We drive off. I try to look back at my wife, but it’s very hard to twist around while you are sitting down, with your hands cuffed behind your back. I look forward to the two officers in the front seat. I am still waiting for one of them to turn around and say… “I’m Ashton Kutcher, and you’ve been punked.” No luck. They are both locals. I feel like the punk then.
We drive around to the back side of the airport, via an access road, and enter a gate. Apparently there is a holding facility for airport arrests. It’s sort of like a mini-police station. The two officers are talking about
something that happened over the weekend at home. Some kind of pipe leak. To these guys, its business as usual. To me, it’s the start of a nightmare.
I cannot seem to remember the next few minutes. All I remember next is me standing in a very small cell in my bare feet. I vaguely remember hearing people say “Is this the guy?” They also seem to be talking about my laptop
bag. My belt had been taken off. The floor was very cold. There was a wooden bench on the far side, attached to the wall. This is where things started to hit me.
The officer slid the doors shut. I saw it in slow motion then, and I see it in slow motion now, most nights. When the brown painted doors shut, I heard the distinctive “clang” that you hear in most movies. It seemed to be the loudest noise in the world to me then. This was no movie. This was real life. I was in trouble.
As I said before, I see and hear the door most nights
in my dreams. Usually the dreams consists of me watching the doors close in slow motion, with a thundering “clang” when they finally shut. I then look up and see my daughter Kamalani standing there, holding her arms out to me.
Recently, the image has changed a bit. A hand has been reaching through the bars and grabbing my neck, as if to choke me. What the hell is going on with me? I feel like I am crazy or something. Lately, large quantities on
Gin seem to help me not dream, but I usually end up waking up at about 2-3am with a headache, and staying up till morning. This is not how I want to live the rest of my life.
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Copyright by Randy Rustick
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