AUTHOR'S NOTE: I happen to be on Fiverr. It's an excellent site. You should check it out. It's a site that offers random things for the low low price of five dollars. I offer to write 500 words or less on any subject. I don't do homework assignments. It says so right in the description. Anyway, this punk kid contacts me. He said he needed an essay about a very detailed personal story. It had to be between 750-2500 words. Let me go over that again. He wanted me to write an essay about a real-life personal experience. In great detail. And he was totally going to turn it in to his teacher and pass it off as his own. At first, I was like "hell no", but then, I thought about it. This is obviously not a quick-thinker I'm dealing with here. I decided that I was totally okay with doing his homework for him. So, I wrote this for him. He paid for two orders. For those of you who aren't really good at math, that's 1000 words. I wrote 2497 words. And it was TOTALLY worth the extra effort. I know I can't be there to fully enjoy this (by watching the look on his teacher's face), but I can be here. Writing more. And I will do just that. Enjoy!
I have been a shut-in for most of my life - not by choice, mind you. I've been sick. My father, in his best attempt at keeping me safe, cut me off from the world. I know why he did it. It's completely understandable that a father would want to protect his only child. Unfortunately, being kept in that manner did nothing to help my social skills. I've never intentionally disobeyed my father. I'm not a bad child. I'm just curious. Sometimes, I sneak out when he's at work. I don't do anything bad, really. I just like to collect bugs. And, every once in a while, I'd visit my mother's tomb.
It was just one of those nights, with just me and mom, when I noticed the perfect Androctonus australis. I've never caught one of them before, so I followed it out of the crypt and stalked it for a bit before capturing it in a small jar. I was so excited about the newest addition to my collection that I didn't notice the strange man lurking behind the headstones. A crinkling of leaves made me turn my head and I nearly jumped at the sight. A large man (maybe six feet tall) was standing right beside me. My heart was racing as I realized that I hadn't the means or knowledge to defend myself against an attack.
Fortunately, that wasn't the stranger's plan. As I looked up at his face, I noted that he had very odd makeup and long, ratty, multicolored hair. He looked down at me and cocked his head, like he was just as curious about me as I was of him. Then, I heard the sirens. Judging from his reaction, they were looking for him. To this day, I'm not exactly sure what possessed me to help this... this criminal, but I did. I grabbed his arm and rushed him back into the mausoleum.
I was more terrified than I'd ever been in my life. I instantly regretted my part in his narrow escape, as a closer examination revealed his occupation. He was a dealer. The revelation stunned me, but instead of more fear, there was more interest. I'd never been around someone other than my father. I felt the irresistible urge to get to know more about him.
He must have noticed my curiosity, because he turned to face me with a disturbing smirk. Just because I was a seventeen-year-old shut-in didn't mean I didn't know what that meant. I rolled my eyes and scoffed, trying to give the impression of flippant disinterest. It worked... sort of. He threw back his head and laughed at me. I didn't know whether to be relieved or insulted. I settled on a little of both.
I don't know what look I had on my face, but I'm guessing it must have been hilarious, because he just kept laughing. At that point, I decided that I'd had enough of his disrespectful behavior. I turned to storm out, but he caught my sleeve. My eyes grew wide with fear and I felt the hairs on my arm stand up. Nothing good could come of this.
Before I could open my mouth to protest, his hand clamped over it. The first thing I remember noticing was that it smelled like death, which made me wonder what it was that he was doing in a graveyard in the middle of the night. The second thing I noticed was the boots stomping just outside the door. The police were still out there, searching. I was sure they had heard all the laughter and they were seconds away from finding him - and me. The thought struck me that I would be an accomplice. I was helping him elude the police. I'm sure there's a name for that... something like "harboring a fugitive". It didn't matter what it was called. All that mattered is that I was a part of it and if he went down, so did I.
I froze in place and tried to quiet my breaths, though it was difficult with a strange man in close proximity, keeping his hand firmly in place over my mouth. I glanced up, expecting his face to be about as somber as mine, but there was that smirk again! I'm pretty sure it wasn't directed at me, though. He was smirking because he was so close to the police and so sure they'd never find him. He was very wrong.
The police knocked in the door with a battering ram. I was sure that my heart actually stopped beating for a moment. They took one look at us, pressed against the wall, and came to a very inappropriate conclusion. They grabbed me by my arms, and him by his shoulders, and hauled us both outside. The only thing I could think of was what to say to my father when I got my one phone call. He would ask why I was out in the first place, and I couldn't think of an answer that seemed relevant.
My new acquaintance was struggling against their hold on him, but I was too scared to do anything other than comply. Suddenly, they stopped dragging us to their cars. Their boss (or someone who looked like a boss) had gotten a phone call. When he hung up, he motioned to the men holding us and told them to release us. I don't know a whole lot, but I'm pretty sure that's not supposed to happen.
The dealer shrugged and brushed off his long brown coat. I just stood there, mouth agape. He turned to me as the police were leaving and said, "Kid, you must have an awful lot of pull to get that to happen. I know they didn't do it on my behalf."
He was right, of course. I had no idea what that "pull" was, but he clearly didn't have it. It could be my father. He's a surgeon. Maybe he had saved the life of someone important. If that was the case, I was sure he'd hear about it before I could get home to call him. He'd never let me live this down. Since I was already in a lot of trouble, I wasn't in any rush to get home. I turned around to see if I could find my bag that I had dropped in the tomb.
I found it lying on the ground just outside the broken door. As soon as I picked it up, the man grabbed my arm and told me go with him. I should've said no. I should've run away screaming. I should've anything other than what I did. Of course, I had already managed to meet a drug dealer and escape police custody tonight. I didn't really see that it could get much worse. So, I followed my partner in crime out of the graveyard, through a maze of alleyways, and into (what looked like) the back lot of a very shady bar.
From out of the shadows, at least a dozen junkies came to gather around him. They handed over what little cash they had and he went around shooting them up with a little gun filled with... well, I don't really know what it was filled with. Whatever it was had an immediate effect on those sad-eyed women (they were all women). They stumbled away to some corner somewhere and closed their eyes. I wasn't sure which ones were high and which ones were dead.
I did hear one of them say his name, though. It wasn't his real name, obviously, but it was clearly the only name they knew him by. They called him Graverobber. I am so serious. I almost laughed, but I remembered that I met him in a graveyard. Before I could think about what he was doing when I first saw him, he started to sing. He started to sing in the middle of a back lot, surrounded by junkies. My eyes must have looked like they'd pop out of my skull, but none of the other women seemed to care. It was like they'd seen it all before, but I hadn't. The madman (the one who robbed graves and ran from the police) sang as he dealt drugs.
I was curious to know what criminals sang about, so I listened closely. He opened his mouth and out came (what could only be described as) a nursery rhyme about how to take drugs. That might have been the most dysfunctional thing I have ever seen. It was like a train wreck; I could not seem to look away. He had a rich, commanding baritone voice that was simply captivating. It was such a shame that it was wasted on this nonsense.
As ridiculous as it sounded, I really didn't want to stop him, but the cops were closing in. They may have let us go in the graveyard, but there was no way we could get out of this. It didn't matter who my dad was close to; being busted for drugs is kind of a big deal. It would be my first offense. It definitely wouldn't be his. I didn't know why I cared whether he got caught. It wasn't like I had a lot of time to think about it.
I grabbed his arm and whispered that we should leave. He was smarter than he looked. He wrapped his arm around my shoulders and whisked me into another alley. Before I knew what was happening, he lifted me up and tossed me into a trash bin. I didn't even have enough time to scream in horror and disgust before he jumped in and clamped his hand over my mouth - again. This was obviously going to be a problem.
It was a lot more cramped than it was in the mausoleum, but the noises were the same - boots stomping. I could hear one man barking commands to the others. He was the same officer that told the others to let us go. I didn't think he'd be so forgiving this time. I closed my eyes and tried to will the police to leave. They were busy rounding up the junkies littering the lot. I hoped that it was enough to distract them long enough for us to come up with a plan.
We didn't have to think for long. The command-barker called for everyone to pack up. Apparently, they had filled up the police van and didn't have room for any more. We waited for the sound of departing cars before slowly lifting the lid, just enough to make sure the coast was clear. It was. Graverobber threw open the lid and lifted me out. As soon as he had jumped out and landed beside me, I punched him...hard.
I was infuriated. I had dreamed of the outside world for as long as I could remember. If this is what it had to offer, I'd rather stay in own little room - in my own little bubble. I was disappointed. I'm not sure why I was shocked, I mean, I had a television. I saw the news. I saw everything on the television, but seeing it and living it are very different things.
I turned to leave, but I realized that I had no idea how to get home. I didn't even know my own address. I knew I'd have to ask him for directions. I really didn't want to, but I needed to. With my eyes down, I turned back around to face the source of all my problems and asked for his help. I knew that smirk would be there when I looked up. I fought it, but I gave in, and I was right. I thought he'd laugh in my face (again), but, to my astonishment, he agreed. He tipped an imaginary hat and offered his hand. I grudgingly took it and followed along.
Not two minutes later, he began with the song again. I rolled my eyes, but I didn't complain. I knew how lucky I was that he was taking me home. Then again, he kind of owed me. The song he sang was incredibly catchy, disturbing, but catchy. Of course, I refused to sing along. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction. I kept my eyes forward and my mouth shut. The way home was taking so much longer than I thought. I was just about to accuse him of getting us lost when we rounded a corner and I saw my house.
I was so relieved; I could have cried. The best part of my night came when I realized that my father hadn't come home from work yet. Graverobber walked me to my door and, as soon as I put my hand on the knob, I realized that I hadn't told him anything about my house. I froze in place. My heart felt like it was going to burst out of my chest. I was standing outside my house with a total creep. I was sure that he was planning something terrible.
Of course, he must have seen the terror in my eyes. He looked concerned, then confused, then understanding. A small smile flitted across his face. It almost looked... kind. For a split second, the fear (that was threatening to push me into a catatonic state) subsided just a tiny bit. I couldn't explain why, but when I saw that little smile, I knew he wouldn't hurt me. In retrospect, I should not have been that trusting. Psychopaths can be very convincing. I happened to be unbelievably lucky. He was genuinely trying to be nice. The smile returned and, with four words, he completely calmed my nerves. "I know your dad."
I was ecstatic. I even invited him in, but he declined. He mumbled something about how he and my dad don't really get along. I just shrugged and let it go. I opened the door, stepped inside, and took a deep breath. I spun around to tell my new friend "goodnight" with a smile from ear to ear. He smirked and nodded, like it was nothing.
I finally closed the door (after waving like a maniac for about two whole minutes) and ran up the stairs. I had never been so glad to see my own bedroom. It was my safety bubble. I made up my mind, that very moment, to never ever sneak out again.
I knew better than to say that I would never do anything again. Less than a week later, I was breaking out of the house, in the middle of the night. After what I'd been through, I felt invincible. I made my way down the street and began weaving through the alley-maze, making sure to memorize the street signs so I'd know how to get home again. This time, I knew exactly where I was going. I moved quickly toward my destination, whistling a catchy little tune.