Nobody Rides For Free
Day in and day out, conversation in prison revolves primarily around three subjects: how lousy the food is, what you should order from the canteen, and how terribly unfair it is that you are there. There is always someone to blame for your situation. It was your man's fault. That cop had it in for you. The judge was unfair. That's what you tell the other women in the light of day. But at night, lying in your bunk, you know the truth. You know who put you there.
I was a good student all through school. A very good student, maybe too good. I was the kid who always had the assignment done first, who aced the test with ease, who had already read the book before it was assigned. There is a shadow to being the exceptionally bright child, however. I was also the kid who was bored with school, who was restless in class, who craved stimulation.
My father was a long haul trucker. One day, when I was four years old, his haul was so long that he never came back. My mother, left on her own with two small children, struggled to keep food on the table and had no time to date or to meet anyone. With her overburdened and no adult men in my life, I grew up undisciplined and ignorant of boundaries.
In a small town fifteen miles from the nearest movie theater, thirty miles from the nearest shopping mall, there were only a few means by which I could appease my restlessness. By the time I graduated from high school, I was well acquainted with liquor, with marijuana and with men.
But even so, lots of girls experiment with getting drunk, with smoking pot and with enjoying the attention of older men, and they don't end up locked away. Every step I took towards the cell door was one I took on my own volition.
When I was ten we lived next door to a horse farm for a couple of years. I would help feed and groom the horses, and in return, the owners taught me to ride. I imagined living on a horse farm of my own someday, with a wonderful man and even more wonderful animals. I decided that I wanted to be a large animal veterinarian. That would require a very expensive education. My mother had remarried when I was In high school, and my stepfather, Ron, was agreeable with covering part of my college costs, if I would work to pay the rest. He was a building contractor and made good money, so, as a surly teenager, I resented that he would not pay the full freight. It did not occur to me to appreciate that, out of his love for my mother, he was willing to be so generous to another man's child, let alone one who met his every gesture of kindness with hostility.
The agreement we eventually reached was that I would wait one year before attending college, and spend that year working in the office at a landscaping company with which he often did business. I agreed to the deal when he threw in a used car. Despite the fact that I had already demonstrated my poor judgment regarding men on more than one occasion, it does not seem to have occurred to anyone that perhaps spending my days around hard working male landscapers might not be wise.
The one who caught my eye was Jesse. He was in his mid twenties, blue eyed, broad shouldered and narrow hipped. At the end of their shifts, the work crews would turn in their job invoices at my desk, and I would wait each day for Jesse to drop off his crew's papers, especially on hot days when he might come in with his shirt off and his muscular body glistening with sweat. He was quick to take notice of my interest and after a couple weeks of flirting, he asked me for a date.
For all his self assurance at work, he was charmingly awkward on that first date. We went to the movies, and had pizza afterwards. When he drove me home we kissed for a few minutes in the car outside my house. I felt a little bit rejected when he made no attempt to take things further. But when he walked me to the door, he kissed me deeply and asked me if I would go out with him again and I eagerly told him that I would.
A friend of his was throwing a party the next Friday night, and I looked forward to it with excitement, which grew each time I saw him during the week. My thoughts alternated between what might happen between us and what I should wear. I was sure as to what I hoped might happen, and I decided to influence things my way with my shortest cutoffs and my tightest tank top.
Friday arrived at last, and shortly after supper a battered, muddy pickup truck bounced up the driveway. Jesse got out of the passenger side and walked towards the house. I met him on the porch and was pleasantly surprised when he scooped me into his arms and gave me a big kiss. We walked to the truck with our arms around each other's waists. Jesse's friend and crew mate Mark was behind the wheel. I climbed up on the bench seat and said hello to him as I slid into the girlfriend seat. He greeted me with a smile and an obvious looking over. Jesse got in beside me and immediately marked his territory by running his hand up and down my bare thigh.
We drove for about ten minutes, then turned down a winding dirt road until we arrived at a dilapidated farm house. We turned in the driveway and drove around behind the house. There were a couple dozen people milling around in the yard. There was a pond nearby and several people were splashing in the water.
We parked and got out of the truck. Jesse took my hand, as Mark wandered off to join the crowd. There was loud hip hop music coming from the barn. It was cool and dark inside, and it took a few minutes for my eyes to adjust as we stepped into the shade. By the time I could see again, Jesse had poured two red cups of beer from a keg that sat in a barrel of ice by the door. Mildewed bales of hay and a few rusty pieces of farm equipment were piled against the walls, but the center of the big barn had been cleared for use as a dance floor.
We strolled around, sipping our beers. I recognized a few people who had been a year or two ahead of me in school, but there was no one I knew well. Jesse seemed to know everyone. As he chatted with his friends I felt proud to be with him. He was a different person in this setting. There was nothing awkward about him now. He kept his arm around my waist as he led me through the growing crowd. I felt like he was showing me off. It made me feel sexy.
The sun went down, and ropes of Japanese lanterns were lit as the party heated up. Many more people had arrived and the barn was crowded with dancers. Jesse and I danced to a few songs, but soon we were overheated and soaked with sweat, so we ducked out into the cooler night air. We each gulped down a cup of beer, then went down to the pond and playfully splashed cold water on each other. He took me in his arms and we kissed. After a moment he broke away and fumbled in his pocket. He took out a little brown pill bottle, screwed off the cap and shook two triangular pink pills into the palm of his hand.
"What's that?" I asked.
"Ecstasy. Have you ever tried it?"
I had heard about it, but had never tried it, nor did I know anyone who had. I shook my head. "What does it do?"
"It makes you feel better than you have ever felt."
He popped one of the pills into his mouth, and held the other out to me. I hesitated for a minute, then opened my mouth and let him drop it on my tongue. When I had swallowed it, he took me in his arms again.
We kissed a while longer, oblivious to the partygoers around us.
