Set Adrift On Memory Bliss....

For those that do not know, my job consists of being an employment screener. 90% of my job is looking at criminal backgrounds. As you can imagine, most of the charges are the same..
speeding
speeding
driving without license
speeding
Oh! Crimes Against Nature *giggle*

Well once in a great while I come across "Faulty Speedometer".

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I take you back to 2002. I owned a klunky White Dodge Neon aka 'The Shitter Bitter'. This car was purchased from a lovely Indian family who sent their daughter of to college. I ruined this car. Most of you know me as a speed demon, and driving a 4 cylinder was agony. Regardless I manage to crank my way around most of southeast Wisconsin.

At 17 I had an affinity for Bacardi O and Corona. I was lucky enough to have a cousin who would purchase said liquor. One evening I called on Sir Gus-Gus to aid the ever-lushing-lunatics and buy us some booze.

"hurry up, shimmy"

I always found it evil there was a cop car that parked at the church off six mile. I mean how fair is that, really? Here I am THANKING the lord for such things as booze and teenage stupidity and just like that I got lights in my rear view. I should probably turn down the Lil' Jon pulsing from the 15" speaker in back..

"Ma'am. Can I ask why you were going 60 in a 40 zone?"

Do I tell him I'm in a mad rush to get drunk and stupid?

"Well to be honest, I'm just rushing home to have dinner with my Aunt. As you can see on my license I'm almost there. Nevermind the 4 inch heels I've got on. If I don't move the seat far back enough, it gives my gas pedal a boost" *beams*

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Of course I got a ticket going 20 over. Actually brought it to 15 because I was too precious to be taken to jail for reckless driving..
But I was required to go to court.

Roy takes me. The convicted felon father. If this didn't make me sweat already...

When I'm called upon, Roy takes the seat next to me in front of the judge.

"Whats your plea"

Roy: Well actually sir, my daughters car has a broken speedometer and --

"IF YOU'RE TRYING TO ARGUE A FAULTY SPEEDOMETER IN *MY* COURT YOU'RE WAY OFF MR. VILLARREAL"

My father was rosey with rage. And as I saw his lips curl and legs straighten up to stand I kicked him right the hell back down. Thats it. I was going to jail...

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I shut my eyes as hard as I could hoping I could wish my way out of the seat next to a grumbling and enraged mexican man. He continued to mutter under his breath. The judge asked us to leave and sent us on our way with a fine.

"You know, Shimmy.. my leg kinda hurts. Did you think I was going to get us in trouble?"
Cue that shit-eatin grin he sports every time he thinks he's done something clever..

"Yeah, Dad. I wasn't about to argue with the man that holds the key to my freedom."

"Well for the record, Valencia, I'm only afraid of SUPREME court judges. Not these fuckin little guys out in the middle of nowhere. SUPREME court judges. The ones that have to look down at your from waaay up there ..."

He continued on most of the way home. And to be honest, I miss those ridiculous talks now. Between me and Roy - Badass - Villarreal. So everytime I find a that charge listed, I giggle a little. And I hope I always will.

I don't know anything anymore..

I came home, sure that I could do this. I could fly 1400 miles away and be alright.

Today I stared at a few dozen familiar faces...all looking at me like a basket case. Nervous to give me hugs. I spoke a little and found my chest getting heavy, my stomach churning - and I excused myself.

My dog doesn't sit with me anymore. I've been gone so long he doesn't snuggle with me on the couch. He snuggles Ari instead.
I don't have the comfort of many - as I do the sympathy. Theres a difference, ya know..

I can tell my mind is drifting into murky places and I'm glad I'll be seeing my therapist tomorrow. But then again, I don't know quite what she'll do for me.

I'm scared - terrified - to go to work. I'm afraid I'll lose it altogether. I'm afraid I wont smile. I'm afraid my heart will stop as it has these past few days..

My eyes feel as though they have been bent inside out. I can't cry...

It Hurts...

I think you can all imagine the feelings going through my head.
I've been to many funerals in my life, lost a lot of loved ones, but I've never had someone viciously taken from me.

It's hard not to imagine the scene, as much as I don't want to. Every time I close my eyes I have visions of my father and a 12 gauge staring at him in.

The hardest part is knowing he died that way. He died at one of the happiest times in his life. He died with two giant gaping holes in his stomach and no one to comfort him at the hospital.

It's sickening. It makes my chest hurt. I can't cry anymore, I can't breathe, and I can't sit still..

And the woooorst part?

I haven't even seen his body yet. I have an eerie feeling about the moment I step into Sturino's funeral home. It's going to be the hardest thing in my life. And I just hope I take enough perscription meds not to fall over completely... but I'm pretty sure I will.

Aside from the normal numbness, I have to admit - I'm furious. Oddly enough it's not with the others involved. It's the news.

The media has failed me. It has exploited my Dad's murder, printed false information, printed unnecessary information, and turned it into just an article.

The one thing I learned from all of this public circus is that.. life goes on. Just like we watch the news every day and hear another murder... this ones no different. It's what we are. It's the animalistic instinct inside of us to turn the page and write off a tragedy.. And now that it's finally hit home? No words..

It's hard reading the hard facts from a paper when no one in my family wants to tell me themselves. I didn't know the murderer used a shot gun. I didn't know he wasn't in custody right away. And I NEVER knew my father suffered enough to be transported to a hospital.

With all the details put in place, and a foul taste in my mouth, it still wasn't enough to read an article describing the scene at the hotel..

"there was blood splattered all over the grass"

And that is when I lost it.

I am petrified. Petrified of staring at my father's lifeless body. I have no idea if my body can withstand that. In fact, I'm pretty sure it can't. I'm pretty sure I'm gonna fall over, go limp, throw up, scream... and cry? Do I have any tears left?

I just don't know what I'm gonna do...