Agoraphobia

Day 93 (Continued...)

We used Officer Hal's keys to enter the deserted police station and unlock the evidence room. The stale air smelled of mildew and punitive authority.

One would think finding marijuana in an evidence room would be easy, but one would be wrong. We searched every container. No marijuana. No drugs. Either illicit substances were sent someplace else, or they disappeared up Officer Hal's nose.

We returned to Elwood's

Grandpa Kevin, Mom, Frank, Uncle Peter, and I convened a meeting. Uncle Peter told them about our encounter with Officer Hal and our inability to find marijuana at the police station.

"I've started Kim on the saline solution," reported Roxanne. "That should help delay dehydration. But the vomiting is as bad as ever, and I'd really like to have her try marijuana."

The five of us talked it over, and we decided Uncle Peter and I should search the St. Clair County Sheriff's Department in Belleville.

We ate a hurried brunch and loaded the truck with supplies. Bryce telepathically communicated his desire to come with us, so we invited him at the last minute. He jumped into the truck's front passenger seat, eyes bright, tail wagging.

"Why does Bryce get the front seat while I'm stuck in back?!" I protested.

"The booster seat can't be in the front." countered Uncle Peter.

I felt my cheeks heat up, "To hell with the booster seat! I'll be twelve soon. That's YEARS, not months, you know." I stood with my hands on my hips, jacket flared, pepper spray holstered on my hip.

"According to the law, you're a half-inch too short."

"According to WHAT!?" I balked, giving him an open-mouthed, wrinkled-nose, this-is-a-load-of-bullshit look. "The LAW!?!... We are on our way to steal marijuana from a police station," I blustered, flagging my arms. "A few hours ago, you stole a gun from a cop. Don't preach to me about 'the law'."

Uncle Peter opened his mouth to speak, but I cut him off.

"You know what..." I decided, yanking open the truck's door. "...We're not even going to talk about this!" I wrenched out the booster seat, drug it carelessly on the ground, and tossed it into a ditch. Then I stomped back to the truck. "Out of my seat, Bryce," I growled, pointing stiff-armed at the backseat. The large dog compiled. I buckled myself into the front passenger seat. "Ready when you are," I said curtly, daring Uncle Peter to object. He didn't. One needs to pick his battles, after all.

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Uncle Peter and I passed up a jail on our way to the St. Clair County Sheriff's Department.

"Look at that," prompted Uncle Peter. I followed his line of sight. A sign read:

"ST. CLAIR CO. JAIL,

CAPACITY - 330

TODAY - 464

NO VACANCY"

"Is that a joke?" I asked.

"Nope. It's been over capacity for many years."

"Wow."

"Welcome to America, Kid," scowled Uncle Peter. "The least free nation on Earth."

"How so?"

"America has the largest incarcerated population percentage of any country."

"I've read that on Facebook. It's kind of hard to believe."

"Believe it. For a long time, America WAS in second place for incarcerations. Then South Africa ended apartheid in 1994, and the good ole U.S. of A became #1... and stayed there."