“Alright Mr. Clark, your parents are here,” the state trooper called out. His words echoed off the bare walls of my cell, jarring me back to reality. Am I really sitting in a New Hampshire jail cell? Can this really be happening?
I checked my watch. Almost 4 a.m. Jesus Christ. I’ve been in here half the night. I stand up as the officer is unlocking my cell and sliding the door open. I walk out. I wasn’t restrained and I round the corner. The glowering face of my father was right around the corner, and my distraught mother was waiting a few steps behind him.
“Your bail has been posted. See you in court,” the officer said to me. I swear for a second there I caught a smirk before his face returned to an expressionless demeanor. The walk to the car with my parents framing me on both sides was silent. As soon as the car doors had closed, their anger, their disbelief, and their shame all came pouring in. So much so that I thought the doors might just burst open, the windows might shatter, or more likely, I would just collapse under the oppression. And I knew that I deserved all of it. Because at 17 years old, I had just been arrested for a DUI.
Let me backtrack a little here. In high school, I was a wild child. Since freshman year, the new-found freedom of high school sparked a flame of reckless abandon inside me. For the first 14 years of my life, I had perfect grades, perfect attendance and perfect behavior but all that changed. Puberty hit me like a train the summer going into high school, and along with all those hormones being pumped into my body, my teenage angst came full throttle.
I got into trouble at school, my grades slipped, and on top of all that, I joined the football team and quickly rose the ranks. I was a meathead. With my newfound popularity because of football, came the partying that often accompanies a varsity football team lifestyle. I just didn’t care about my future, about my parents’ wishes, about any of it. I was intellectually gifted and during my childhood I seemed to be on the track for success, but now my train was off the tracks.
So here I was in my junior year. Just turned 17. Just bought my first car. It was a beautiful Chrysler 300C with the hemi engine to match. A hefty responsibility I wasn’t ready to have.
It was my birthday weekend, so of course I wanted to party. My buddies and I hopped in the Chrysler and headed to a party a friend of mine was throwing in honor of my birthday.
We got there, and everything was great. Drinks were flowing and I was there lapping them up. Then I got a call. It was from this beautiful college girl I had met on her break in the middle of my junior year. A college girl I was really interested in. A college girl I’m currently dating, but I digress.
“Hey” she whispered into the phone, “I know it’s your birthday… why don’t you come up here and see me?”
I barely even remembered to answer her; I was out the door and behind the wheel of my car so fast. I didn’t even know where I was going yet. She texted me the address, along with a warning: “Don’t drive all the way up here if you’ve been drinking, its not worth the risk.” But with my newly gained alcohol-fueled bravado, I knew nothing could stop me. Not the police, not the guard rails on the highway, nothing in the world was going to get in my way. So, I set off down the highway, threw my car in cruise control going 65 and settled in for the ride.
It was smooth sailing. I had the radio cranking and my car was eating up the miles on my GPS. The anticipation and excitement I had to get there was building.
“15 minutes until arrival” my GPS told me.
“15 minutes” I muttered to myself “I can make it in ten.”
Without a car in sight, I moved into the fast lane and opened the engine up. I looked at my speedometer. 65…70…80…90…110…120…
And then there they were. Those blue flashing lights. Those god damn blue lights I had been dreading my whole life. I slowed down, pulled over and waited for the officer to approach my window. As he came up, I handed him my license and told him to give me a minute while I found my registration. He didn’t even glance at my license.
“Sir, how much have you been drinking tonight?”
I knew I was caught. “Not a drop, officer.”
“I’m going to ask you to step out of the vehicle.”
This was it. “Of course, officer.”
“Put your mouth on this and blow.”
My life was over.
I blew 0.082.
“Well sir, this might be the luckiest night of your life. I’ll just run your license and be right back.”
I couldn’t believe it. I was at the legal limit. I was going to make it. Everything was okay. I got back behind the wheel of my car.
“Sir, I’m going to ask you to step back out of the vehicle, so I can place you under arrest.”
“But, sir, I…”
“Yes, the legal limit, for an adult. Not a minor. I have no choice but to place you under arrest.”
I was processed, fingerprinted, and had my mugshot taken. I sat in a jail cell for the next four hours. It was the worst night of my life, but it changed me, and it changed me for the better. I was so close to the brink and this pulled me back. This straightened me out.
I know it doesn’t make any sense, but I’m glad I got arrested. It taught me something I can’t put into words and it changed me in ways I can’t tell you. Since that night, my grades have been perfect. Since that night, I haven’t been in a fight. Since that night, I’ve had a steady girlfriend to support me and to stand by my side (yes, THE girl). Since that night, my life completely turned around.
I think in those four hours in that cell, I went through four years of mental growth and maturity. I think differently, act differently, and have never felt as ready for the future than I am now. So, to that state trooper out in New Hampshire, I say screw you! But I also have to say thank you.