first essay

The Critical Location of Exploration


Bryson Vann
Dr. Benton
English 3113
2-19-09









It is often regarded as a negative thing, for a person to wander aimlessly in a direction, having no real intentions other than loosing them self. Numerous responsibilities are bestowed upon us throughout life and obligations that we as humans should meet on a daily basis undeniably exist. With that being said, you might consider it folly for an individual to venture out somewhere in a frivolous manner, while other, more important tasks are prevalent like endless dominos. I suggest, rather that this type of action is potentially therapeutic for the person trying to escape, in that it can stir in them a sense of freedom and independence, while temporarily allow them to part from earthly burdens. I think that this can help uplift one’s attitude towards their life in general, and help strengthen one’s confidence in exploring their own feelings.
Sometimes, exploration can have serious consequences when two souls (of opposite sex) are in company of one another. One fateful night, about a week before my seventeenth birthday, in February of 2006, my lady of acquaintance and I (I refer to her as thus because we were never a “legitimate” couple) decided amongst ourselves to leave the small town of Wapanucka, Oklahoma in search of greater attractions that might have awaited us in Ada,Oklahoma. We maid small chat along the way, this was only our second technical “date”. At the time, I was a junior in high school, full of testosterone and blind ambition; she was a nineteen year old fox from Tushka, Oklahoma. My mother has always provided me with that you should never describe a woman by a number or by any scale whatsoever, but rather according to her own individuality. That being said, this was one of the most beautiful women I have ever known.
We were on our way to the Blue Moon Café to enjoy a meal together. She sat right beside me in the booth at the restaurant, leaving the opposite seat vacant. Since neither of us were comfortable enough at the time to indulge too heavily in a supper, we agreed on splitting a marvelous B.L.T. (A thoughtful move if I may boast, because there was no after-dinner breath distinction between the two of us that might lessen the odds a lip lock.) As soon as we had finished our meal, the subject of where to go next led us to the local Wintersmith Park. This is the part of the story in which I speak of two souls wandering and being susceptible to more troubles than one person alone might normally stumble into. It was dark at the park, and growing colder as we were there. The main walking trail encircles a huge pond, and ducks are occasionally to be seen. We slowly walked around the black body of water, which was quite still. There are several small bridges at Wintersmith, one of which we managed to linger on for a moment. The silence between us felt comfortable enough, and the cliché feeling that arose signaled a kiss about to transpire. It did, and pleasantly with no post-meal breath distinction to distract.
Things began to get a little heavy inside, as we outwardly grew closer. The kiss had still not ended between us and showed no signs of slowing, so we decided to curtail our emotions long enough to make it to my truck. From the interior of my automobile, things progressed to a level in which I shall leave up to the reader’s imagination, out of good taste. In the midst of our indulgence, I recall a stranger walking up from the park and past my vehicle. At the time, I made nothing of the pedestrian’s presence because I was making everything of something else. Fatefully enough, right before the lady and I were about re-robe ourselves, headlights stormed in behind my truck, followed immediately by an overly bright spotlight shining directly in my driver’s side window. I heard a knock and came close to soiling what few undergarments I had managed to slip on. I rolled down my window, prepared for the worst.
“What do we have going on here?” inquired a faceless man in a blue and black uniform.
“Probably something we shouldn’t officer,” I replied back as politely as possible.
“Put your clothes on. I’m gonna come back for some I.D.” I would be a liar if I did not admit to panicking. Although both of us were nervous, she seemed frustrated over the whole situation. They took us out one at a time for questioning. As I was handcuffed, sitting in the back of this cop car, answering personal questions, watching my 2002 Ford F-150 being meticulously searched, the reality hit me that maybe I should have stayed at Wapanucka. I will never forget the officer’s question, “So why you gotta come to the park to have sex?” “Why not?” would have been the wrong thing to retort given the public curfew and the illegality of public fornication. It was not until then that I began to suspect and remain to this day suspecting the pedestrian passerby as the outstanding citizen who called us in.
I do remember being as apologetic as I could. I was giving them: my name, age, high school attending, and everything else besides my favorite color. My heart sank the deepest after telling them my home phone number and hearing the officer radio out to contact my parents. It was late at night, so my father was privileged to a most startling and discomforting phone call. In my father’s words, his greatest fear from an officer’s late night phone call on my behalf was to come identify a body. He said, “Son, I aged about ten years when I got that phone call” which added to my guilt bank. If I had been legally an adult at the time, I could have driven away that night with a ticket, but since I was underage, my parents had to be contacted to come pick us up while my truck was impounded. The impound itself was one-hundred and ten dollars. She was legally an adult and there for received a two-hundred and forty dollar ticket for indecent exposure. This amount I remember because my father demanded that I pay half her ticket on the principle of, “It takes two to tango”. There went another one-hundred and twenty dollars out of the cash stash. And finally, my father let me top his Ford F-350 diesel off for the pocket change of sixty five dollars. Knowing that I have something to laugh and reflect on: the better part of three hundred dollars total.
My father has played drums in a three-piece band for nearly as long as I have been alive. Out of the two brothers that he plays with, the bassist just so happens to be the assistant police chief of Ada, Oklahoma. The night of the arrest, my father was on the phone with Carl, the assistant police chief (and life long friend to my father) only to find out that he could make no intervention and my father still had to come pick us up. I will never forget the look on my father’s face when he walked into the police station. It was humbling, and beckoned every one my answers to end with, “yes sir.” He was pretty cool about it on the way home though, and eventually recognized that it could have been much worse. Adding a comical insult to injury, they framed a copy of my ticket on the wall of their studio, and sang a song of total mockery for my seventeenth birthday party held there just days after the incident. Although it was very intense for me at the time, it is something that I can look back on now and laugh.
It is strange to describe the mixed emotions that I still feel over the whole situation. I feel no guilt over the action in itself, but rather getting caught and facing the repercussions. I think that society has trained me to feel a certain level of guilt regarding the circumstance, but I was just being myself in the wrong place at the wrong time. The officers that arrested us told the assistant police chief, my father’s friend, that if the girl I was with had not taken such an attitude with them, that they would have more likely let us go. This has conditioned me to value humility and politeness in certain situations, and have a greater appreciation for tactfulness, especially when in a position as thus.