Drink Into Madness

There were four of us who had been drinking together, though it was obvious who had drunk the most, as was usual when I was hanging out with friends, trying to be a hot shot, slamming drinks into me much too closely together. I skipped along on my crutches, using my broken ankle much more than I should have been, numbed by the whisky. We headed to the Rec Center, all of us laughing and jovial, some beer in our pockets and not a care in the world.

I woke, stretched, my eyes closed and then winced at the pain in my head. My arm hit something cold and hard and I opened my eyes. Despair washed over me in a fast wave as I looked at the concrete wall, knowing suddenly where I was.

I sat up on the bunk with fear induced adrenaline pumping through me, instantly wide awake. I tried desperately to remember the night before, any little thing that would give me an idea of why I was here. My god, what had I done now?

No memories. Just blank. No matter how I pushed my hung-over mind to remember – just remember something – it did no good. I was in lockup and had no idea what I had done, who I may have hurt, what I was charged with, what kind of trouble I was in this time.

I prayed to a God that I didn’t really believe in: ‘Please let me be here for being drunk in public! Please! I will never drink again EVER! Just let me be charged with being drunk in public and I will never touch another drink!’

I stood, feeling yet more pain as my foot hit the floor. My broken ankle screamed up at me from within its cast as I hobbled to the front door of the cell. My face throbbed and I could see my nose in front of me. I wiped some dried blood off my face and knocked on the door, knowing full well the guard would already know I was awake – there were cameras in the cells. The guard came to the door, a guy who looked to be not much older than I was. “How you feeling this morning Barry?”

“Like hell man” I mumbled. “What am I here for?” I held my breath, again praying silently that he was going to tell me DIP. Just DIP please!

“You don’t know?” he asked incredulously. “Really?”

“Not a fucking clue man.”

“Wow Barry, you must have really been fucked up. You smashed up the Rec Centre in Wabush man. I am not sure what all the charges against you are, but from what I hear you really freaked out. I’ll have an officer come in and see you.”

I managed to say ‘Okay’, trying not to cry in front of him, then turned back to my bunk, feeling nauseous, dizzy and simply devastated. The tears escaped before I got to the bunk, and I laid down waiting for a cop to come in and give me the details. I was going back to the pen, that I knew with certainty. The only question was for how long.

“Fuck you.” I mumbled. I was talking to God.

I didn’t think I could handle going back to the pen, especially if it was for very long, so I started to think about the best way to kill myself. It would be hard to do here with a camera on my 24 hours a day, but I thought I could manage it. If not, I could just wait until I got to the pen.

I laid on my back staring at the ceiling, no longer crying, calmed by the thought that I did not have to do more time. I had options.

I washed my face in cool water, blood washing off and down the drain, trying desperately to clear my pounding head and somewhere in the conversation I was having with myself, decided to wait until I knew what charges I was facing before making a final decision. Perhaps, if I was only looking at a couple of months for just breaking stuff, I could handle it. Maybe. If I found that I had actually done something serious, such as having hurt someone, well that would be a different story.

The officer arrived in a few minutes that felt like hours and he too was surprised by my lack of memory, but I could tell from his demeanor that it was something that he had seen before.

“… one count of causing a disturbance, three counts of malicious damage. One breach of probation. One count of mischief. One count of uttering threats to cause death.”

I had been clinging onto a thread of hope until he listed the uttering threats charge. The others might have been misdemeanors and would bring relatively short time but I knew uttering threats would be an indictable offence making my situation more serious. Then it got worse: “One count of assault with a weapon.”

“What?” I asked in a whisper. My world was falling apart and I swallowed hard trying not to throw up. “Who did I assault? Were they hurt?”

“The night manager. You were after him for some reason. You hit him in the side with one of your crutches and according to a witness statement, you would have really hurt him if not for a pipe in the ceiling. You were taking a second swing, at his head, but the crutch hit a pipe in the ceiling…”

I would hear the statement later in court, containing the words ‘… in my opinion the only thing that saved Mr. —‘s life was that pipe in the ceiling.’

I lost the ability to hear for a moment. My vision blurred and I grabbed the door frame to steady myself. My hangover now was the least of my concerns.

“Why?” I managed after a moment.

“You were hanging out in the basement, drinking apparently, and he came down and told you that you had to leave, that he had to lock up. Apparently, you followed him upstairs and then you became violent…” the officer continued.

The night manager had tried to talk sense into me, but it was no point. I was drunk. I was insane. I kept mouthing off at him and told him that I wasn’t going anywhere. At this point he said that if I wasn’t going to leave he would have to call the police. “Hell, I’ll call them for you!” I said, and proceeded upstairs to his office where I picked up the telephone and called the operator, telling her to send the police to the rec center. I was arguing with her though the phone, yelling and swearing at her and eventually threw the phone across the room.

When the police arrived, I attempted to fight with them and when they put me into the cell in lockup I kicked the door and drove it into one of the police officers on the other side. He came through the door like an angry bear, punching me in the nose so hard that I went flying into the corner at the far end of the cell.

It was the first time I had my nose broken. The next morning it was all I could see when I looked straight ahead. It was huge.

I heard the officer say that I was going to go before a judge and would likely be released under conditions.

Released? I must not have heard him correctly. However, it turned out to be true. I was to be released on an undertaking that included not to consume of be in possession of alcohol, among other things.

Before they had me sign the papers to let me out I swore I would never drink again. By the time I left lockup I wasn’t so certain.

I never regained any memories of that night. I learned what had happened though witness statements and the police reports.

One of my friends told me that they had taken off as soon as I started going off the rails and so only saw the beginning of it all. The details are crazy, shameful and still, all these years later, fill me with guilt when I recall them. To sum it up: I was an out of control animal, smashing a vending machine, water fountain and window with my crutches, switching back and forth from screaming in a blind rage to crying and babbling. The night manager was struck at least once and luckily was not more badly injured.

They let me out. Being sixteen years old did have its benefits I guess. It turned out that by letting me out the had given me just enough rope to hang myself.