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I can’t do it, can’t reach out and be smacked down again. I am barely holding myself together as it is.
I back out of the driveway, go back down to the ferry. In less than an hour, I am downtown again. Now the streets are really quiet; no one is walking on the slick sidewalks. The stores are closed. The roads are icy, and I slow down, just to be extra careful.
Then I am crying. I don’t feel it coming on, this sadness, don’t see it circling me, but suddenly I am sobbing even as my heart is racing and a hot flash sweeps through me in pins and needles. I try to wipe my eyes and to calm down, but I can’t. My body is heavy, lethargic.
How many Xanax did I take?
This is the thing on my mind when the red lights flash behind me.
“Shit. ”
I put on my turn signal and pull off to the side of the road.
The police cruiser pulls up behind me. That damn red light blinks and flares and then stills.
The officer comes to my window and taps on the glass. It occurs to me a second too late that I should have lowered the window.
Smiling too brightly, I hit the button and the window slides soundlessly downward. “Hello, Officer,” I say, waiting for recognition. Oh, Ms. Hart. My wife-sister-daughter-mother loves your show.
“License and registration, please,” he says.
Oh. Right. Those days are over. I bolster my smile. “You sure you need my ID, Officer? I’m Tully Hart. ”
“License and registration, please. ”
I lean over to my purse and fish my license out of my wallet and retrieve the registration documents from my visor. I can see that my hand is trembling as I offer him what he’s asked for.
He shines a flashlight onto my license, and then turns the light on me. I can’t imagine I look good in that harsh light and it worries me. He stares into my eyes.
“Have you been drinking, Ms. Hart?”
“No. None,” I say, and I think it’s true. Isn’t it? Have I had any wine tonight?
“Step out of the vehicle, please. ”
He takes a few steps back, moves to the rear of my car.
Now my hands are really shaking. My heart starts that wild samba beat again and my mouth goes dry. Stay calm.
I get out of my car and stand on the side of the road with my hands clasped tightly together.
“I’d like you to walk forty feet along this line, Ms. Hart. Heel to toe. ”
I want to do as he asks, quickly and easily, but I can’t keep my balance. I keep taking too big a step and laughing nervously. “I’ve never been very coordinate … d,” I say. Is that the right word? I’m so nervous I can’t think straight, and I wish I hadn’t taken those last two Xanax. My movements and thoughts are sluggish.
“Okay. You can stop. Stand here, in front of me. Tilt your head back and spread your arms out and touch your nose with one finger. ”
I fling my arms out and immediately lose my balance and stumble sideways. He catches me before I fall off the sidewalk. I try again, with all my will pulled in.
I poke myself in the eye.
He shoves a Breathalyzer at me and says, “Blow. ”
I am pretty sure I haven’t been drinking, but honestly, I don’t trust myself. My thoughts are too fuzzy, and I know I shouldn’t blow into this thing if I have been drinking. “No,” I say quietly, staring up at him. “I’m not drunk. I have panic attacks. I have a prescription—”
He pulls my arms together and puts me in handcuffs.
Handcuffs!
