Bad Boy

A succession of short, loud raps on the front door aroused me from a sound sleep. My eyes sought the clock. It read 9:00 a.m. Now, who in the hell could that be, I wondered through a bleary mind. I wasn't expecting anyone. And it wasn't as though my house lie along the "beaten path," far from it, being at the end of a long dirt lane, a half mile from the nearest paved road. Definitely rural America. When you arrived here, it was with a purpose.
Leaning over the sleeping body lying beside me on the bed, I shook my lover and gently said, "Babe, someone's at the door." He didn't make the slightest response. Not surprising, it was the first good night's sleep he'd had in at least two weeks. He was a man on the run from the law and I was his woman. He had chanced a visit with me in the middle of the night. His sound sleep confirmed the security he derived from being with the woman who created a haven for him.
The rapping grew more intense. It was becoming obvious the intruder had no intention of giving up and going away.
After one last futile attempt at awakening Joey, I abandoned all thoughts of ignoring the ugly sound and returning to sleep. I grabbed a T-shirt from the floor beside the bed and went to answer the door. Padding through the house, the sound continued, loud enough, now, to awaken the dead. I pushed the door open, blinking resentfully against the strong morning sunlight that poured into the dark room. Standing before me, looking very official in suits and ties, were two husky men. In the background, as if for back-up, was a female officer in uniform. Her face was grim.
Not wasting time on small talk, the man closest to me spoke up, "I have a warrant for the arrest of Joey Siller," he said with nothing visible to verify his statement.
I stood there blinking. My mind was confused. I felt like I was being invaded by Mars.
"Is he here," the man asked, as though half expecting me to lie.
A liar I am not. I nodded dumbly, the harsh reality of the situation refusing to penetrate my sleep-soaked brain.
"Where?"
I looked toward the back of the house. But, before I could answer, they were inside of my home, rushing past me in that direction.
I found myself frozen to the spot where I stood. Only my eyes followed them. I could see Joey, he was out of the bed before they reached him. A man on the run jumps at every shadow. Instantly, he made his way across the room to the patio doors that opened onto the back lawn. He was naked, his morning erection undaunted by the chaos. Running was his only objective. I watched, horrified, still rooted to the same spot, as these monsters reached for their guns.
I became hysterical, screaming for Joey to stop, begging them not to shoot. They were all oblivious to my protests.
Joey slid back the glass door, making a feeble attempt to run. He was stopped short by a fourth state authority with a gun. This man entered my bedroom and suddenly the room was full. Helpless to save himself, Joey surrendered. With his arms extended before him, they placed heavy metal handcuffs upon his wrists.
At some point, I had come back to life and began moving toward the action when a hand reached out and prevented me. It was the female officer.
"Is that your baby," she asked, nodding her head to the second bedroom. Until that very moment I had completely forgotten about Darryl who had grown quiet sitting in his room listening. What on earth must his
impressionable two year old mind be making of all this?
I would have to deal with him later. Right now, Joey was my main concern. The seriousness of this situation was finally sinking in. However, the world seemed unnatural.
I mumbled something about the baby being safe in his room. She flatly threatened that I would lose him, should I choose not to cooperate with them to the fullest extent. 'Oh, dear God,' I thought.
I wasn't sure what they expected of me. Joey kept all of his "business" out of my world. However, I meekly conceded.
She insisted I deliver over to her all of Joey's personal possessions and any gifts given to the children and me, being careful not to withhold anything, reminding me of her earlier threat. It was obvious they were seeking incriminating evidence. As if under hypnosis, I followed through with her instructions.
Once satisfied she had everything, she barked out a final command, "now find some clothes for him so he can get dressed."
This would be most difficult since he had taken everything with him when he moved out two weeks earlier when he had heard the police were looking for him. The clothes he had on the night before were filthy and smelly. I had wondered what all this man had been through since last I had seen him. I didn't really want to know. The smelly clothes would have to suffice.
I took the things to where he sat, uncovered, on the edge of the bed, hands pressed together in his lap covering his nakedness. Our eyes connected and, for a moment, we shared the same sense of total despair. I knew Joey was a drug addict but he kept that part of his life away from me. I loved him very much. He could be like a helpless little boy. He needed me and I needed to be needed.
After dressing, they led him outside and put him into a shiny, unmarked car. I followed behind and stood beside him in the opened car doorway. Again, our eyes met and locked. They wouldn't keep us apart. They couldn't, our love was too strong, the kind you read about in Romance novels. The kind I didn't believe in until I met him. We were both certain we could get through whatever the future may hold as long as we had each other.
Bending down, I kissed him lightly on the lips and brushed the hair from his forehead.
"I love you," I said tenderly.
"I love you, too," was his gentle reply. Our eyes confirmed what our hearts were feeling at the moment. It would be forever.
I stood up and watched as the car wound it's way out of sight down the long dusty lane.1


It wasn't for many months before I realized it had been my own father who had tipped the police off as to the whereabouts of Joey.2