Part I ~ Part II
The Kris Story, Part III
or...Drugs Or Me?
4.4.8
We had reached I-10 and were heading west from El Paso when we saw something unfamiliar ahead. There was a glimmering metal structure on the side of the highway. As we approached it, I experienced the sudden stomach-churning realization of what we were about to drive through (before that moment I had been unaware of the existence of Border Patrol checkpoints outside of those actually on the border). I slowed to a stop at the end of a long line of cars. We watched as agents waved them by, occasionally directing one to the secondary questioning lane instead. We quickly came up with a story, but it was all in vain. The cops knew from the start that something was wrong when they saw a 17 year old and a 15 year old with Colorado plates, driving around New Mexico on a weekday. When they ran the plates, we discovered that my mom had already reported the car as "belonging to a runaway."
Pretty soon we were in handcuffs, sitting in a police car headed for Doña Ana County Detention Center. I remember us holding hands the entire way there, as uncomfortable as it might have been.
I spent less than 24 hours in that jail. Detainees were kept isolated from the general population their first day, so I spent most of that time counting bricks and dreading the ride home with my mom and Mike. As I tried to fall asleep that night, I heard the sound of one of the inmates whistling a forlorn tune which echoed throughout the cellblock. It was beautiful in its own way, and I wished that I could thank him for the comfort it gave me at the time.
The next morning, as I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, a guard informed me that I was leaving. As he walked me through the cellblock to face my mother, I saw a line of girls being marched in the other direction; Kris was one of them. I watched as she walked by, but she never looked up to meet my gaze.
My mom and Mike had flown to Las Cruces, and would be driving me back to Aurora in my car. Kris' mom had opted to let her stay in jail a bit longer as a punishment. Knowing that Kris was now a general population prisoner, I spent a good portion of the next 2 days crying and worrying about her. When she finally returned home, I was relieved to discover that she was ok. Incidentally, she informed me that she too had heard The Whistler's songs.
In the days that followed, we contemplated the possibility of trying again, but decided instead to simply wait for 2 years, when we would be free to leave.
The rest of our short relationship passed by rather quickly after that. Things were still going great for the most part, but there was one thing that was becoming an increasing problem for me. She and her friends had begun smoking pot on a much more regular basis. I hated when she got stoned. Each time she did, she changed from an amazing, wonderful person into a stupid, uninteresting, lifeless husk. When she was high she lost that sense of awareness I was so fond of. I usually just let it go, though, assuming that this phase would one day pass.
Our relationship didn't really begin to disintegrate until about a week and a half before her 16th birthday.
First came "the bet." We had made the bet after a playful conversation about which one of us could hold off on sexual activity the longest (we were still virgins, but had experimented with just about everything else leading up to that). We wagered only a dollar, as the idea was conceived all in fun. The terms of the agreement dictated that not even kissing would be allowed. With Valentine's Day approaching, I decided to myself that I would have to lose the bet that night (assuming it was still ongoing). However, a few days before I got that chance, something happened.
We were at one of the day-parties that were becoming increasingly popular amongst our crowd. She was smoking weed with some friends, as I looked on feeling left out. Suddenly, one of the girls, Stephanie, asked if Kris was coming with them on Valentine's Day. Stephanie said they would be going to some guy's house to do ecstasy that day.
I waited for Kris to reject the invitation, as we had already scheduled a date for that night. That didn't happen though. Instead, she just uttered a stoned and vacant sounding, "Yeah..."
I didn't say anything right then because I wanted to collect my thoughts first. That night, though, I wrote her a letter about the incident that was nonetheless filled with anger. I used some strong words in it (at one point even asking, partly due to my limited knowledge of the effects of ecstasy, what would then stop her from "fucking some guy" while she was there), but I felt justified after the insult I had endured.
She didn't see it the same way.
When she finally talked to me about it, she was pissed. I had never seen her look at me with any animosity before that, but it seethed from her eyes then. She claimed that she had never intended to actually do ecstasy on Valentine's Day. How dare I even think she would have, even if she did say she was going to?
In the end, I apologized for not having talked to her before writing my rant. She was 100% right in her mind, and there was nothing I could do to change that. But I also explained to her that for me the whole thing came down to one important factor:
When she was on drugs, it was as if I didn't exist. I was suddenly infinitely less important to her when she was high. Even if I had overreacted, I contended, there was still a problem if she could allow herself to forget about our plans like she had. "I mean...what's more important to you?" I asked, "Drugs or me?" She then said the most awful thing anyone had ever said to me at that point in my life.
"I guess drugs are more important to me."
There was a sarcastic edge to her tone, but she obviously believed the words.
To be continued...
