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Jail Break: Part 2

In The 80's on April 2, 2012 at 8:14 pm

 

I have no idea what’s on my mix tapes (other than kick ass music, of course!) because I have so many. I’d like to know what songs are about to play, but I never keep ‘track’.haha. get it?  I’m saving up for a killer Pioneer boom- box so I can make  more tapes. It was so much easier using Adrian’s huge record collection and top-of-the-line equipment. But since the break-up that’s no longer an option. The boom-box I have my eye on is huge, and state of the art. Everyone knows that when it comes to portable music- the bigger the better, right? Take it from me: it’s the wave of the future!

We listen to the studio version of ‘Diamonds and Rust’, and in case I forgot to mention it, Darla is also a self-proclaimed singer with a bellowing voice, and since they  already had had an epic power struggle over the seats, Jess and Darla stage a frightening sing-off. Thank God for the power booster is all I can say. No one can sing louder than that.

The wave of the future!

I get on 1-95 and head north towards Bridgeport. The highway is an ink black ribbon, slick and wet, hulking snowdrifts on both sides, boxing us in as the mid-afternoon sun shines in a cloudless blue sky. Jess pulls a crumpled piece of paper from his jeans pocket, where he’s written out directions to the jail.

“Man- you owe me for this one!” I laugh, and Darla rubs her hands together in anticipation.

“I can’t wait to see Jax!” she swoons.

“I’m sure he can’t wait to be let out of prison only to run into you!” Jess says, sarcastically.

Darla sticks her tongue out at him.

Prison?” I say, “I thought it was ‘just’ a jail?”

“You’re not even going in, so who cares?” says Darla, leaning over to grab the lighter, as it pops out of the ashtray. This is quite the statement to make as you get set to break the law.  She lights the half a joint she brought along. I crack my window an inch, as well as hers, and warn her not to get the smoke near me. The last thing I need is to be high and paranoid as I roll into a prison parking lot.

And if they’re cute enough, we might just pick them up! What the hey?!

“Hey! Gimme some!” croaks Jess, reaching his open hand over the back of our seats in Darla’s direction. 

Darla looks back at him, rolling her eyes. “I shouldn’t……..but I will.” she says, surrendering the joint.

Jess grabs it and takes it to the back, stretching out across the bench seat. “Dam right you will!” he says.

Were these two brother and sister in a past life? 

A few minutes later we get to the Bridgeport exit we’re looking for, and since Darla and Jess are both in a stoner haze, listening to AC/DC’s “Touch Too Much’, I have to turn it way down and yell “Which way? Which way?!” until they both jump.

Jess unfurls his crinkled ball of directions, and starts to read: “Go left up here. Follow all the way until you see a park, then go left…….”

Of course, we pass the park and have to turn back in heavy traffic, but we get there eventually, and pull into the parking lot. It’s almost three o’clock (release time), so we just idle in a parking space and stare at the big, ominous brick building. We don’t see anybody coming out. I tell Jess to go inside and make sure that we’re in the right place and verify that people really are going to get released. I have this ‘double-check’ disorder-because even if I follow orders precisely there’s always a chance plans can change. Maybe the jail is on lock-down? Someone trying the old ‘file in a cake’ move? I’d seen that once on ‘Scared Straight’.

Jess agrees to go, sighs dramatically, and as he’s getting out of the car ,with Darla squished up against the glove compartment, eyes popping, face twisted, he says to her: “Remember: you need to get in the back, Miss Missy!” and then lets the seat fly back into position with a bang. Darla falls back, growling.

“Wait! Wait” I yell to him.

He leans over Darla like she isn’t there and asks impatiently, “Whaaat?”

“You don’t have any warrants do you?” I say, laughing. For a second I see him look up and space, eyebrows furrowed as though scanning his brain.

“Don’t think so!” he says, and heads across the parking lot. 

“He’s a little bitch!” says Darla, as soon as Jess is out of hearing range.

“Oh, c’mon- that’s harsh!” I say. 

“He’s  so bossy. You know- he bogarted most of that joint!” she huffs.

Suddenly, there’s a loud knock on my window. It startles both of us, and it doesn’t help to see a billy club, gun holster,  and the deep blue of a cops uniform, framed in the window. I open the  window partially, and hope the car doesn’t reek of marijuana. A cop, who fits the ‘Officer O’Leary’ description (in his fifties, buzz cut, out of shape,possibly Irish) says: “You can’t park here. See the sign?” I look over and see a sign with ten different blocks of time and various arrows. To understand it would be like deciphering the fine print on my telephone bill.

“Oh, okay.” I say. “Where can I park?”

The cop points across the snowy lot. It’s very imprecise, but I pull out of the parking space and hope for the best. We settle in about twenty spaces down. I back in very carefully, to avoid snow drifts and the cars on either side of me. The Caddy is a beast, and it’s like docking a boat. But I maneuver in, then sigh as if I’ve climbed Mount Everest. 

“Cops are so annoying!” observes Darla.

“Doe!” I say, eyes wide, head wobbling. I bet everyone in this brick building agrees.

I reach over and crank the volume on “Nobody’s Fault’ by Aerosmith, to Darla’s delight. But we’re barely underway with our amazingly realistic air-guitar moves when there’s another bang on my window. Good God! It scares me to death. It’s O’Malley. Again. (Where did he come from? How did we not see him? Did he scale the snow-drift? Crawl under the car next to us? For a pudgy man, this guy moves like a cat!)

“You can’t park here, either!” he says impatiently.

“I thought you were pointing  down here.” I say. “I’m just waiting for someone who will be right out-“

“Well, you can’t stay here. Why don’t you just drive slowly around the lot until they get outside? It’s a big circle” He makes a circle in the air with his finger, his breath coming out of his mouth and nostrils like a dragon in the cold.

War Wagon: Parking Lot Fail!

 “Oooo-kay!” I say, smacking my lips together in a straight line and shaking my head back and forth. Personally I think it’s much safer for everyone if I stay idling in a parking space rather than skating around the lot in a giant battle-axe, but whatever! 

I pull out carefully, and head to the right. We circle slowly around several times, until Darla yells: “Right there! Stop! They’re coming out!” I’ve already overshot the front door by quite a bit, but I stop the car anyway. and let them walk over. This parking lot deal is irritating the crap out of me. The things I get talked into!

Darla jumps out and I hear her screaming ‘Jax!Jax!” A minute later she opens the passenger door, and the famous jailbird Jax slides into the back, saying ‘Hey!’

I’m fiddling with my tape deck and just say ‘What’s happening’ without looking up. Darla barrels into the backseat, and Jess hops into the front, smiling. 

“We ready?” I ask. “Finally?”I need to book outta here before I somehow get booked!

 I crank up the tunes, some vintage Deep Purple ‘Burn’- and we’re  heading out to the highway. 

We backtrack through Bridgeport, and after a couple of minutes I decide to see what’s doin’ with Mr. Jax. At the next light I adjust the mirror subtly, and suddenly: heelllooo!  I’m looking at a stone-cold freakin’ fox! Dark blonde hair past his shoulders and sparkling baby blue eyes. Arresting! (no pun intended)

Darla’s yapping about something back there, and he smiles: I swear I hear Angels. Beautiful straight teeth, he’s gorgeous! As  ‘Man On The Silver Mountain’ begins, he starts nodding his head with the beat. Come down with fire…lift my spirit higher…..day-am!! Jess might not even have to buy import cassettes- this one’s on me.

Right then: a skirmish! Jess jerks the steering wheel, bringing me back to earth.

“Whoaaah! he yells.

I almost ran straight into a snowbank! My heart beats a mile a minute, partly because I’m scared, partly because I’m also relieved, but mostly because of the vision in the back seat that almost caused me to wreck my car!

the look Jess gave me after the near crash.

 

 

 

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