crackers from a vending machine, and a single Styrofoam cup of lukewarm water. They were what he called dinner. Hungrily, I gobbled the unbroken crackers.
I didn't hold being detained against Officer Smalley. He was only doing his job. Oh, yes I did. I was seething! I was as mad as a hornet whose nest had been disturbed. One good thing resulted though. At no point did they ever frisk me, or find my switchblade knife. I suppose they naturally assumed as a juvenile, I would not be in possession of anything of that sort.
It would not be long before I was consigned to where I did not ever want to be again.
Author Notes
After escaping Hermitage Hall, much to my chagrin, I was captured by the Police.
Home Stretch, by Eileen0204, selected to complement this portion of my autobiography.
So, thanks Eileen0204, for the use of your picture. It goes so nicely with this portion of my autobiography.
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