Million Dollar Meth Baby.
One thing my mother, to this day has always been adamant about besides me marrying a nice Jewish boy, was to never ever, ever have someone who is high on drugs in my car. I’ve publicly made my love for people on TV who are drug addicts known. While I’ve lived in three major, popular cities, I’ve never had a substantial amount of contact with real, true to life junkies. I’ve been around my fair share of stoners, maybe not a complete cokehead, but a couple of cokehands and I’ve never been offered anything other than marijuana, pills, or coke. I’ve never been around hardcore drugs until I started my present day job, where 13 days out of each year I get to hold such narcotics, as heroin, PCP and crack rock in my hands without fear of arrest, or instant addiction. I clearly have a big misperception of drug use. Even A&E’s Intervention has this kind of glam to me, maybe it’s because you don’t know these people, so you can’t make it a realization. My perception changed drastically last night. If I had gone through what I experienced last night when I was much younger, I more than likely wouldn’t have ever taken that first hit of weed from an apple bong on my best friend’s front lawn in the 9th grade.
I live in a house with four other people (as of today three other people). I have a pretty nice loft styled bedroom upstairs so I keep to myself a lot because there is always TV to catch up on and words to be written. I noticed about three and a half weeks ago we had gotten a new roommate. I hadn’t seen (for privacy issues names will be changed) Farrah before last night. Our paths never crossed, I had just learned her name the week before from our landlord. I got home from work yesterday, and like every other weeknight, beer, phone call to mom, two more beers, end phone call with mom. I began to watch the season finale of Cougartown, about five minutes in to the second half hour, someone knocked on my door, it was one of my roommates. She asked me if I could give our roommate Farrah a ride to her friend’s place since her car had just gotten towed, she would have done it, but she was on her way out. I told her that it wouldn’t be a problem, she then whispers to me “Do you know Farrah’s story?” I replied “No, I barely know your story.”
She goes on to tell me that Farrah was just dropped off by the LAPD, also that she is a meth head and that she’s pretty sure that Farrah is high right now. She is getting evicted tomorrow and it would be best if I could get her out of here as soon as possible. I say of course and throw some clothes on and head downstairs. I’ve never seen Farrah before, when I got to the living room her back was turned towards me and she was on the phone, she turns to me and this is what I observe. She’s about this 5’7” blonde chick, average weight, wearing black short shorts and a tight black t-shirt. I don’t really know how I was able to notice that with her face being covered in lesions that make leprosy seem real to me and her lips were so chapped that even Carmex would have a hard time un-chapping them. I didn’t say anything, I showed no facial emotion, because I wanted Farrah to know that I don’t judge (out loud) and asked her if she was ready to go. We get in my car and head to her friend’s place in Glendale. She asks if I have a bottle of water in the car. I tell her no sorry and ask her if she wants me to stop at 7-11. She then proceeds to tell me that she doesn’t have money because someone stole her debit card at the gas station today. It also happened to be the gas station where there was someome hiding underneath her car and the gas station attendant saw that and kept her talking with him about buying air in a can because he knew what was happening. We hop on the freeway and she tells me not to be in the right lane just stay in the middle so we can weave in and out when need be. She gets on the phone with her mom and the repeated phrases I hear are:
“I’m dead, I messed up.”
“They are behind us right now”
“They have been following me all day, they have 15 different cars.”
“He thinks I ratted on him.”
“Every one thinks I’m crazy, but I’m not.”
“I don’t know they don’t speak that much English.”
“I’m just going to have to deal with the consequences.”
Her mom then asks who she’s with and she says she’s with her roommate who she just met (that’s me). She then asks what my name is again “Khloe?” Do I look like a Kardashian? I correct her and then she shoves her iPhone my way and says, “Tell her you are taking me to the Burbank hotel.” I reply logically with a “What?” “My mom wants to talk to you.” So I take her phone even though I’m driving and it’s an automatic $159 fine for talking on your cell. This is how our conversation goes.
“Hello?”
“Hi. Who is this?”
“I’m Chandra, her roommate, I just met her tonight, I’m never really around that much.”
“Are people following you?”
“Uh. Not that I’m aware of.”
“Where are you guys going?”
“She wants me to take her to the Burbank Hotel.”
“A hotel?”
“Yeah, that’s what she said.”
“Okay, put her back on the phone.”
Farrah gets on the phone.
“It’s the only place I’ll be safe. They are coming to get me mom!”
Farrah hangs up with her mother and directs me where to drive, she makes sure that I stop at least a car length behind the car in front of us at red lights by yelling “STOP! STOP! STOP!” Her logic behind this was, if we are a car length behind they can’t box us in. She calls her friend whose house I’m dropping her off at. They start arguing about something because she keeps saying that “He said both you guys were there. Where am I supposed to go? I’m just going to have to take the consequences.”
Her phone then dies and she tells me her friend isn’t there so just get back on the freeway and we will circle back and her friend should be back at her place by then. We are now on the main strip in Glendale and at every light she keeps holding her phone out of the window, pointing to the drivers next to us and saying “Caesar? Do you know where Caesar is? Tell him I’m trying to call him but my phone died.”
We get to one light and this guy, probably in his late 20s, starts talking to her. He said
“You are messed up.”
She replies “I know I messed up, I just need to get a hold of Caesar.”
He asked her what she was on “Meth? Heroin?”
Farrah answers “One of them.”
The guy goes with “Heroin?”
She says “No, the first one.”
The light turns green and the guy leaves her with parting, yet true words:
“You need help, look at you, you are disgusting, stop doing drugs.”
We continue to drive in silence towards the freeway with the occasional “Oh god there’s two of the them behind us, watch this car parked on the side of the street is going to pull out and box us in” chime in from Farrah. We get back on the freeway and I head in the direction towards her friend’s and she asks me where I’m going, I tell her back to her friend’s place. She says “No, let’s go home. She told me if I showed up there she would beat me up.” I say okay, and we head back. She tells me that I’m going to have to weave in and out of traffic, run stop signs and red lights, because we want the cops to pull us over, otherwise we are going to be killed. This is the point in this story where something flashed in my brain and my heart rate went up a bit. “Wait. We? We are going to be killed?” I did not sign up for “we.” So I start to floor it to get home faster so I can get into my bedroom, lock my door and never see this chick again. She looks out the sideview mirror and says “See that Suburban?” (it was a Jeep Cherokee) “That’s them. They have been following us for miles.” I saw the Cherokee get onto the freeway at the last on ramp. They get in the lane next to us, and Farrah starts freaking out “Don’t let them get next to us, don’t let them get next to us.” They get next to us. The occupants of this car were a young 20 something white couple both wearing hipster glasses.
I go “See that’s nobody, it’s fine.”
Fucking Farrah goes:
“Nope. That’s Dan.”
“Oh really? That’s Dan?”
“Yup.”
“Okay well we are almost home.”
“No! It’s not safe there. I can’t go back there, they are going to be waiting for us.”
There goes that talk, like we are in this together. I start driving through North Hollywood, I go to make a left and she screams “No! No! Go right! Go right!” We’ve been driving for about an hour and a half now. I’m starting to get a little perturbed.
“Where do you want to go? I can’t keep driving, I have work early tomorrow.”
“I know. I know.”
“Do you want to go to the police station you’ll be safe there?”
“Do you think they’re open?”
At this point I was ready to drop her off at a McDonalds and tell her that we were at the police station and speed away.
“Yeah they should be. I don’t know where the North Hollywood station is though.”
She tells me she’ll Google it, but for some reason it’s going to take her phone six minutes to get the directions.
Six minutes later we aren’t even in NoHo anymore, we have sauntered into Burbank. She asks if we are in Glendale, I tell her no, we are one town over where we just were. She tells me to stay on the busy streets because they won’t be able to get her. I tell her there’s a police station in Downtown Burbank we can go there. We get downtown and a car pulls up at a red light and she’s like
“It’s them! It’s them! Go! Go!”
I look over it’s this Chinese guy who looks like he’s 16. I say
“It’s no one, you don’t know that person.”
“Oh yeah? That’s Dan.”
“Really? Dan? Again? In a different car? And a different race?”
We get to the station and the lights are dimmed, I’m kind of hoping she does a tuck and roll out of my car and I can just get the fuck out of there, I slowly pull over to the curb and she starts screaming, “No! No! They are closed! No!” I drive around the block three times, each time an adamant no. I notice on the fourth time a parking lot in back with police cars. I try to pull in and Farrah goes into hysterics “NO! NO! NO parking lots! They’ll swarm in on me.” I’m tell her it’s fine, there are cop cars there. She tells me no, and that these people are in a gang, then she followed up by saying that they are in the gang, and this is the neighborhood they hang out in. I go, “Really? The gang hangs in Johnny Carson’s old stomping grounds? Really?”
I am now fed up it’s like 10:30.
“What do you want to do?! I can’t keep driving. No one is following us. Do you want to go a 7-11 parking lot and we can call 911 from there?”
Farrah likes this idea. So we head to 7-11. She calls 911 as we pull in jumps out of the car and walks into the store. I stand outside contemplating whether I should just take off. I stay. She comes out, seemingly calm offers me a cigarette. Absolutely not, I don’t want anything from her, ever, ever. A cop car comes about two minutes later, two officers get out of the car and they ask what the problem is. I will give Farrah this, the first thing that came out of her mouth was “This is my roommate, she has nothing to do with any of this she was just giving me a ride. Farrah tells them people are following her, they are after her. The one officer asks if she’s afraid they are going to hurt her, she says she’s afraid they are going to kill her. The officer asks her what happened to her face, in reference to her super chapped lips and leprosy-like lesions all over her face. She tells a story of how she was on a bike with a friend and she fell of it into a trash can. The other officer then asks if she is on narcotics, she says she is not and he asked when the last time she took narcotics was. She asks
“Is weed a narcotic?”
“No.”
“Then 17.”
“17 years old?”
“Yes.”
“How old are you now?”
“22.”
“When was the last time you smoked weed?”
“Six months ago.”
“Do you have any psychological issues? Are you bipolar or schizophrenic?”
“Well when I was 14 they said I was bipolar, but then when I was 16 they said I wasn’t.”
“Are you on any medication?”
“Yes Symbyax, for my bipolar disorder.”
“Have you ever been arrested?”
“Yes, last week for a DUI, but it’s getting thrown out.”
“Why?”
“Because I hadn’t been drinking I’ve been detoxing off my bipolar meds.”
Meanwhile a guy in a BMW pulls into the parking lot. Farrah says nonchalantly:
“That’s one.”
The female officer responds
“That’s one of the guys who has been following you?”
“Yup.”
The male officier has had it, apparently we have taken time out of his day from spitting and dipping.
“The guy is not following you.”
“Okay, whatever. Every one thinks I’m crazy, but I’m not.”
The male officer pulls me to the side and asks my side of the story. I tell him she thinks we were being followed, no one was following us, she was in hysterics every time I wanted to go left and she wanted me to turn right, yada yada. He asks me if I think I can get her home, I say that I think I can. He says we can’t take her anywhere because she hasn’t said she wants to harm herself. Briefly the idea popped in my head to say “Yes officer, she does want to harm herself she told me 15 times that she did” but I refrained. He told me to take her home and if anything happens just called 911. I thank him for his time. We go back to Farrah and the other officer, who is taking all her information down, as she is saying:
“It doesn’t matter, I’m going back home to Kansas tomorrow, LA just isn’t for me.”
My favorite part of this whole entire night happens now. The officer asks her:
“What is your occupation?”
“Huh?”
“What do you do for a living.”
“Oh. I’m a trust fund baby.”
ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!? THIS GIRL?! THIS GIRL IS A TRUST FUND BABY?! That has been my dream since I was 10 and my mom made me do chores around the house to “learn you need to work for your money.”
We get in my car and head home. We get about a half a mile from 7-11 and she says,
“The cops have my phone, we have to go back”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
I turn around we go back, and literally, as soon as we pull up to their car, she goes, “Oh. Nevermind I found it.” I peel out, worried they think that I may be on something and with a small fear I may have an outstanding warrant from 2005 having to do with a hobo and a knife.
We are driving back home and she warns me that they saw her talking to the cops and they are going to get her. I tell her
“Everything is fine, you’re going to fine, no one is going to get you.“
“You’ll see, they are going to block the freeway on-ramp so we can’t get on to it.”
“Farrah, we’re a street away from our house, we don’t need to get on the freeway.”
We pull up to our house and she starts freaking out and says the car that just turned onto our street is “one of them.” She tells me to pull into the alley. We have a back entrance that goes directly into our backyard. I ask her if she wants to go through there and then I’ll go whip my car around front and park, or does she want to come with me. She tells me she wants to come with me. We go back around the block and I park. There was a car parked in front of the house next door with people in it, and for a moment I have to admit, my heart rate sped up a bit. I was trying to figure out an exit strategy. I did everything I could do for this girl, if these people were truly “after her” and were in that car I would peel left and sprint across the street to the school jump the fence and never look back. Turns out the neighbors had people over and they were leaving. We get into the house I lock and deadbolt the door. I told Farrah she was safe, nobody can get in the house and to go to bed and by the time you wake up it’ll be morning and you’ll be on your way back home to “Kansas.” I go upstairs to my bedroom and lock the door, I crack open a beer. I hear the quick thump of someone running up my stairs. There is a rapid knock at my door, I open it. Guess who?
“Look at my door. The light is on in there, someone is in there.”
“No one is in there, it’s just the reflection from the spotlight on in the living room.”
She is now glaring in my room over to my balcony.
“Is that door lock? Can someone climb up here?”
“No and even if they did, I would be the one murdered and you could hear my cries and that would give you enough time to run. You are safe no one is going to get you.”
“You think I’m crazy, but I’m not, you don’t get it because it’s not happening to you.”
“No I don’t think you are crazy. I totally believe that you believe people are out to kill you. It’s just that they can’t touch you here.”
“Oh really? Well there is a guy out front and one in the back right now.”
“No there isn’t.”
I go downstairs to look out the front window
“No! Don’t get close to the window!”
“There’s no one there Farrah.”
“Can you look out back and in the bathroom too?”
I look, nothing.
“There’s nothing, I really have to get to bed.”
“I’m sorry I know. Can you just check my room?”
I go to her bedroom door, this is the third time my heart rate increased that night with fear that someone may actually jump out. I turn the knob, and push the door open before walking in like they do on CSI and all those other cop shows. I then take my hand and feel for the light, I turn it on, all there is in her room is two cans of Fosters on her headboard and about 11 empty prescription pill bottles on her bed. I tell her there’s no one in there and just to go to sleep. I say goodnight and go back upstairs. Two minutes later I see the sensor light go on out back. I look out my balcony door and see her out there. It looked like she saw me and was about to scream so I go out on the balcony and go:
“Are you alright?”
“Yeah. Are you alright?”
“Yeah. Goodnight.”
She leaves me with a
“If anything happens scream, okay?”
Okay Farrah, okay.
I live in a house with four other people (as of today three other people). I have a pretty nice loft styled bedroom upstairs so I keep to myself a lot because there is always TV to catch up on and words to be written. I noticed about three and a half weeks ago we had gotten a new roommate. I hadn’t seen (for privacy issues names will be changed) Farrah before last night. Our paths never crossed, I had just learned her name the week before from our landlord. I got home from work yesterday, and like every other weeknight, beer, phone call to mom, two more beers, end phone call with mom. I began to watch the season finale of Cougartown, about five minutes in to the second half hour, someone knocked on my door, it was one of my roommates. She asked me if I could give our roommate Farrah a ride to her friend’s place since her car had just gotten towed, she would have done it, but she was on her way out. I told her that it wouldn’t be a problem, she then whispers to me “Do you know Farrah’s story?” I replied “No, I barely know your story.”
She goes on to tell me that Farrah was just dropped off by the LAPD, also that she is a meth head and that she’s pretty sure that Farrah is high right now. She is getting evicted tomorrow and it would be best if I could get her out of here as soon as possible. I say of course and throw some clothes on and head downstairs. I’ve never seen Farrah before, when I got to the living room her back was turned towards me and she was on the phone, she turns to me and this is what I observe. She’s about this 5’7” blonde chick, average weight, wearing black short shorts and a tight black t-shirt. I don’t really know how I was able to notice that with her face being covered in lesions that make leprosy seem real to me and her lips were so chapped that even Carmex would have a hard time un-chapping them. I didn’t say anything, I showed no facial emotion, because I wanted Farrah to know that I don’t judge (out loud) and asked her if she was ready to go. We get in my car and head to her friend’s place in Glendale. She asks if I have a bottle of water in the car. I tell her no sorry and ask her if she wants me to stop at 7-11. She then proceeds to tell me that she doesn’t have money because someone stole her debit card at the gas station today. It also happened to be the gas station where there was someome hiding underneath her car and the gas station attendant saw that and kept her talking with him about buying air in a can because he knew what was happening. We hop on the freeway and she tells me not to be in the right lane just stay in the middle so we can weave in and out when need be. She gets on the phone with her mom and the repeated phrases I hear are:
“I’m dead, I messed up.”
“They are behind us right now”
“They have been following me all day, they have 15 different cars.”
“He thinks I ratted on him.”
“Every one thinks I’m crazy, but I’m not.”
“I don’t know they don’t speak that much English.”
“I’m just going to have to deal with the consequences.”
Her mom then asks who she’s with and she says she’s with her roommate who she just met (that’s me). She then asks what my name is again “Khloe?” Do I look like a Kardashian? I correct her and then she shoves her iPhone my way and says, “Tell her you are taking me to the Burbank hotel.” I reply logically with a “What?” “My mom wants to talk to you.” So I take her phone even though I’m driving and it’s an automatic $159 fine for talking on your cell. This is how our conversation goes.
“Hello?”
“Hi. Who is this?”
“I’m Chandra, her roommate, I just met her tonight, I’m never really around that much.”
“Are people following you?”
“Uh. Not that I’m aware of.”
“Where are you guys going?”
“She wants me to take her to the Burbank Hotel.”
“A hotel?”
“Yeah, that’s what she said.”
“Okay, put her back on the phone.”
Farrah gets on the phone.
“It’s the only place I’ll be safe. They are coming to get me mom!”
Farrah hangs up with her mother and directs me where to drive, she makes sure that I stop at least a car length behind the car in front of us at red lights by yelling “STOP! STOP! STOP!” Her logic behind this was, if we are a car length behind they can’t box us in. She calls her friend whose house I’m dropping her off at. They start arguing about something because she keeps saying that “He said both you guys were there. Where am I supposed to go? I’m just going to have to take the consequences.”
Her phone then dies and she tells me her friend isn’t there so just get back on the freeway and we will circle back and her friend should be back at her place by then. We are now on the main strip in Glendale and at every light she keeps holding her phone out of the window, pointing to the drivers next to us and saying “Caesar? Do you know where Caesar is? Tell him I’m trying to call him but my phone died.”
We get to one light and this guy, probably in his late 20s, starts talking to her. He said
“You are messed up.”
She replies “I know I messed up, I just need to get a hold of Caesar.”
He asked her what she was on “Meth? Heroin?”
Farrah answers “One of them.”
The guy goes with “Heroin?”
She says “No, the first one.”
The light turns green and the guy leaves her with parting, yet true words:
“You need help, look at you, you are disgusting, stop doing drugs.”
We continue to drive in silence towards the freeway with the occasional “Oh god there’s two of the them behind us, watch this car parked on the side of the street is going to pull out and box us in” chime in from Farrah. We get back on the freeway and I head in the direction towards her friend’s and she asks me where I’m going, I tell her back to her friend’s place. She says “No, let’s go home. She told me if I showed up there she would beat me up.” I say okay, and we head back. She tells me that I’m going to have to weave in and out of traffic, run stop signs and red lights, because we want the cops to pull us over, otherwise we are going to be killed. This is the point in this story where something flashed in my brain and my heart rate went up a bit. “Wait. We? We are going to be killed?” I did not sign up for “we.” So I start to floor it to get home faster so I can get into my bedroom, lock my door and never see this chick again. She looks out the sideview mirror and says “See that Suburban?” (it was a Jeep Cherokee) “That’s them. They have been following us for miles.” I saw the Cherokee get onto the freeway at the last on ramp. They get in the lane next to us, and Farrah starts freaking out “Don’t let them get next to us, don’t let them get next to us.” They get next to us. The occupants of this car were a young 20 something white couple both wearing hipster glasses.
I go “See that’s nobody, it’s fine.”
Fucking Farrah goes:
“Nope. That’s Dan.”
“Oh really? That’s Dan?”
“Yup.”
“Okay well we are almost home.”
“No! It’s not safe there. I can’t go back there, they are going to be waiting for us.”
There goes that talk, like we are in this together. I start driving through North Hollywood, I go to make a left and she screams “No! No! Go right! Go right!” We’ve been driving for about an hour and a half now. I’m starting to get a little perturbed.
“Where do you want to go? I can’t keep driving, I have work early tomorrow.”
“I know. I know.”
“Do you want to go to the police station you’ll be safe there?”
“Do you think they’re open?”
At this point I was ready to drop her off at a McDonalds and tell her that we were at the police station and speed away.
“Yeah they should be. I don’t know where the North Hollywood station is though.”
She tells me she’ll Google it, but for some reason it’s going to take her phone six minutes to get the directions.
Six minutes later we aren’t even in NoHo anymore, we have sauntered into Burbank. She asks if we are in Glendale, I tell her no, we are one town over where we just were. She tells me to stay on the busy streets because they won’t be able to get her. I tell her there’s a police station in Downtown Burbank we can go there. We get downtown and a car pulls up at a red light and she’s like
“It’s them! It’s them! Go! Go!”
I look over it’s this Chinese guy who looks like he’s 16. I say
“It’s no one, you don’t know that person.”
“Oh yeah? That’s Dan.”
“Really? Dan? Again? In a different car? And a different race?”
We get to the station and the lights are dimmed, I’m kind of hoping she does a tuck and roll out of my car and I can just get the fuck out of there, I slowly pull over to the curb and she starts screaming, “No! No! They are closed! No!” I drive around the block three times, each time an adamant no. I notice on the fourth time a parking lot in back with police cars. I try to pull in and Farrah goes into hysterics “NO! NO! NO parking lots! They’ll swarm in on me.” I’m tell her it’s fine, there are cop cars there. She tells me no, and that these people are in a gang, then she followed up by saying that they are in the gang, and this is the neighborhood they hang out in. I go, “Really? The gang hangs in Johnny Carson’s old stomping grounds? Really?”
I am now fed up it’s like 10:30.
“What do you want to do?! I can’t keep driving. No one is following us. Do you want to go a 7-11 parking lot and we can call 911 from there?”
Farrah likes this idea. So we head to 7-11. She calls 911 as we pull in jumps out of the car and walks into the store. I stand outside contemplating whether I should just take off. I stay. She comes out, seemingly calm offers me a cigarette. Absolutely not, I don’t want anything from her, ever, ever. A cop car comes about two minutes later, two officers get out of the car and they ask what the problem is. I will give Farrah this, the first thing that came out of her mouth was “This is my roommate, she has nothing to do with any of this she was just giving me a ride. Farrah tells them people are following her, they are after her. The one officer asks if she’s afraid they are going to hurt her, she says she’s afraid they are going to kill her. The officer asks her what happened to her face, in reference to her super chapped lips and leprosy-like lesions all over her face. She tells a story of how she was on a bike with a friend and she fell of it into a trash can. The other officer then asks if she is on narcotics, she says she is not and he asked when the last time she took narcotics was. She asks
“Is weed a narcotic?”
“No.”
“Then 17.”
“17 years old?”
“Yes.”
“How old are you now?”
“22.”
“When was the last time you smoked weed?”
“Six months ago.”
“Do you have any psychological issues? Are you bipolar or schizophrenic?”
“Well when I was 14 they said I was bipolar, but then when I was 16 they said I wasn’t.”
“Are you on any medication?”
“Yes Symbyax, for my bipolar disorder.”
“Have you ever been arrested?”
“Yes, last week for a DUI, but it’s getting thrown out.”
“Why?”
“Because I hadn’t been drinking I’ve been detoxing off my bipolar meds.”
Meanwhile a guy in a BMW pulls into the parking lot. Farrah says nonchalantly:
“That’s one.”
The female officer responds
“That’s one of the guys who has been following you?”
“Yup.”
The male officier has had it, apparently we have taken time out of his day from spitting and dipping.
“The guy is not following you.”
“Okay, whatever. Every one thinks I’m crazy, but I’m not.”
The male officer pulls me to the side and asks my side of the story. I tell him she thinks we were being followed, no one was following us, she was in hysterics every time I wanted to go left and she wanted me to turn right, yada yada. He asks me if I think I can get her home, I say that I think I can. He says we can’t take her anywhere because she hasn’t said she wants to harm herself. Briefly the idea popped in my head to say “Yes officer, she does want to harm herself she told me 15 times that she did” but I refrained. He told me to take her home and if anything happens just called 911. I thank him for his time. We go back to Farrah and the other officer, who is taking all her information down, as she is saying:
“It doesn’t matter, I’m going back home to Kansas tomorrow, LA just isn’t for me.”
My favorite part of this whole entire night happens now. The officer asks her:
“What is your occupation?”
“Huh?”
“What do you do for a living.”
“Oh. I’m a trust fund baby.”
ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!? THIS GIRL?! THIS GIRL IS A TRUST FUND BABY?! That has been my dream since I was 10 and my mom made me do chores around the house to “learn you need to work for your money.”
We get in my car and head home. We get about a half a mile from 7-11 and she says,
“The cops have my phone, we have to go back”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
I turn around we go back, and literally, as soon as we pull up to their car, she goes, “Oh. Nevermind I found it.” I peel out, worried they think that I may be on something and with a small fear I may have an outstanding warrant from 2005 having to do with a hobo and a knife.
We are driving back home and she warns me that they saw her talking to the cops and they are going to get her. I tell her
“Everything is fine, you’re going to fine, no one is going to get you.“
“You’ll see, they are going to block the freeway on-ramp so we can’t get on to it.”
“Farrah, we’re a street away from our house, we don’t need to get on the freeway.”
We pull up to our house and she starts freaking out and says the car that just turned onto our street is “one of them.” She tells me to pull into the alley. We have a back entrance that goes directly into our backyard. I ask her if she wants to go through there and then I’ll go whip my car around front and park, or does she want to come with me. She tells me she wants to come with me. We go back around the block and I park. There was a car parked in front of the house next door with people in it, and for a moment I have to admit, my heart rate sped up a bit. I was trying to figure out an exit strategy. I did everything I could do for this girl, if these people were truly “after her” and were in that car I would peel left and sprint across the street to the school jump the fence and never look back. Turns out the neighbors had people over and they were leaving. We get into the house I lock and deadbolt the door. I told Farrah she was safe, nobody can get in the house and to go to bed and by the time you wake up it’ll be morning and you’ll be on your way back home to “Kansas.” I go upstairs to my bedroom and lock the door, I crack open a beer. I hear the quick thump of someone running up my stairs. There is a rapid knock at my door, I open it. Guess who?
“Look at my door. The light is on in there, someone is in there.”
“No one is in there, it’s just the reflection from the spotlight on in the living room.”
She is now glaring in my room over to my balcony.
“Is that door lock? Can someone climb up here?”
“No and even if they did, I would be the one murdered and you could hear my cries and that would give you enough time to run. You are safe no one is going to get you.”
“You think I’m crazy, but I’m not, you don’t get it because it’s not happening to you.”
“No I don’t think you are crazy. I totally believe that you believe people are out to kill you. It’s just that they can’t touch you here.”
“Oh really? Well there is a guy out front and one in the back right now.”
“No there isn’t.”
I go downstairs to look out the front window
“No! Don’t get close to the window!”
“There’s no one there Farrah.”
“Can you look out back and in the bathroom too?”
I look, nothing.
“There’s nothing, I really have to get to bed.”
“I’m sorry I know. Can you just check my room?”
I go to her bedroom door, this is the third time my heart rate increased that night with fear that someone may actually jump out. I turn the knob, and push the door open before walking in like they do on CSI and all those other cop shows. I then take my hand and feel for the light, I turn it on, all there is in her room is two cans of Fosters on her headboard and about 11 empty prescription pill bottles on her bed. I tell her there’s no one in there and just to go to sleep. I say goodnight and go back upstairs. Two minutes later I see the sensor light go on out back. I look out my balcony door and see her out there. It looked like she saw me and was about to scream so I go out on the balcony and go:
“Are you alright?”
“Yeah. Are you alright?”
“Yeah. Goodnight.”
She leaves me with a
“If anything happens scream, okay?”
Okay Farrah, okay.
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