I’m a good girl. Not to the point of sainthood or alienation (I’m not righteous or anything. People partaking in illegal activity doesn’t bother me, just don’t expect me to join in), but I live on the right side of the law most of the time — which is why when a cop pulled me over for the first time in my life I just about had a heart attack. I had just dropped my brother and his friends off at the Sunvalley Mall and was making my way toward downtown Lafayette and a movie night extravaganza. The road was pretty vacant but when I looked in my rear-view mirror I saw that a cop was behind me, just doing his thing. Then I saw I was driving below the speed limit. Because I’m neurotic, I sped up thinking he would give me a ticket for hazardously driving too slow but then I ended up going to fast. Just as I realized I was three miles per hour over the speed limit, the cop turned on his lights. My stomach proceeded to hit the floor and my heart quickely shot into my throat, because he was pulling me over.  If you have seen The Little Mermaid there is a line at the beginning while Ariel is visiting Scuttle, discussing what a snorfblat is,  and she remembers that she has missed her coming out concert. She says to Flounder, “My father’s going to kill me.” As I made my way to the curb, all I could hear was Ariel’s voice saying that line over and over and over again.

So, I promptly pull to the side and roll down my window as the cop saunters over with his flashlight shining in my face and I manage to let out a chipper “hi!” He asks me where I was coming from and I tell him, adding in “sirs” and trying to sound as innocent as possible — even though I really was and had nothing to be afraid of. Then he tells me that the light that illuminates my license plate is out and I let out an enormous “Oh” of relief. He asks for my driver’s license and as I give it to him he asks if I have had anything to drink tonight to which I reply, still in my terrified voice, “I’m only nineteen sir.”

But I didn’t feel nineteen, I felt like I was five:

When I was a wee lass in kindergarten, out of frustration, I hatched a brilliant plot to run away from school for a day. My family had just moved to Lafayette and my parents weren’t letting me have friends over while we were still moving in. In retaliation, I orchestrated a massive escape to my homestead with about six other kids, however all but one chickened out.

My best friend Melina and I were in the afternoon kindergarten group but spent the mornings at daycare on campus. On the walk from daycare to the classroom we slipped away from the line and made a  mad dash toward the parking lot. We then walked the mile to my house where we ate Oreos and totally destroyed my room. After I don’t remember how long, a cop showed up at the door. Being five years old and having watched a lot of “Batman: The Animated Series”, I knew that cops were the good guys so I opened the door. He asked me my name and if my parents where home to which I replied “no” (I really fail as a delinquent). Melina and I were then ushered into the back of a cop car and reprimanded the entire way back to school. I sat there, five years old and behind the thick scary black bars of a police car being told that if I ever did this again I would be sent to juvenile hall. Visions of tiny me in a damp, dark cell wearing rags and clutching my stuffed bunny, “bunny”, swept through my head and I got really scared. That was the last time I encountered a police officer. I still think it was pretty awful of him to terrorize two five-year olds like that but it worked — I have forever been terrified of getting in serious trouble.

But there I was, ninteen and on the cusp of being in serious trouble. The rest of the story, however, is pretty boring — the cop let my shaking nineteen-year-old self off with a simple warning and I cautiously drove home to switch cars before going to movie night. It took about ten minutes for my heart to calm down. I felt like vomiting and crying and laughing all at the same time. I don’t remember the little feelings my five-year-old self was feeling besides fear. My memory seems to have let go of the sense of relief when I only got a stern talking to and suspension for the day, if I even felt relief. The mash up of feelings that consumed my body as I drove away last night were enough to further deter me from breaking laws intentionally — if I did, my father would most certainly kill me. Although my parents admit that despite being angry with me for frightening them beyond belief all those years ago, they were secretly proud that I had the wit to concoct an execute such an intense plan at such a young age. Somehow I don’t think that pride would hold up if their nineteen-year-old arrive home in the back of a police car. So I will settle for the infamony of being the girl that ran away from kindergarten. — one unique feat of wrong doing is enough.  If last night’s events prove anything, it’s that I am destined to be a good girl all my days, and I’m okay with that.