Grand Forks, ND, September 1994
“OK. So, guy goes into a bar and says to the bartender, ‘give me two shots of whiskey,’” Flannigan said. He liked to start his group sessions with a joke. “The barkeep lays them out in front of the guy. He takes the first one and dumps it over his shoulder. Then he picks up the second shot and slams it down the hatch. The bartender was curious, so he asks the guy, ‘Why did you do throw away a shot of whiskey?’” James grinned widely and finished with, “The guy says, ‘Because they told me in rehab to never take the first drink!’”
All five of us around his conference table laughed. He was good at delivering drinking jokes, he had lots of practice. The group was a mix of two other men and two women, all of them in their late twenties to early forties. I stood out as the babyface of the crowd, as usual. After the laughs, James went right to business conducting his meeting.
“Tonight, I want to talk a bit about taking personal responsibility and making amends with those you’ve harmed – but only when and if you can do so without harming them or anyone else in the process,” James began with increasing seriousness. “Part of the 12-step process requires that you take a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves. A major part of that process is making a list of all the people we’ve harmed through our addictive behaviors, and you must be willing to make amends to them. Now, if you were anything like I was, that can be a pretty damn long list!” he offered lightly. “And I’m sure you all did some things you wish you didn’t when you were using. Right?”
We all nodded along.
“Wes, how about you? Did you ever do anything really dumb or reckless that didn’t involve alcohol?” James asked me.
I had to think about that one. Damn, he was right! All the way back to my arrest in the third grade, I couldn’t think of an incident where I completely embarrassed myself or got into trouble that didn’t have booze in the equation somewhere. He continued to make persuasive points.
“No, I can’t,” I said.
“Ah, didn’t think so. I’d bet the same can be said for everyone in here, right?” James said as everyone around the table nodded along. “Now here we are…we can take the alcohol out of the picture but the wreckage of our previous actions while using remains. To the extent we can fix the damage we’ve done, it is our obligation as responsible adults to do so. Taking personal responsibility for your actions is vital to the recovery process, for each of us. Personally. For some of us, that may involve the legal process. Accountability before the law is not what we’re here to deal with - all of that stuff is between you and your attorney to figure out. What I am talking about is trying to heal wounds you’ve created in other people…to the extent you don’t further harm them or anyone else in the effort.”
I liked what I heard from James. He seemed very sincere and authentic, like a man who lived the talk. It was a good topic for me because I was already ahead of the game…I had already taken legal accountability and I made my amends with the only person I thought my drinking behaviors had ever hurt, Tami. When it was my turn to speak, I relayed my experience in seeking her out for that purpose after the DUI and my instant embrace of the Program. I expressed to the group how relieved I was at her receptiveness to my effort, and how it had helped re-open the door to a relationship with her. For Tami, I was addressing the one big concern that she had judged from her knowledge of my family’s past, and it was a relief to her. Contrary to the concerns I expressed to my buddy Tim McCann, Tami was encouraging to the point of enthusiasm about me going through outpatient addiction counseling.
After chewing up a large part of the meeting, I was feeling pretty good about myself, certain I had figured it all out and finally had my life back on the track I had wanted for so long.
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(WE’RE AT THE QUARTER POINT, ONLY 30 CHAPTERS TO GO! TRUST ME, THEY GET INTENSE!)
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In the month since making out with Tami in the countryside, I was busy. Before I lost my driver’s license, I moved from my 1969 barely on-campus 12’ x 65’ trailer house to an apartment that was about mid-way between the University and downtown along a main bus route. I knew I had a lot of walking and bus riding in my immediate future and planned accordingly. I also needed the cash infusion from selling my shitty old trailer house to pay the out-of-pocket cost of my outpatient program. Coincidentally it was exactly enough - $3,000 came in and $3,000 went out.
The next time I saw Tami, she came over to see my new apartment and meet my cat, Beelzebub (“Beezy” for short). He was called that because he was a little fucker right from the start. Very smart and fun, but devilish at his pleasure, too. He would do cool things, such as play fetch with plastic bottle caps. But he also did stupid things, like attack my arm from the counter through the shower curtain while I would be washing my hair. After a couple of times, I pulled back the curtain and sprayed the little bastard – it worked, he stopped!
Beezy was actually my sister’s cat that I was left to take care of after Tia had decided to quit college the year prior so she could try to spend time with our father while she still could. Beezy was a beautiful Bengal cat, grey with distinct black stripes and spots. I always thought he looked like a jungle cat, he had perfect natural camouflage. Being an animal lover, I knew Tami would love him right away, and if we were to be together, might as well get to know each other. That was to be my pitch to Tami, but it wasn’t needed, she had called me wanting to come over.
Tami had the day off and her foster child was in school, so she was able to make time to see me. I had just gotten back from my last class of the day and had a few hours before a child support hearing at 3 o’clock. The separation had happened with her husband, and he had moved out of her place, but she wasn’t comfortable having me over – she didn’t want me to be seen or become an issue in the divorce. I sure as hell didn’t want to become one, either.
When I answered the door to my one-bedroom second story apartment, Tami’s smile was beaming. As it was the end of summer, she was dressed in a light blue top and a faded denim skirt. She gave me a quick kiss and anxiously pushed us both inside.
“Hey Baby! Welcome to my humble abode,” I said as I closed the door behind her.
“Hey yourself,” she replied playfully. “So where’s this kitty cat at?”
“I think he’s sleeping on my bed. Beezy!” I called. He came trotting out a couple seconds later.
“Wow, he is so pretty!” Tami exclaimed as she went for the cat. Beezy was an affectionate cat and took to her right away. “I love his stripes,” she said as she got down on the floor with Beezy.
“Yeah, he’s my little jungle kitty.” The cat rolled on his back as she continued petting him, stretching out. “He’s looking for a belly rub, better get in there,” I said. She did. Then I got down on the floor with them. We pet the cat while talking.
“So, is he just staying with his friend for a while or are they roommates, or what?” I asked.
“I’m not sure yet. Hasn’t quite figured it out, but he’s not living with me anymore,” Tami replied.
“Have you decided when you’re going to file?” I asked gently.
“Not for a while yet, at least a couple of months,” Tami said.
“How come? I mean, why wait?”
“Abby, silly,” Tami said in her goofy little girl voice.
“Oh, right. They’ll take her back after you file…”
“Yup,” she said in her normal voice. “And I’m just not ready to give her up yet.”
“I get it, baby. You gotta do it the best you can for everybody. I’m not going anywhere…I’m not pushing,” I said sincerely. I didn’t need to push anything – her soon-to-be ex-husband had fucked it up all on his own. The details of their relationship were never shared by Tami beyond him being overbearing and their lack of a sex life (which I was grateful to hear). And that was fine because I didn’t want to think about his relationship with Tami, I wanted to think about my relationship with Tami.
She reached over and grabbed my hand. “I appreciate that,” she said as she kissed my hand. “Hey, where you going?” she asked as the cat got up slowly and started walking down the hall. Tami slowly followed Beezy on her hands and knees. Her Magnificence perfectly swaying got my attention. As I approached behind her on my knees, Tami stopped moving forward. Then she surprised me by pushing her heart-shaped Magnificence back into me. I grabbed her hips and pressed hardness against her.
“God damn, you’re sexy!” I said with some heat.
“Then why don’t you come here and do something about it?” she said looking back at me with a big grin. I pulled her up to me and turned her around, kissing her deeply.
Tami started stroking me through my jeans. “How’s Howie been doing?” she asked. I didn’t track what she was talking about as I almost forgot that she, like many young women, had named her boyfriend’s anatomy (my anatomy).
“Howie? That’s kinda lame,” I mock protested.
“No honey, it’s not ‘Howie,’ like Howard. No, it’s ‘How WEEE,’” she squealed in delight. “Now, just lay back.”
I did as I was told. Tami kissed her way down my neck for a moment, then she moved her mouth over my still-clothed cock. She exhaled her breath slowly, deliberately, through my jeans, teasing me with a sudden rush of warmth and the pressure of her mouth. I pulsed as she slowly unbuttoned my pants…
“Should I get a device?” I asked, using our old term for a rubber.
“No need, honey. I’m on the pill,” she asserted. “I found one that works for me.” We had always used condoms before because when Tami had tried going on the pill, she had a bad hormonal response that messed with her physically and mentally. Now, as a child support enforcer, if this were any other woman, I would have used protection anyway. But this was my wife-to-be and I trusted her. Besides, even if we had an “accident”, we would just have to put our family plans into overdrive. I quickly dismissed my concern and embraced my desire for her…
And then it was on! For the first time in four years, we made mad, passionate love in all the ways and with all the heat we always had. After two hours and several rounds of sex, as we cuddled, I gently said, “There is absolutely nothing better than making love with someone you are completely in love with...”
“I missed you too, honey,” she replied with a kiss.
“What I mean is, I dated my share while we were apart, and obviously you were with someone else. But there is no comparison in the amount of intensity and just how much better uninhibited sex is with the person you adore,” I said.
“Especially when they adore each other,” she said seductively as she started to move to go down on me again and get me prepped for more. She was making the most of our limited time together.
Then I finally noticed the clock. I had about an hour before court – just enough time to shower and get dressed. Shit!
“I gotta get ready for court,” I said.
“No. I want more,” she said in her sexy little girl voice. “More” was pronounce like “mow-wa.”
I smiled. “Ooo, baby, me, too…but I really gotta take a shower and get to court,” I said as I got up, smelling of sex.
“Mow-wa,” she said again as she turned her Magnificence toward me and pushed up a bit a couple times. “Mow-wa…”
I was a slave to my dick, and both of us were slaves to her and her Magnificence. We were back at it for round four.
After, I had just enough time to take a quick whore’s bath and throw on a shirt, tie, and sports jacket. Tami dropped me off at the courthouse with two minutes to spare.
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(THE JUMPING TIMELINES WILL MAKE SENSE! DON’T MISS A THING!)
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Coos Bay, late September 1995
In terms of court training, I attended Juvenile Court arraignments and plea hearings with Kevin for a few days and sat second chair for one bench trial of a dependency case. Then I was let loose to handle the juvenile court cases on my own. By the last week of September, Kevin went to full time adult court felony prosecutions and had become our office’s designated sex crimes prosecutor (for adult perps). I had the full spectrum of cases, from the lowest shoplifting cases to serious adult felonies, including all of the child-defendant sex cases. I had a mountain of case files to digest and decide the appropriate actions to take on each, plus daily court appearances for arraignments, plea hearings and motion hearings, as well as a previously established trial calendar.
It was a busy schedule that required a lot of learning on the fly. My office being in the Juvenile Department, across the parking lot from the D.A.’s office, made it inconvenient to interact with my senior colleagues. Oregon law was new to me, and I wanted (and needed) to absorb every bit of information and advice from my colleagues that I could, but I had to go seek them out instead of just going down the hall. As a result, I had a few stumbles at first.
Nothing teaches as quickly or effectively as falling flat on your face. Which is what happened in my first scheduled trial.
The case was a low-level shoplifting trial that had been put on the calendar before I came onboard. It was a simple Juvenile Court bench trial, just the Judge, the defendant and his attorney, and me.
I met the police officer outside of the courtroom. “Hi, I’m Wes,” I said as I shook his hand. “I’m the new prosecutor.”
“Glad to meet you. Officer Tanner Gibson,” he said with a smile.
“I haven’t met the shopkeeper yet. Have you seen him around here?” I asked.
“No, sir.”
“Shit!” I exclaimed. I had a problem – he was my only witness that mattered! The cop was there because it was his arrest, and he was getting court pay for being there. Having not actually witnessed the act of the taking, the officer could only testify about the circumstances of the arrest if that somehow became an issue. Anything else about the alleged crime (short of a confession, which we did not have) would be inadmissible hearsay. I absolutely needed the only eyewitness to the crime – the shopkeeper! I fucked up - as the victim of the crime, it never occurred to me that he might not show up for the trial, therefore I didn’t think to subpoena him and require his appearance.
We went into the courtroom and the case was called. As I looked around the empty courtroom for the shopkeeper, King Henry, the Juvenile Court Judge (and Chief Judge of the County), got impatient quick.
“Mr. Miller, we have an alleged shoplifting trial today, right? I don’t see anyone else in the courtroom. Do we have a victim coming in today?” the Judge asked.
“He was expected, your Honor, but I have not been able to locate him this morning,” I replied.
“I don’t see any subpoenas on file here…did you serve one on him?” King Henry asked.
“I apologize, your Honor, no.”
“Well then - no victim, no case. Dismissed with prejudice,” the Judge said as he slammed down his gavel. Then he referred to the defendant, “It’s your lucky day, son. You’re free to go. I don’t want to see you come back,” King Henry pronounced before exiting to his chambers.
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A few minutes later, I was in Kevin’s office explaining my mistake. He laughed and said, “Sorry, I probably should have reminded you about that. Don’t worry about it, it was a nothing case anyway. Good lesson though - always subpoena everybody you might need to call as a witness, even the cops.”
“You’d think the cops…” I said as he cut me off.
“Would want to show up for their own cases, right?” Kevin finished for me. “You’d be surprised. Sometimes they get busy and forget, or sometimes they schedule a vacation for the same dates. You just never know, so the subpoena gives them something they have to calendar around, including their regular shifts.”
“Okay. Thanks for the tip,” I grumbled sardonically. “A fucking practice guide or job manual would be kinda useful around here, huh?”
“Yeah, no doubt,” he quipped back. “Just try finding a budget for one,” he smirked.
It wasn’t his responsibility to create one, either. I wasn’t taking out my frustration on him and he knew it. Kevin had experienced what I was going through and I had already heard a bit of his job chafes. We weren’t provided much to work with and we had no choice but to learn fast. I just took the embarrassment hit and moved on. “I’ve got a couple other things coming up that I wanted to ask you about.”
“Yeah, sure. What ya got?” Kevin replied.
“Well, I’ve got strange one here. Trial’s set for next week. The defendant is this huge 16- year-old gangbanger from Portland who beat the shit out of a local guy. I’m talking 6 foot 9 and 350 pounds, easy. Anyway, he kicked the guy in the head with his size-16 foot. It was charged originally as just an assault 4, but some of the folks in the juvy department think we might be able to bump it up into a felony if we allege his shoe as a weapon.”
“Interesting…yeah, I remember charging that when it came in. The victim had a few cuts and bruises but no serious injuries, right?” Kevin asked.
“Nothing broken or anything, no,” I replied. “He’s big, too, about 6’2”, and an adult.”
“Well, if you did that, it would be a Measure 11 case, kinda like we talked about when I first met you. If the shoe is a weapon and the defendant intentionally caused a physical injury with it, you have an Assault 2. I don’t know if that’s ever been argued before, but it’s an interesting take…” Kevin pondered for a moment, then asked, “So when is the trial date?”
“Next week. Why?”
“Oh, this is very important. If you’re going to go after the felony charge, you need to dismiss the misdemeanor charges immediately. Like, today. Because if you don’t, he could walk in tomorrow and plead guilty to the misdemeanor, and that cuts off any shot at the felony charges,” Kevin rattled out quickly. “Jeopardy attaches if he pleads guilty. You can’t later come back and up-charge him based on the same set of facts. So, whatever you’re going to charge someone with, you need to bring the top charges based on all the facts you have available and work your way down to the smaller charges. That way you also have more leverage to work out satisfactory plea deals. More chips on the table, you know?”
“Glad you pointed that out. So, what do you think? Should I go for it?” I asked.
“What’s the guy’s record?” Kevin asked in reply.
“Couple minor things, shoplifting and minor in possession. One prior assault last year. Suspected gang affiliations in Portland.”
“Yeah, I don’t know…” Kevin slowly droned. “Might not be worth the resources on that one. That is a legitimate concern, in every case – how much time and money does the State put in to obtain a just result. You gotta consider the court’s time, jury’s, your time, staff time…it adds up quick in a felony case. But in the end, it’s all about doing the right thing. I told you before that we’re the only lawyers charged to ‘do justice’, and what that always boils down to is doing the right thing in each case.”
“Do you think I could get some jail time for him on the assault 4?” I asked.
“With his prior assault, yeah, probably. And you can always argue that the shoe was a weapon at sentencing. That ought to do it,” Kevin said helpfully. “King Henry is open to new arguments, as long as you can back up your argument legally. Chuck had a menacing case a few months back where the defendant was surrounded by people and he was holding out a knife, thrusting it at different people around him. Chuck got the judge to buy his argument that each individual thrust of the knife at a different person was a separate act of menacing. I think the guy got convicted of like 10 or 12 counts just off that one course of action. The judge gave him consecutive sentences on them, too.”
“Thanks, Kevin. I appreciate the advice,” I said as I left his office for my own.
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I had attempted to get a guilty plea on the Assault 4 because it seemed like a slam-dunk case, but his defense attorney was cocky, thought she’d test out the new guy and take her chances at trial. This was the same notoriously stupid public defender to whom Chuck had sent the copy of his middle finger. I had since also learned that she had a reputation of coming to court sometimes smelling like a screwdriver (vodka and orange juice). She tried presenting a self-defense claim. It failed miserably when one of the witnesses described the defendant as saying, “This is how it’s done in Portland, bitch!” as he kicked the victim in the face. I scored one of my first bench trial wins. King Henry liked the weapon argument and gave the punk 30 days in the juvy jail (which looked exactly the same as a regular jail, just usually smaller occupants).
This P.D., I’ll call her Vera, was also the public defender assigned to defend the 12-year- old child rapist whose 5-year-old brother told me, “It’s all true!” After the trial showed her I wasn’t a pushover, I thought it was a good time to see if we could work out a plea deal. I approached her outside of court.
“Vera, can I talk to you a minute to talk about your other case with me?” I asked.
“Plea date is coming up next week. What’s your offer?” she asked without emotion.
“He pleads to one count of Sodomy 1 for each of the boys. Two counts total, both Class ‘A’ felonies, serves juvenile detention at the State Juvenile Detention facility until he’s an adult, sex offender registration, all the usual stuff, of course.”
“That’s a lot for a first offender,” she claimed.
“That’s a gift, and you know it,” I said firmly. I desperately wanted her to take this plea offer because I did not want to put those two kids through the trauma of having to testify and relive in public the horrors of their abuse. So I pushed. “We could go for that as well as Rape 1 and Sex Abuse 1, with multiple counts on each. We have strong medical evidence that shows significant ongoing abuse, prior consistent statements from several credible witnesses and the testimony of both victims.” Please don’t make me go there…
To my surprise, she didn’t take long to say, “Yeah, okay. It won’t really matter much for sentencing on this case anyway. King Henry will give him the max sentence regardless and the parents are expecting the worst, so yeah, I think I can sell that.”
And so it went.
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Sunday afternoon following my shoplifting trial mishap, I was watching an NFL game alone in my one-bedroom house when my phone rang. I thought it would be my mother checking up on me after getting settled. Instead, I was shocked – it was her. Tami.
“Hey, you,” Tami said as she had taken to doing.
“Hi, Tami?! How’d you get my number?” I asked in surprise.
“Diane gave it to me. I made your mom promise that she would call me after it happened,” she said, referring to my father’s death. Tami and my mother had been close during my relationship with her – too close. I had no idea Tami had been in contact with my mother recently. I was shocked that my mom hadn’t told me about it, but I was not going to get hung up on it. “How are you?” she asked.
My head was spinning. I had no expectation that she would ever reach out to me again. It had been four months since I had sent her a last pleading letter asking her what happened and laying out again my desire for a life with her.
“I’m doing okay,” I said. “It’s been hard but I’m getting through it. How about you? How are you?”
There was a pregnant pause before she blurted out, “I’m ready, Wes.”
Imagine a record needle screeching across an album because that was the sound that went through my head. “Umm…say what?” I asked after another pregnant pause.
“I’m ready, baby…ready to finally be with you. To move out there with you.”
The impacts to my psyche kept coming. “Are you serious? Is this for real?” I asked excitedly. “Does this mean what I think it means?”
“Yes, it does,” she said with assurance.
“Everything we had planned? Living together, marriage, kids…all of it?” I quizzed.
“Yes. All of it. I love you and I want my life with you,” Tami said sweetly.
“Jesus Christ!…I mean…holy shit! Absolutely! I love you, too! That’s all I ever wanted, honey, you’re all I need!” Adrenaline slammed through my body. I was back on a love-rush high. Then all the details started plowing through my brain. My head was swimming in emotions and problems to solve.
“There’s just one thing, though…I want to wait six months until we have sex,” she said, again out of nowhere.
“Ahh…why? That’s always been a great part of our relationship, the best part. I don’t know why that would be a problem,” I pleaded. “It’s not like you can reclaim your virginity.”
“I know that, silly,” in her little girl voice. Then she went back to speaking plainly. “I just want it…to be special again,” she stated.
“It’s always special with you, baby, and always will be,” I was quick to respond. It was a strange thing for her to say but I wasn’t overly concerned. A year before, she made it clear that she made the rules for sex and she could break them, too. “But hey, whatever, I’ve waited this long for you, I’ll do whatever it takes. I just want you here, with me…forever,” I said sincerely.
She paused a second and then went into her little girl voice again and said, “But we have to get married under a waterfall,” she teased.
“No problem, baby, they’re all over the place around here. I’ll find it for us,” I promised. (Within two weeks, I did, too – it was a beautiful semi-secluded waterfall along a State-maintained hiking trail.)
“Since we’re talking about expectations, baby, there is one thing I just thought of that would be good,” I said.
“What’s that?”
“Well, Keith and Rachel (she knew them) have a house rule about not having any booze around the house. I think that’s a good idea,” I said as a matter of fact.
“What, you sayin’ I can’t drink just because you can’t?” she asked with a hint of defensiveness but still being playful.
“Not at all, darlin’ – if you want to go out with friends or have a few drinks when we’re out, that’s fine. I just don’t want it around the house. That way I won’t ever be tempted and it’ll just never be an issue.”
She paused a second before saying, “Okay. I don’t mind.” Then she slipped into that sweetest voice of hers as she kept playing, “You’re going to take me to see Oprah, right?” Tami was a huge Oprah Winfrey fan and was emphatic about seeing her show live someday, maybe even meeting her.
“Just as soon as we can, darling,” I replied sincerely.
She kept going, asking “And when we’re rich, you’re still going to buy me a Mercedes convertible?” She had a rich dentist uncle in Seattle who had one that she fell in love with as a child. It was her dream car.
“Anything you want, baby. All I want is you,” I said with conviction.
This was IT! At long, miserable last, after all the soul-crushing misery of losing her and missing her in my life, the one part of my life that I feared and had hated to lose the most was back! Our dreams, all of our wonderful hopes and dreams of being married and having a family, ALL OF IT was back on the table, back as the foundation of my life. I paused a second before asking, “When can you come, baby? I mean, how soon are you thinking?”
“Soon. As soon as I can get it all planned and give my notice at work,” she said plainly.
There were so many questions I had, but more important was figuring out a solid plan. She had a two-bedroom duplex worth of furniture to bring, and that required me to find a bigger place that was unfurnished. I had to act immediately if I was going to move again. It was the end of my first month in the one-bedroom furnished house and I had to give notice about moving at the end of October, so I did, even though I had yet to find a new home. We continued speaking every night and got to work on the rest of the plan over the course of the week. By the next Sunday night it was determined – she would give her two-week notice on November 1, then pack up and move the week before Thanksgiving. We both got busy making our arrangements.
Finding a new house was made more difficult because in addition to the two of us, we had two animals - Beezy and her 11-year-old cat, Tigger. We almost had three animals - I had to spend a bit of effort convincing her that bringing her dog would not work very well. While married, she got this tiny yorkie terrier. It was her first dog since the childhood attack and she adored it. I had only met the animal once and was unimpressed. In addition to being a problem with my cat, I correctly told her that a dog would make it harder to find a suitable rental, especially in the short time we had. Tami relented and agreed to let the dog live with her ex- husband.
About a week later, I found half of a duplex in Coquille that was one block over and one block down from my office in the courthouse. No more commute! It was a two-bedroom, one-bathroom with a single garage and wood fireplace. It had a small yard and back porch, perfect for a grill and a huge stack of firewood (I had a cord of hardwood delivered before she arrived). Although the interior style was straight out of the 1970’s, it was just big enough and very Oregon cozy. The only problem was the cost of rent – it was half my monthly take home pay at $900 per month. Tami would have to get a job pretty quick after she got settled, but I had confidence we would make it. She was coming to live with me, she’s going to be my wife, she wants to have kids with me…this is the life I always wanted… fuck, we’ll MAKE it work! So, using up the last of my meager cash reserves and taking another cash advance from a credit card, I laid down the money for first month’s rent and the security deposit. I had no financial wiggle room left after that – I was “all in” in every sense, especially emotionally and financially.
On Tami’s part, she was concerned about getting stuck at some schmuck job flipping burgers, but I told her not to worry. She had spent the last three years working at a juvenile halfway house in Grand Forks, and with my connections in the Juvenile Department, she would be a shoe-in to get hired at the Juvenile Detention Center. “I don’t know if we should work together,” she objected after I explained the simplicity of getting her a suitable job.
“Darling, we wouldn’t actually be working together. I would be putting them in jail while your job would be to babysit them while they’re in jail,” I countered. “We’d only see each other if we wanted to go catch lunch together. That’s it. I have no direction or control what-so-ever on handling the detention side of things.”
“Still…I just don’t want to end up at McDonald’s or Wendy’s,” she said.
“You won’t, baby. You’ve got a degree, and experience. You’re very hirable,” I assured her.
That was followed by a new pregnant pause before she said, “If you say so.” She didn’t sound very confident about the juvenile department prospect. It confused me a bit, but my head was too full of all the things I needed to do to push back. Besides, I didn’t want ANYTHING to discourage her from coming to live with me.
“It’ll be tight, but we’ll make it, baby,” I assured her again. “You just can’t wait too long before you start looking, whatever jobs you look for. Don’t sell yourself short, they’ll love you here.”
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There was another huge load I was carrying that I couldn’t talk to Tami about. It greatly added to my stress during this time, and it was a real bitch – I had to quit smoking cigarettes before Tami got there. She was not accepting of the smoking habit and wasn’t shy about letting me know it. That was a hell of a project for me because I was addicted to nicotine. I had become a regular smoker only after losing Tami and averaged between a half-pack to a full pack of Marlboro Light 100’s daily. I tried quitting many times, and always had the same reactions. Mentally, I became very spacy. It was extremely hard to concentrate and think clearly, plus the nicotine withdrawals made me very irritable and anxious. Physically, the first symptom would be constipation (which always helps a person’s mood, right?). Within a week of “quitting,” I would always break out with extreme canker sores all around the inside of my mouth. I’m talking huge, dime-sized sores on the inside of my lips, my gums, the back of the throat…all painful and constantly irritating. All of which would go away either instantly, as with the mental elements and constipation, and within a day or so the canker sores would start to heal, after commencing to smoke again. Being successful at quitting smoking was a very difficult, all-consuming project for me at that time. I gave it the best effort I could, but the results were always failed attempts ended by relapse. Those fucking cancer sticks had me and although I hated it, I was not entirely in control of myself. I was a nicotine addict, a cigarette junky, plain and simple. But now I had to quit. For her.
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The daily court grind continued apace as I worked in the time to arrange my move. I was also stressed to the max in terms of time and lack of money, so I was very appreciative when my old friend Keith volunteered to come down from Portland and help me move. He loaded up his truck with furniture that my sister was sending to me since she was moving into the dorms in Corvallis to start school at Oregon State University. It wasn’t much – an old futon, some kitchenware, a wooden footlocker/trunk, some chairs and bedding. But every little bit helped so that I didn’t have to spend any more money than necessary. It was like living in college again, at least until Tami arrived with all her furniture.
Keith showed up eager to help, and then eager to go play – at the local Indian casino. Moving from a furnished house was quick and easy, as was unloading Keith’s pickup. It worked out even though November 1 was the middle of the week and I was working all day - we only needed an hour that evening to complete my move. After that, Keith took me out for another steak dinner, and we caught up with each other.
“You know what’s even weirder than Tami deciding out of the blue to move out here?” I asked Keith rhetorically. “Her fucking parents are helping her!”
“What? I thought she didn’t get along with her folks?” Keith asked.
“She doesn’t, they don’t. And they sure as fuck don’t have any love in their skeevy little hearts for me. So, I don’t really get it,” I exclaimed.
“Maybe they’re tired of her shit, too,” Keith laughed. I understood that he was riffing on her divorce. “They driving all this way just to drop her off?”
“Not exactly. Tami says they were planning to visit her uncle up in Seattle for Thanksgiving anyway. They decided to leave early and take a detour down here to help her move,” I explained.
“Hey, maybe they are trying to get rid of her,” he joked.
“That would be fine by me. I’m just glad they don’t live anywhere close,” I said. It really was a mystery to me why her parents would help her move cross-country, half-way across the continent, to live, unmarried, with her ex-boyfriend for whom they had absolutely no love. It definitely did not fit their traditional 1950’s mentality Catholic Republican North Dakota values. Not one fucking bit. But again, I was grateful for the help and for just having Tami finally come to live with me.
After dinner, Keith went out to fight the one-armed bandits at the Mill Casino in Coos Bay. I tried to stay up for him, but I had to work the next morning, so I went to bed around 10 o’clock. It was a fitful sleep at first – I kept waking up at the slightest noise thinking Keith had come back. But he hadn’t, so I’d try to go back to bed. After bouncing in and out of sleep several times, I finally fell into a deep, deep sleep...
…I was flying slowly, descending from a low altitude, approaching the beach. Bandon Beach, by the rocks outside of the hotel Keith and I had stayed at the morning my father died. It was just me, as if my body were floating. The light outside was strange – it felt like morning and the sky was mostly covered by active thunderstorm clouds with light breaks coming from the wrong direction for morning. It was beautiful but…off. As I got to the sand, I noticed an object ahead of me. As I slowly got closer, I could see it was a shiny metallic sphere that was covered with several pronounced black knobs having metal prongs sticking out of their centers. It looked like a modern spin on old fashioned navy mines. It was partially submerged about a quarter from its bottom, with small waves gently lapping while lightning strikes bounced amongst the clouds.
I kept slowly getting closer even though I was terrified for some unknown reason. I could feel extreme danger drawing me in, closer, closer…but there was no turning or going back.
When I got about ten yards away, I heard an unknown voice say to me, “Careful, that’s dangerous.” I slowly started reaching out to touch it and two of the nearest metal prongs sparked, then an arcing electric current looped between them. I felt a rush of urgent panic to retreat, and just as I started backing up,
BOOOM!
It exploded in a huge nuclear fireball! I was inside and as-yet unfazed, watching in horror as it quickly mushroomed for a second. Then darkness, followed by the presence of a gigantic wormhole that was sucking EVERYTHING into it. I watched everyone I knew, all my family and friends, quickly swirl, screaming, as they got pulled into the wormhole. I fought hard to resist but I could not overcome the gravity as I was also sucked into it. As I descended, I felt as if the entirety of space and time were being pulled apart. I felt myself being painfully ripped apart at the atomic level and I was trying to scream but couldn’t, and then:
BLACKNESS. Total void, as if EVERYTHING had ceased to exist, including me.
I popped wide awake, panting and sweating. I used to have fun, vivid, lucid dreams that I could alter sometimes and play with. Flying dreams. Never nightmares, even through all the things I had experienced to this point in my life.
This one scared the shit out of me. I had never had a nightmare so frightening. It was frightening because it felt so real. And it made no sense to me – my life was finally coming together in the way I wanted – or the best I could salvage of what I had wanted.
It was 3:35 in the morning, and there was no going back to sleep after that blast of unwanted adrenaline. I got up for a glass of water and to shake it off when I noticed Keith hadn’t come back yet. It concerned me a little bit but he was a big boy and could handle himself. I made a pot of coffee and forgot about trying to quit smoking for a few hours while I pondered my nightmare. It rocked me.
I eventually shook it off, got ready for work, and went in early. I stopped by the D.A.’s office to check in with Kevin. It was Thursday, his day to conduct Grand Jury, and he had a very full slate that day with a several big felony cases that had lots of witnesses. I had a couple of case-related questions for him, but they were going to have to wait. Shortly after saying good morning to Kevin, Keith showed up to the office. Since it wasn’t business hours yet, I brought him in and introduced him to Kevin. Keith was on a gambler’s high after winning a few thousand bucks playing the slots. Keith was giddy and cocky to the point of getting embarrassing – Kevin said enough without saying anything to indicate he needed to get back to work - so I asked Keith if he wanted to go to my place and get some sleep.
“Nope, no way, man, I’m too wound up for sleep,” Keith said. “I’m so wired from coffee and Swishers, I couldn’t go to sleep if I tried. Besides, I’ll probably have to stop to pee every half-hour or so, so that oughtta keep me awake!”
Keith and I said our goodbyes and he went home. Kevin excused himself to go meet his first witness for the day.
I had no way of knowing that would be the last pleasant interaction between Kevin and me for many months to come.
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