Some stories don't even need embellishment to be entertaining. Some can be related simply, flat out, across a lunch table, and something inside the listener can still shift with piqued interest.This is the story of how a police officer ripped off my drivers license.
"Are you aware that this particular location is frequented by drug users and prostitutes?"
"We're not on drugs," Nestor said, his accent forcing a twitch from the cop's mouth.
"And I am NOT a prostitute!" I almost laughed. I would have, if my heart hadn't been beating so fast.
They made us get out of the car. They made Nestor put his hands behind his head. They separated us, then searched the car. One cop asked me various unusually personal questions. Another cop took Nestor over by the third car that had pulled up. They asked if I was married. They asked how well I knew Nestor. They asked why I was so far from home, gesturing to my school badge from when I taught seventh grade. They may have felt they knew me after they saw that.
"We want you to know that you shouldn't come out here at night. For one, its trespassing. For two, its dangerous. This unit has been working this area because we've come up against a lot of drug usage out here. A lot of crime."
"Oh. My god."
"Yeah, believe it. The last thing we want is for you to be made a victim coming out here. Have some guy pop up at your window holding a gun."
"I will never come here again. You will never SEE me again!"
"All right, ma'am, we're just trying to verify the identity of your boyfriend so we can send you guys on with a warning."
Nestor was talking quickly, but his eyes were directed at me. I could hear the cop answer.
"So whats your last name again? Spell it please."
This terrible feeling started coiling, welling up inside me. I felt panicked all of a sudden. What if they took Nestor away? What if it was my fault! What if me cursing repeatedly at the officer's approach was the last thing he'd ever hear me say? And honestly, I thought of Lavery. I thought of March 24th, 2005. I thought of all the pain and bad poetry and the scab that later formed, and that I continued to pick at in the years that followed.
I made an uncomfortable noise. "Is he saying his name is Jonathan? He goes by Jonathan sometimes." I said.
The cop standing next to me walked over to the one talking to Nestor and they chatted. I gave Nestor an anguished look, and I saw him mouth the words I Love You. Logically I knew that couldn't be true. But I felt like my life was overlapping itself. I felt like I was being swallowed up by the same stupid stuff all over again, so I mouthed back Yo Te Amo Tambien, and smiled weakly.
"Hey, did you hear that?"
"What?"
"The radio, did you catch that?"
"Yeah, lets go."
The cop who was hearing things walked over to me quickly and I noticed suddenly that all the other policemen were backing into their cars and shutting their doors.
"Ma'am, listen, we're going to let you go tonight. You need to go home. But if I were you, I wouldn't trust that guy as far as I could throw him. I don't know who you think he is, but we can't seem to get a straight answer out of him. We got enough ID from him to let you guys go, all right. So drive safely, okay?"
"Okay."
Four police cars backed away from us in a carnival of blue lights. I was still standing there when the last one had gone. Nestor was still, too.
"Oh my god." I said.
"We're alive!"
"I know! I was so worried!"
He came and hugged me, hard. Waves of relief were washing over me.
"I knew you were. I could see it in your face." He kissed me.
"That can NEVER happen again, Nestor. We are so stupid!"
"I'm sorry. It was my idea. I'm so sorry."
I let go of him and opened my car door. "Come on, we've got to get out of here before they decide to come back."
"You're in love with me. I can feel it."
"Oh, shut up."
I only realized later that my drivers license was still missing. There had been at least five policemen running around my car. Two different people had asked me Nestor's name and how to spell it. Another two had searched my car with gloves and flashlights. I couldn't even remember which officer had taken my ID, but I remembered it leaving my hands.
"Maybe they wanted you to feel like me." Nestor joked.
I didn't think so.
My mother wanted to kill me for my lateness. She was getting dressed for work when I came in. She delivered a speech of chastisement for approximately 30 minutes before allowing me to pass out for an hour before work. It was stupid.
I kept remembering that face Nestor made at me while he was waiting for the cops to identify him. We didn't want to be taken from each other. We didn't want to be separated. Not now. Not so soon. Not when things were going so well.
"This is the nature of the game, Querida. This may not be the last time."
"We have to try harder, then. We can't let it happen so easily. We have to know better. We need to live the quiet life. Stop living so loudly."
What happened at Lavery would never happen again. I wanted to have broken that spell. I did not ever want to be interrupted and taken from like that, so unexpectedly. After we were told to leave Lavery I never saw Micah again. I never saw him, and I never quite saw myself the same way, either. Of course, those things had nothing to do with Nestor being deported. But the sting, that same sharp stab in my heart, the wound I thought had healed, started throbbing all over again when I thought about it.
So that's how the cops stole my license.
And that's why I can't drink or run red lights for the foreseeable future.
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