Personal Narrative: The Effects Of A Cop Car

I looked up to see three cop cars sitting in a row, as though three police officers had said to one another, “Let’s meet at Albertson’s. We’ll line our cars up side by side like we’re at the drive in and watch the show.” The shaking started inside my head. I felt as though my brain started trembling, which caused my head to feel fuzzy and my vision to dim. The rest of my body must have felt left out, because my limbs started shaking right down to my toes and at the same time, became heavy, clumsy, like I was drugged. I don’t think my fingers could have been shaking any more if I was in the final stages of hypothermia. Realization of the magnitude of my stupidity started to dawn on me. I didn’t know what the consequences were going to be, but

Bits of episodes of “Cops” flashed through my mental eye. I imagined myself dragged out of my car and thrown to the ground while the officer put his knee into my back and wrestled handcuffs onto my wrists. The effect of his harsh command voice had the effect of pushing me impossibly further down into my seat. I thought, “Jail, and a beating.” I was sure I deserved it. I shakily handed my documents to the officer who started to examine the papers and my driver’s license right there beside my car. After a brief moment, he told me to come sit in his car. I climbed out and asked, dazed, “Which door do you want me to get in?” I was more than a little surprised when he told me to sit in the front passenger’s seat. For a moment I stood next to the officer and I noticed that he was just a little taller than me and maybe fifty or sixty pounds heavier. He had short hair, maybe a military cut. I noticed his name badge, “Officer Paul Munk.” He walked around and slid into his seat to talk to the dispatcher on the radio. He sat in his seat comfortably and seemed to settle down a little as he started conversing with the dispatcher in the choppy quick efficient way police officers and dispatchers talk. As he read her my Arizona driver’s license information, he hesitated

There were papers and folders from other cases, a calendar, a nice pen stand with a US flag and a State of Idaho flag in it, and a paperweight that I can’t remember well enough to describe. I do remember the feeling that all the parts spoke of accomplishment beyond what my eighteen year old self had personally considered. The District Attorney sitting across from me exuded an air that told me I was a pollywog, not even a guppy in his pond, yet he was still concerned with my situation. I’m guessing he was in his forties, but his trim figure and kind eyes made him seem younger. I knew he could squash me like a giant on a blade of grass, or he could simply cut me down to size. He seemed to be appraising me and my hope as I told him about how I was very sorry to have endangered my brother as I had. I didn’t try to place blame on anyone else. The days leading up to this appointment, I had been convincing myself to do whatever I needed to in order to satisfy the law regarding my actions. His face didn’t display much emotion through most of our interview. I remember thinking, “This must be a poker playing Mormon.” There were a couple moments during my retelling of what I had done when I saw a flash of anger cross his face. When our interview was about four fifths complete, he seemed to make up his mind. He started to smile a little bit. He asked me, “What do you think you’ve learned from this?” I talked a little bit about controlling my