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24
KARTER. I used to sit at home and worry Jak would simply forget about me one day. Having Jak be a part of my life made such improvements to me and my manner of living, I was afraid it would certainly come to an end. I had never truly enjoyed living until I met Jak. With him in my life, I viewed the world before me through different eyes, and not my colored contact lenses.
Life with Jak was not too good to be true, because it was true. It was real. And it was mine. And I, of all people, believed I deserved what I was being served as a repeated meal by the hand of no other than God. I had never really believed in God until after I met Jak. And now, I don’t know how anyone could convince me God did not exist. Who could witness something as magical as the love Jak and I felt for one another, and believe it merely happened? Everything falling into place in the manner it had was far too complex to be anything but a plan by a being greater than man. I cleared my throat, set my coffee cup beside the newspaper, and closed my eyes.
God,
You keep Jak healthy, and I’ll keep him happy. I can promise you that. And I don’t make a promise if I don’t intend to die keeping it. And you can take that to the fucking bank.
Shit.
I probably shouldn’t have cussed, huh? My bad. Rewind. Okay, keep him healthy, and I’ll keep him happy. Pound it. Thanks for everything. Show me the way. Keep us safe out on the road. Shiny side up and all.
That’s all I got.
Karter out.
I opened my eyes and began sorting through the piles of mail which had collected for almost the entire time I had known Jak. He had immediately consumed my entire life, and although it was in a good way, it was also a bit overwhelming looking at it from an outsider’s point of view. As I flipped through the envelopes, one thing became immediately apparent.
The Sedgwick County Courthouse wanted to get ahold of me.
Desperately.
No less than six letters from the Sedgwick County Courthouse were amongst the mail I had inventoried. Frustrated, and assuming I had a warrant for my arrest, I grabbed my knife and cut the envelope open. I pulled the one-page letter from the envelope and read it.
Mrs. Wilson,
Pursuant to case number SG-2436-17A, please provide proof of ongoing aftercare. If such proof isn’t provided by August 28th, 2014, actions will be taken by the court.
Be reminded breach of the agreement set forth in the above referenced case may include fines, imprisonment, or both.
Circumstances of the case and of the agreement are available from the Clerk of the Court by providing the case number.
Respectfully,
The Prosecutor’s Office
I tossed the letter on the counter.
Fuck.
I opened one of the other envelopes. The exact same letter with a different date was inside. I opened another. The same thing. Frustrated, I sat and stared at the newspaper I had just finished reading. I had been required by the court to attend no less than three Alcoholics Anonymous meetings as aftercare to my treatment. If not, I could be determined mentally incompetent by the court, and placed in an institution or in jail.
I shook my head, wrapped my hands around my coffee cup and thought of what my options were. I looked down at my cup and closed my eyes.
God,
Seriously?
I opened my eyes and shook my head. I glanced at the pile of mail and closed my eyes softly to close my prayer.
Karter out.
The August date had long since passed. Without a doubt in a short period of time, if not already, a warrant for my arrest would be issued. Frustrated, I picked up the phone and called the Prosecutor’s Office. After three different people and twenty minutes of begging, I had authorization to attend three meetings in three weeks.
Thank God.
No pun intended.
