Page 5 of Taking the Pitch
He looks at me and does a double take. “Holy shit, you’re Judd Davis.”
I nod and hold out my hand. “Nice to meet you…” I look at his nameplate. “Officer Thompson.” He takes my hand and gives it a quick shake.
“Thompson!” the other officer bellows from behind me, making me jump a little. “Run these while I start his field test.”
Officer Thompson gives me a weak smile and grabs my cards from the other officer and heads back to the patrol car.
Officer Blackstone comes and stands in front of me. Raising his flashlight, he points it back at my face. “Are you sick or injured?”
I shake my head no.
“Diabetic, or any major medical issues?”
“No, Sir.”
“Great. Place your feet together for me and stick your hands down at your side.” I do as he asks, and he holds a finger up to my face. “See my finger?” I nod. “I need you to follow it with your eyes, and only your eyes. Don’t turn your head. Understand?”
“Yes, Sir.”
He moves his finger first to the left, almost out of my line of vision. I almost turn my head to follow it, but catch myself. Hemoves it to the other side of my face and repeats the motion a few times before pausing on each side of my head.
“Now follow it down and up,” he says, motioning up and down in front of my face a few times. “Okay, now we’re going to do the walk and turn. For this test, I’m going to have you stand with your right foot in front of your left, heel touching your toe. Your hands need to be at your side and you’re going to walk in a straight line counting nine steps out loud. Understand?”
I nod while he demonstrates the movements.
“Upon completing the ninth step, leave your front foot planted and make a series of small steps to turn around and make nine steps back. Once you start this test, you cannot stop it. Got it?”
Fuck, do I?
I nod anyway and start the test, as Officer Thompson comes back with my cards. I complete the first nine steps with a few wobbles, but nothing I couldn’t correct, but as I start to turn around, I feel myself tilt and lose my balance. I stop and correct myself before completing the turn and finishing my nine steps back. Or what I thought was nine steps, maybe ten?
Officer Blackstone’s face remains impassive as he gives me instructions for the final test. “Last test. For this one, you’re going to stand with your feet together, hands at your sides again, only this time you’re going to raise your left or right leg off the ground and parallel to it. I’m going to ask you to count one, one thousand, two, one thousand, etcetera until asked to stop.” He demonstrates for me. “Do you understand?”
I nod and lift my left leg. Fighting the urge to hold my arms out, I start counting. “One, one thousand, two, one thousand, three, one thousand…” I make it to 11 one thousand before I start wobbling.
“Ok, that’s enough.” Officer Blackstone sighs. “Signs indicate that you’re impaired and shouldn’t be operating a vehicle. Turn around and put your hands behind your back for me.”
I close my eyes and let my head fall back. “Fuck,” I mutter to the sky.
“What was that?” Officer Blackstone asks, taking his cuffs out of his utility belt.
“Nothing, sir,” I say, turning around and placing my hands behind my back. He reads me my Miranda Rights as he secures the first cuff around my wrist. The cold metal bites into my skin. The second cuff locks around my wrist and he guides me to the back of the patrol car. Officer Thompson opens the door while Officer Blackstone puts a hand on the back of my head as I duck down into the back. Sitting on the hard bench seat, I look out the window and wonder how much I just fucked up my life.
I blew a .09 on the breathalyzer. I’m charged and booked with driving under the influence. Then I’m fingerprinted, photographed, and allowed my phone call. It’s well past midnight when I called Kessler. After he got over the initial shock that I was, in fact, calling him from jail and not pulling a prank on him, I’m wondering if I made the right decision by calling him instead of our parents.
I take the envelope that holds the stuff I had on me when I was arrested from the booking officer and head out through the doors to what looks like a waiting room. Kessler is sitting in a chair with his arms on his knees and his head in his hands, staring at the floor. I clear my throat and his eyes shoot to me.
Instantly I feel like I’m 12 years old again and Kessler is pissed at me for letting it slip that he snuck out after curfew to take Sadie Green to the lookout. Mom was pissed when she found out, and he wasn’t allowed to drive anywhere but school and practice for a month.
Without saying a word, he gets up from the chair and heads to the door leading outside. I follow him like a puppy who was punished for peeing on the floor.
Once we’re inside the truck, the silence is almost deafening. Kessler doesn’t make a move to start the truck, just grips the steering wheel, turning his knuckles white. After a few uncomfortable minutes, I finally speak up. “Are we just going to sit here, or?” I don’t even finish my sentence before Kessler explodes.
“What the fuck were you thinking, Judd? Driving drunk? What the hell do you have to say for yourself?”
“Okay, Dad,” I start, but he cuts me off again.
“This isn’t a joke, Juddson. This is your fucking life! What if you crashed? What if you had hit someone? Or worse, killed someone or yourself?” His voice echoes inside the cab of the truck as his voice gets louder the angrier he gets.
