the looney bin story, just fiction (Patreon)

I wasn’t really sure how I had got there. The circumstances leading up to the current situation didn’t really matter at that point. I was there and there was nothing I was going to change about that.

The fight with Jocelyn was still going on, and, for some reason, Savvy and Alan were now involved with that too. They were all texting me and calling me, I was intermittently replying back to all three. Four, actually, because my wife, Heather, had joined the fray too. They were all, in their own ways, trying to settle the fight and pacify me to at least some sort of balance. Alan was the most level-headed of the team, making the most sense, but the girls were doing their best too. There was only one sentence that was going to stop my thrashing and none of them were saying it.

I just wanted to hear, “baby, I love you, please come home.” But it just wasn’t there.

The phone rang again, but I didn’t recognize the number. It was a local Tampa number, I thought it could be a land-line from the resort we were staying at, so I answered it.

“Hello?”

“Mr Church?”

“Yes? can I help you?”

“Mr Church, this is officer Bickler of the Pasco County Police Department, some of your friends called us, they were very worried about you. They wanted me to check on you and make sure you were ok. I was wondering if you could let me know where you’re at so I can just drop by and see you so I can let them know you’re ok.”

“Officer i’m fine, everything is fine, I just had a fight with my girl and I left to make sure it didn’t go any further. Everything is ok now. I’m fine... I was going to go home soon.”

“I totally understand Mr Church, I’m sure you’re fine, I just want to check on you and see for myself. Just to make sure. You understand?”

“I understand officer, you got a call and you need to clear your books. I get it. I don’t want you driving around all night wasting your time. I’m in the Target parking lot, I’m not sure of the address, I’m from Pennsylvania, I’m just here working.”

“I know where it is, I’ll be right there Mr Church.”

I have always had sympathy for cops, they have such a tedious job. I didn’t want this poor guy getting calls from pissed off girls all night on the count of my stupidity.

But now I had a problem, I was sitting in the parking lot of Target in land-o-lakes florida at 1 in the morning with a brand new Mossburg Shotgun, still in the box, sitting on the passenger seat next to me, and I had just told a policeman exactly where I was and he was on his way.

About the gun, I wasn’t planning on hurting anyone other than myself, and I wasn’t even completely convinced I had wanted to do that either. I was in a dark enough place to go buy the gun, but still not dark enough to open the box and try to figure out how the fucking thing worked.

My head was spinning with the idea of being found like this. By the police. A gun in the car was completely unacceptable. I was racing to try and figure out what to do with it but there was nothing sticking. Ultimately the best solution to that problem was shoving the damn thing into the garbage can outside the front door of Target. Far enough down so it wasn’t visible at all. It was a short gun, it fit, still in the box, with a little Tetrissing.

Officer Bicker arrived, shortly followed by two other Police cars. He asked me to stay in my car. I already had the door open and was sitting, waiting for them. It was cold for a Florida night, I was shaking, but that also could have been the adrenaline and anxiety finally receding, then suddenly rising again. It was muscle shivering. I put my hands on the steering wheel. The car wasn’t running.

I don’t know where cops get those flashlights, but where they shine them in your eyes nothing in the world is brighter.

‘Could you step out of the car Mr Church?”

“Yes, of course officer. I really am fine, I’m so sorry for my girls wasting your time like this, everything is really ok.”

“I understand mr church, I have girls in my life too. We’re just doing our job, I’m sure you understand. You know I have to check you for weapons or anything that might hurt you or me, it’ll just take a second.”

“Of course son.”

I had started calling everyone younger than me “son” a few months ago. It began as a joke with Jocelyn about how old I was getting old, but it just kind of stuck and now I do it all the time without thinking. The cop was in his mid thirties. All three of them, as a matter of fact, were nowhere close to being young enough to be my son, but it was muscle memory saying it, not disrespect.

Officer Bickler frisked me, he found nothing but my wallet, what was left of the blunt I had found in my pocket was residing in the Target trash can with my new ex-shotgun. The second cop, the shorter one, asked me for my identification. I handed him my drivers license.

“Hope you don’t find those parking tickets” I said, half heartedly trying to joke, but inside my heart was pounding. When situations happen with cops in my home town, I never worry. They all either know me or know of me, and that sort of allows me at least a pass on most bullshit. But I don’t know these men, and it would be a pretty abstract move to think any of these guys would recognize a fine art photographer from Pennsylvania. I am just another sad lonely and potentially dangerous whack-job fucking up their previously quiet evening.

Bickler and the taller cop ask me direct but gentle questions, “How are you feeling this evening?”, “Have you been drinking or taken any drugs?” “Have you been depressed?”. Their training was showing. I’m sure in this day and age they are well trained to deal with the potentially suicidal, and their script was very evident.

They asked me why I was in Tampa and I told them I was a photographer, that I was teaching classes at the resort down the road for the week. When i told them had I shot for Playboy and Penthouse they perked up off the script for a little, but not long enough to break character. They were all business.

“Your friends said you told them you were going to hurt yourself.”

“I was upset, I was fighting with my girl, she’s Puerto Rican and our fights sometimes get out of control. Things went a little too far in my head and I just left, I didn’t want things to get worse. So I just went away to cool down for a little. I said some stupid things, but I’m fine now I swear. It’s over, I was just about to go back to the resort and sleep, as a matter of fact.”

“Well Mr Church, you do seem fine now, but, because you said what you said we have to take you seriously, we have to check things out to make sure you’re ok. I’m sure you understand that.”

It was at this point I noticed his handcuffs were already in his hand. He was smooth with that, I didn’t even see him unhook them from his belt.

The short cop came back with my license, “Here you go Mr Church. No parking tickets.”.

Bickler had now moved behind me.

We are sorry Mr Church but we are going to have to take you to see a doctor, to just make sure that you’re absolutely ok. It’s for your own safety. see, we have this thing here called the Baker act.

Bickler had placed his hand on my shoulder. “I’m going to have to put the bracelets on now Mr Church, I’m sorry, but it’s just till we get you to the hospital.”

“Wait, am I being arrested? What am i being charged with? I’m fine, I’m not going to hurt anyone, I’m so sorry for all of the confusion.”

‘You are not being arrested Mr Church, your friends have enacted Florida’s Baker Act, they want you to see a doctor, and it’s required we make that happen. You’re just going to a mental health facility for an examination, we all just need to be sure that you’re ok. Please, place your hands behind your back.

“Guys, please, I understand I fucked up here, I really do. I also understand you have to do your job, but I swear it was a silly fight, it was nothing. I’m fine now, I just want to go home.”

“You’ll be able to go home mr Church, as soon as the doctor says it’s ok”

“Guys, you know it isn’t that simple. I’m a combat vet, I know what happens to guys that get 5150’d. they’re going to sit me in a room till at least the morning, and tomorrow’s Superbowl Sunday, so there’s no way that there will be a doctor on call tonight or tomorrow, so that means i’m stuck there till at least monday before I can get checked out. I’m here working, this is going to cost me the jobs I have booked tomorrow and my classes are starting on Monday”

“We’re really sorry Mr Church, but this is the law, we have to take you in to see the doctor.” I was in handcuffs now.

Handcuffs are really uncomfortable.

“Guys, is there any way around this. If this doctor doesn’t clear me I could be locked up for a long time, I’m sure there’s at least a 72 hr rule, and they could stretch that out as long as they want. I could be locked up for a month for a stupid thing I said in a fight.

I know you’re here to help me, but you’re really doing the exact opposite. This could ruin me. if I’m locked up for a month I will lose my house, my family, I have a son in Pennsylvania, how is his mother supposed to explain to him that daddy isn’t coming home because he said something stupid?

Seriously, is there any way we can keep from making this happen? Any way at all?”

“We’re really sorry Mr Church, but it’s the law. We have to take you to see the doctor.”

They put me in the short cop's car. Handcuffs are even more uncomfortable when you’re sitting in a car. Very uncomfortable. Realizing The fact that your entire life could be completely destroyed by the situation you’ve now gotten yourself into is pretty damn uncomfortable too, trust me.

They took me to the loony bin.