Copyright 1991 Aya Katz
FROM THE DIARY OF VERITY LACKLAND ...
When they told me I could make one phone call, I asked if a call to Moscow was okay. They laughed. "What are you, some kind of communist? Think the Kremlin's gonna bail you out?"
"Is that a yes or a no?" I asked. It was a "No."
They did finally let me call down to Austin, to the dorm, but no one was there because school's out for a week. They tried to be helpful. "Isn't there anyone you could call?"
My answer surprised me. There's no one. No one at all.
(In case you're wondering, I've just been released from jail. And no, I don't really feel like going into it right now. I'd much rather dwell on the fact that there was nobody to bail me out, and that I'm all alone.)
My mother always told me it was important to make friends. "They can be very useful in times of need," she liked to say.
"But Mom, isn't that a mercenary attitude? Shouldn't you make friends only with people that you really like?"
Dad, who happened to listen in a lot, would jump in then and say that there was nothing wrong with being mercenary. And he would wink at me.
But Mom wouldn't notice. "You shouldn't make friends with people because you like them. You should like them because they're your friends. If you learn that lesson, you'll go far."
I still am not sure what she meant by that. But the fact is that with all the moving around that we did, I haven't managed to make a single real friend in my entire life.
Oh, I've had friends. People to study with, sometimes. Or people to go shopping. But it was very superficial. And they either moved away or I did. Last semester it was Muriel Croston, but she graduated and got a job in Florida. This semester hasn't even started, and there's been a big turn-around. I don't know most of the names, let alone the phone numbers. So there's no one to bail me out. I could rot here forever.
That's what I thought the first couple of days. But yesterday they told me that if no one came for me, they'd let me out anyway. Which, in due course, they did.
Then, what? I thought. They'll get me a lawyer and I'll prove my innocence and they'll throw that pervert Sheriff of theirs into jail and I can forget about the whole thing.
At least, that's what ought to happen. But I saw a movie-of-the-week once where people got picked up on the highway and they were taken to a labor camp and it involved a white slavery ring ...
No. I'd better not let my imagination get the better of me. I'm sure this will be fixed in no time, and I can laugh it off. Things like that don't happen in real life.
But one thing bothers me. A friend should be a luxury, not a necessity. You shouldn't need friends just to get through the day.
I'm scared. I'm really scared.
FROM VACUUM COUNTY FILES
Mr. David SmithFROM THE DIARY OF VERITY LACKLAND ...
Attorney at Law
RE: VERITY LACKLAND
Cause No. 2354
Dear Mr. Smith:
Enclosed please find the Predisposition Report.
Please feel free to call if I can be of any assistance, or if there are any questions regarding the report or its contents.
Sincerely,
Seth Cain,
Probation Officer
PREDISPOSITION REPORT
VACUUM COUNTY ADULT PROBATION
SUBJECT: LACKLAND, VERITY OFFENSE: DWI
TO THE HONORABLE JUDGE OF THE COUNTY COURT OF VACUUM COUNTY:
I. THE SUBJECT
A. D e s c r i p t i o n
The subject is a twenty-one (21) year old Caucasian female, born in London, England. She stands approximately five feet, five inches (5'5") tall and weighs approximately one hundred ten (110) pounds. Her hair is medium brown, slightly frizzy, eyes hazel, ski jump nose. No outstanding physical characteristics. Body is somewhat lanky, movements coltish.
B. P r i o r R e c o r d
Prior Arrests: None
Prior Adjudications: None
C. A t t i t u d e
This is an area of concern. The subject has displayed an acceptable attitude toward this officer, but is bitter and scornful when referring to Vacuum County government in general and to the officer who arrested her in particular.
Subject's attitude toward the incident is one of denial. She not only denies having been under the influence at the time of arrest, but goes so far as to assert that she does not drink, and has never imbibed in alcoholic beverages, socially or otherwise. Psychological evaluation indicates repression may be at the root of the problem. (See I. E. below)
Behavior under detention was acceptable. The subject appears apprehensive about her situation, and her attitude ranges from extreme submissiveness due to exaggerated apprehension as to what the consequences of her incarceration will be, with intermittent bursts of rebellion due to her professed belief that she has not committed the offense.
D. E m p l o y m e n t
The subject is not employed at this time. She states that she has never worked. Subject is a full time student at UT Austin and is supported by her parents, who are presently abroad, according to the subject.
E. P s y c h o l o g i c a l
The subject has consented to psychological evaluation. The subject's full scale IQ measured at 135. Socialization problems appear to be present. The subject's self assessment does not fully correspond to that of those around her, and there is a marked inflexibility on her part in bridging the gap. Subject suffers from alienation from her immediate environment, and mild paranoid schizophrenia, that manifests itself in her belief that authority figures are plotting against her.
In addition, while subject denies having had a puritanical upbringing, her attitudes toward sexual and social behavior are very constricted and it is likely that repression is at the root of denial. Some degree of counseling may be of assistance.
II. VICTIM IMPACT
The offense did not result in damage to third persons.III. RECOMMENDATION
The subject is capable of rehabilitation. There are no indications against probation. If granted probation, the subject appears likely to stay within the terms of same.If the allegations against the subject are found to be true, this Officer respectfully recommends that she be placed on probation for a period of one (1) year with attendance of Alcoholics Anonymous as a term of probation, to deal with the underlying problem and to deflect denial.
Respectfully submitted,
Seth Cain,
Probation Officer
Maybe if I had been able to decide on a major, it wouldn't have happened. Because, you see, I had more than enough hours to graduate. Or then again, if I had thrown in the towel and agreed to go with them to the Soviet Union for a year, the way Mom wanted, leaving everything on hold ... well, it couldn't have happened then. But I was stubborn. I was going to graduate this year come hell or high water ... Oh, No! I'm starting to sound like one of them. I'm turning into a hick right before my eyes. When Mom and Dad get back, they won't be able to recognize me. They'll say, "Who is that little peasant girl?"
Of course, this is America. We don't have peasants. Blue collar workers, maybe, but not peasants. At least, that's what I thought before we came to Texas. Talk about culture shock. I couldn't believe the accents. And these were college professors! Still, it wasn't so different and I got used to it after a while. I didn't change the way I talked, just the way I listened. And this time I was going to stay put long enough to get my B.A. from the same school I enrolled in. Not the way it was when I was little, practically every year a new school, a new town, a new state, even sometimes a different country. So when he was assigned to the embassy in Moscow, I told them to go without me. I'm twenty-one years old. You'd think I'd be able to take care of myself. But Mom knew. As always, she was right. I hate her for being right. "She's only a child, Lee," Mom said. "She can't do anything for herself. We can't leave her all alone."
Dad just smiled. "Verity's a big girl," he said. "Besides, she won't be all alone. She'll be at the dorm."
Mom just shook her head. "What if she gets a flat tire?" she said.
Dad and I thought that was pretty funny. "She's got a spare," Dad said.
So ... there I was on the road from Austin to Dallas, right in the middle of nowhere, and I got this flat tire. Right in front of a sign that said "Vacuum County Line." Big mistake number one.
I looked around and it was mostly mesquite trees and low lying bushes and barbed wire fences. Nothing else in sight. But I'm a big girl and I've got a spare, right?
I knew that changing a tire involved something called a jack, so I went round to the trunk to look for it. I found it. But I couldn't quite figure out how it worked. So I went to the glove compartment to get out the owner's manual. So far, I hadn't panicked at all. I was very proud of myself for being so logical about it.
It was only after I'd been at it for an hour or so and still hadn't been able to assemble the thing, much less lift the car, that I started to feel a little bit uneasy.
I was sitting on the hood, my feet dangling, rereading the owner's manual for the fifty-seventh time when I heard a car pull up. I looked up to see a dirty old pickup. Maybe it wasn't that old, really, I'm not too good with makes and models, but it was definitely dirty. It was covered with mud. There were a man and a woman inside and the woman had rolled down her window, to ask what the problem was. She was brushing her sandy hair away from her face, because the wind was blowing it.
"What's the problem?" she asked. Behind her, in the driver's seat, I could make out a man in cowboy hat with a very peculiar looking profile. He was purposefully looking ahead, impatient.
"I've got a flat," I said, apologetic. "I normally wouldn't ask for help, but I haven't quite figured out how to work this jack."
She smiled and all of the sudden she seemed truly beautiful and I immediately liked her, because her face was so kind and generous. She turned to the man. "Nabal ...?"
"Let her change her own tire," I barely heard him say.
I felt kind of cheap and insulted. I hadn't really asked for help, not exactly. And he certainly had no obligation to help. So it was strange how just overhearing him say that made me feel resentful toward him, as though I thought he really did owe me something after all. Which he didn't, of course.
The woman turned back to me. "I'm sorry," she said. "We are in a bit of a hurry, so we can't stop to help. But we'll be driving through town, and I'll get somebody to come back and help you."
I smiled, a kind of squinched up, thank-you-for-being-so-nice smile. "Thanks," I said. "That's very kind of you."
I was going to add that maybe it wasn't necessary at all, since I had about figured out how the jack worked, but they had already driven off. They almost screeched away, the man was so impatient.
I sneezed, (I'm allergic to exhaust fumes), and went back to the owner's manual. It's funny the way they tell you just how to undo the wheel nuts, but they assume that everybody knows how to work a jack. Does everybody know how to work a jack? Is it something I missed when they were arranging my DNA?
It was a windy day, but not very cold for January. I had on a denim jacket, and I was fine. I finally figured out how to connect the crank to the body of the jack and had located the jack-up point on the car, when a police car drove up from the opposite direction. I was a little disappointed, because I thought maybe I could do it myself after all. But I was a little relieved, too.
It wasn't really a police car, the insignia was different. Vacuum County Sheriff's Office. But I wasn't too clear on the concept, at the time.
I left off fiddling with the jack and turned round, to see him coming out toward me. His clothes were a sort of light khaki and he wore a badge, and the holstered gun and cowboy boots. He had a distinctive gait, sort of swinging from one leg to the other. I couldn't tell whether he was bow-legged, or just had a problem with his center of gravity. He had a strong upper torso, broad chest, really kind of attractive, but his legs were a little short in comparison. I wouldn't say he was overweight at all, but his belly bulged a bit, beer belly, I suppose, and he had to compensate for it by putting more weight on his back. He didn't even have a cowboy hat on, so the word sheriff didn't immediately spring to mind.
"Howdy, there," he said, almost stereotypically, and if he'd had a hat on, he probably would have tipped it. "Anything I can help you with, Ma'am?"
I wiped a stray strand of hair from before my eyes. "Thank you, officer," I said. "I do seem to be having some trouble with this tire."
He flashed me a crooked smile. "No problem. Have it changed for you in no time."
"I'm sorry about the trouble ..." I started to say.
"No trouble a 'tall," he said and held out his hand. "Abner Brown. Sheriff."
I shook his hand, which was a little fleshy and moist. "I'm Verity Lackland," I said.
So then he started to roll up his sleeves -almost as though that were a necessary part of the process- and went to work changing the tire. He had me hand him things and kept talking while he worked.
"How long have y'all been in Texas?" he asked, grunting as he strained at a stubborn wheel nut.
"Three years," I said.
"Where'd y'all come from?" he asked.
I squinted at him. "All sorts of places. Before Texas, it was Michigan."
"Your parents hereabouts?"
I wasn't sure what he meant. I looked around at the roadside, then I decided he wasn't referring to the immediate vicinity, so I said: "We moved to Austin. But they aren't there anymore. They went abroad. I'm in college."
He kept working at the nuts, talking all the while and grunting occasionally. "Where you headed?"
"Dallas."
He turned his head round a little. "To visit your boyfriend?"
I thought that was a strange thing for him to say. "No. I thought I'd do some shopping. I've got a week till school starts up again."
"Well," he drawled, spreading out the vowel, "I bet a pretty girl like you has a boyfriend."
I shook my head shyly. "No. I don't."
He had gotten up from his bent over position at the tire and he handed me the nuts. "Well, now that's done," he said, taking down the tire. He went to get the spare and came back, rolling it along.
I watched him appreciatively. "You're very good at this."
"Aw, it's nothing. I can teach you."
So when he was putting the nuts back in place, he motioned for me to come over. "Here, hold on to this part here," he said. I did and he positioned himself behind me. We tightened the nuts one by one together like that, and then retightened them. It was very awkward, because he was really doing all the work and he kept saying "At a girl," and "easy does it," and he was brushing up against me. But I didn't really think anything of it and I couldn't very well say that I didn't want to learn how to do it myself.
"There, that'll hold it," he said, and I was grateful that he finally let go of me. He started letting the car down, then put everything in the trunk.
"Thank you so much," I started to say. I just wanted to get back in the car and drive off.
He smiled his crooked, closed mouthed smile. "Well, now, you know you shouldn't use that spare for any long distance driving. It's not designed to take more than thirty."
"I'll have it looked to in Dallas," I said.
"I wouldn't advise it," he drawled. "If this one gives out, you could really get stuck."
I bit my lip, hesitating.
"Come, now, Miss Verity, you just follow me into town, and we'll have your tire patched in no time. And I can buy you some lunch, while you wait."
"That's very kind of you ..." I started to stammer.
"Happy to do it," he said. "Here in Vacuum County, we don't do things by halves. And we're mighty friendly." He kind of winked at me, just barely.
So I followed him into town, and he took me to the Brown 'N Serve while they were working on my tire. And he bought me my lunch. He wanted to get me a beer, only I told him I didn't drink. I had to repeat that twice. He got me one anyway, which I didn't touch.
The Brown 'N Serve is in a brownstone building, and the motif inside is all brown. The restaurant is off to the right from the lobby of the hotel. The walls are stained wood, and there are paintings of brown cows on the walls. I'm serious.
All the time I was eating, a not particularly appetizing hamburger, the Sheriff was staring at me. I tried to avoid eye contact, so I centered on a couple that was sitting a few tables across from us. The man I couldn't see, except from the back. But the woman was facing me and she was interesting to watch.
She had almost shoulder length dark brown hair, beautifully styled, not a strand out of place. Not exactly a perm, because it was straight, with only a touch of a curl and very shiny. Her eyes were big and brown, almost doe-like. She had a strong chin, but her most prominent feature was the strong, dark eyebrows. She had on a lot of make-up, glistening red lipstick, lots of mascara, but I think the eyebrows were more or less her own. They were too wide to be styled, although quite shapely. It made her eyes stand out all the more, but took away from the bambi look and gave her a hard edge. She was doing most of the talking, and kept jabbing her finger at her companion.
I had seen girls like her on campus, and I've always wondered what made them tick. When she listened to what the man was saying, she sort of cocked her head, like a puppy ready to pounce. Which is what she did very soon, interrupting him loudly. "Aha!" she cried. "Aha."
I didn't hear what he had to say to that, but she was rocking in her seat, listening to him, and interrupted loudly enough for me to hear over the clatter of dishes. "Well, it just so happens he told me he had spent the day with you." Her eyes narrowed and her lower lip pouted out. "Ya'll better get your stories straight next time. If there is a next time. 'Cause I'm gonna tell my Daddy on him." She was interrupted again by the man, but apparently didn't let him finish. "Oh, shut your face, Joe. My Daddy made him and my Daddy can break him!" She got up and left in a huff. Several heads turned.
The Sheriff wasn't fazed. "You about done, honey?" I nodded.
When the waitress came down with the tab, I tried to pay for it, but he got it away from me. And I didn't want to offend him. Which is really laughable, in retrospect.
"You know, my brother owns this place," he said as we were getting up.
I wasn't paying much attention to him. "I wonder if you could tell me where the restroom is?" I started to ask.
"Oh, the one down here isn't too clean," he said. "You wouldn't like it. You can use the one in the room."
I was really confused. "What room?"
He just kept leading me. I know it sounds stupid, but I still hadn't caught on. He went to the desk and got a key from the girl there.
I was getting more confused all the time. "Look," I said, glancing at my watch. "I bet they're done with my car. I'll just use the service station restroom."
He gave me a really ugly look. His voice was soft. "Don't walk out on me, girl."
I turned round and walked very briskly out, not quite running. I wasn't sure how it had all come about and how much of it was my fault. I mean, I'm not familiar with their customs here. For all I know, flat tires are a normal part of their mating rituals.
The car was ready and I paid for it in cash. It dug considerably into my shopping money, but that was okay. I was back out on the highway, wondering whether I could make Dallas by nightfall, when I saw the lights flashing behind me. I was confused, because I hadn't been speeding. I'd never been stopped before. Never had a ticket. I'm the overcautious sort of driver. Overcautious sort of person.
I pulled to the side, the way I remembered you were supposed to do from my driving class in high school. It didn't even occur to me it was him, till he walked up to my window. His face was oddly blank. "Could I see your driver's license, Ma'am."
"Why? What have I done?"
"The license, please," he said.
And that's the way he was throughout the thing, when he made me walk the line and touch my nose and all those stupid things. He was like an impersonal zombie. Very, very business like. He was doing everything by the book.
And when he arrested me, I started to question my own sanity. I mean, would this be happening to me for no reason at all?
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