American Outlaw Part 41

As the morning heated up around me, the mountains growing brighter, sharper in their cut against the sky, I listened to my voice. It was as if the show was being broadcast solely for me.

I traveled all around the world, ten times in five years . . .

. . . that whole time, all I was doing was going to motorcycle shops . . .

. . . Yup, when I was off the road, I'd just work on my bike in my mom's garage . . .

. . . She contacted my office, and wanted to bring her G.o.dson on a tour of the shop . . .

. . . I contacted her a.s.sistant, and said I wanted to ask her out . . .

It was just almost too much to believe.

"You were married to the beautiful, stunning- stunning-who I wished I I coulda had s.e.x with-Janine Lindemulder for a while, weren't you?" came Howard's voice. "Boy, she must have been a coulda had s.e.x with-Janine Lindemulder for a while, weren't you?" came Howard's voice. "Boy, she must have been a monster monster in bed . . ." in bed . . ."

. . . Sometimes, things aren't what they seem . . .

"She's one of the s.e.xiest broads on the planet, planet, though!" though!"

It was surreal. I listened to myself break down the dissolution of my marriage to Janine, then go on happily to tell the story of how Sandy and I met: how she'd refused me at first; how I hadn't stopped trying, and eventually, I'd won her over. I spoke about our relations.h.i.+p, about how completely different it was from any other thing I'd ever experienced. of my marriage to Janine, then go on happily to tell the story of how Sandy and I met: how she'd refused me at first; how I hadn't stopped trying, and eventually, I'd won her over. I spoke about our relations.h.i.+p, about how completely different it was from any other thing I'd ever experienced.

The words sounded hollow and false. Suddenly, behind me, I saw the flas.h.i.+ng lights of a cop car.

"Dammit, what now now?"

I pulled to the side of the highway. A police officer pulled his squad car behind me and leisurely sauntered out onto the blacktop.

"License and registration."

I handed it to him. Squinting down at the paperwork, the officer frowned, then glanced back up at me.

"What's up?" I said.

"Are you that Jesse James guy everybody's talking about in the news?" he said. "You are, are, aren't you?" aren't you?"

"Yep," I said, forcing a tight, small smile. "Hey."

"Well, whatcha going so fast for, Jesse James?" The police officer looked pleased with his catch.

"Heading to Tucson."

"Well, what the heck's in Tucson?" the officer asked. He waved to his partner, who was sitting in the front pa.s.senger seat of the cop car, motioning him to come up to my car. "I thought you were a Hollywood guy."

"I'm . . ." I shrugged, too exhausted to lie. "Look, I'm going to rehab."

The cop frowned. "You got a drug problem? Let's see your eyes."

"I'm not high," I muttered. I widened my eyes for him to inspect. "I'm just . . . trying to get better."

The second cop joined us. "Hey, s.h.i.+t. Hey, you know who this is? It's Jesse James Jesse James!"

"I've already ascertained that information," the arresting officer said. "Okay, listen up, Jesse. Here's a deal for you. You were going over a hundred twenty miles an hour, so we can write you a big fat ticket. Or, you can take a picture with us." over a hundred twenty miles an hour, so we can write you a big fat ticket. Or, you can take a picture with us."

"You won't give me a ticket?" I asked. "All I have to do is take a picture with you, that's it?"

"No ticket."

"Well, all right," I said, almost cracking up at the absurdity of the situation. I climbed gingerly out of the car. "Just don't sell it to TMZ or something."

"Would we do that?" the second cop said. "Come on."

The first police officer pulled an iPhone out of his pocket. He shoved it toward his partner, then threw his uniformed arm around me, grinning widely.

"Go ahead. Take a picture of me and Jesse."

We stood on the edge of the blacktop, our arms around each other, as the other cop fumbled with the phone. The morning traffic whizzed by me. Sweating, I tried to swallow.

At around eight o'clock in the morning, I arrived in the visitor parking lot at Sierra Tucson. I'd covered over 450 miles in little more than four hours. My hands were shaking.

From the backseat, I grabbed the small bag of clothes I'd hastily thrown together the previous evening, and slammed the door closed behind me.

The air around me was crisp and cool. I looked at the main building: it appeared to have been constructed out of some sort of adobelike material. The whole thing had this Southwestern feel about it, with cacti and brush trees all around. We were in the foothills of a mountain range.

Hesitantly, clutching my bag and my keys tightly in my hands, I walked up the path to the building.

f.u.c.k, I thought. I thought. Maybe I should turn around and head back. There's still time. Back into the car. Maybe drive to Mexico . . . Maybe I should turn around and head back. There's still time. Back into the car. Maybe drive to Mexico . . .

"Hey, there," came a rasping voice. I turned to look toward a silver-haired woman, about fifty years of age who was smiling at me with a twinkle in her eye. "I'm Fay."

"Hey," I said. "Jesse."

"Jesse?" Fay said warmly, putting her arm around me. "You came to the right place."

I said nothing, just felt the way her arm hung on me.

"Come on," she said, taking in the scared look on my face. "Let's get you inside."

Suddenly I realized that in my haste to leave home, I hadn't bothered to let anyone at Sierra Tucson know that I was coming. I had made calls making sure my kids would be cared for, but I'd neglected to phone this center and ask if there was room for me.

"I don't have a reservation," I told her. "No one's expecting me."

"Shouldn't be any problem," Fay said. "I'll take you to reception and we'll figure it out."

We walked down the quiet hallways, pa.s.sing only a few people, who gave us interested looks then returned to their own business. "Do you work here?" I asked.

"Sure do," Fay said. "I'm on the kitchen crew."

"Oh," I said. "I thought you might be . . . well . . ."

"One of you?" Fay laughed heartily, the skin around her eyes coming together in friendly crow's-feet. "I have have been, you can believe that. Come on, Jesse, I'm going to take you to the folks in charge. We'll get everything all squared away for you." been, you can believe that. Come on, Jesse, I'm going to take you to the folks in charge. We'll get everything all squared away for you."

Fay handed me off to the woman at the reception desk, who took me in pleasantly. If either of them had recognized who I was, they didn't let on.

"Jesse," she said, "now that you're here, we ask that you make a commitment to stay with us for thirty days. Can you do that?"

I nodded. "Yes. I want to be here."

As I said it, I realized it was the truth. I had only been inside the building for fifteen minutes, but already, my pulse had slowed. It was quiet here. Slowly, the realization that no paparazzi were allowed inside these doors came to me. I smiled, tentatively, feeling the importance of the victory. It was quiet here. Slowly, the realization that no paparazzi were allowed inside these doors came to me. I smiled, tentatively, feeling the importance of the victory.

"Here's your bedding, and some towels," another staff member said. "There's already soap in your bathroom." I was shown to a room of my own. It was nothing special at all: bare white walls and a bunk bed. It reminded me of a college dorm more than anything else.

"If you need anything else, just come up to the front desk. You'll have a meeting with Dr. Thomas at one o'clock. She'll acquaint you further with our program. Lunch is at noon. Until then, feel free to relax and enjoy yourself."

She waved good-bye, closing the door behind her. I dropped my bag on the floor, tossing my bedding onto the desk in the corner of the room. I lay back on top of the bare mattress, my feet still on the floor, and studied the ceiling of my room, as if there were some answer there. Soon my eyelids grew heavy, and then closed. Minutes later, I was asleep.

"I don't know why I'm here."

"Well, you made it," said Dr. Thomas, a friendly, middle-aged woman. She smiled at me, as we conducted my intake interview, a clipboard with my paperwork in her hand. "That's the first step."

"But, I mean . . . aren't I supposed to know, like, what's wrong with me?"

"You'll figure that out," she said. "Over time. Everything takes time. We have people here who are dealing with chemical addiction, eating disorders, anxiety, depression . . ."

"But I don't have have any of that," I said. "I've been sober for almost ten years. I eat just fine. I'm not a depressed person." any of that," I said. "I've been sober for almost ten years. I eat just fine. I'm not a depressed person."

Dr. Thomas smiled at me patiently. "But still, you felt the need to be here."

"Yeah," I admitted.

"Be patient," she advised. "Do our program. It's pretty rigorous, that much I can tell you. You'll have individual therapy, group therapy, EMDR, if you want it, not to mention all sorts of meetings. You'll find yourself pretty busy, I guarantee that much."

I gritted my teeth. "So, there's lots of talking here, huh?"

"Yes, that's true. You can gain a lot, in fact, just by listening to what other people are going through. Think you're up for it?"

"I guess so," I said. "I don't really know if I'll be any good at it, but I can try."

"That's all we ask of you, Jesse," she said, patting me on the hand. "So come on. You've got your first group session this afternoon. Step lively."

Half an hour later, I walked downstairs to a large meeting room, where about fifteen residents gathered.

"How's everyone doing?" asked a male therapist, a young man named Ben. "We have a new member of our group joining us today. Everyone, this is Jesse."

Most of the members of the group waved to me. "Hi, Jesse."

I waved back tentatively. "Hi."

"Does anyone want to start us off today?" Ben asked. "What's on everyone's mind?"

After a few seconds, an older woman raised her hand.

"Hi. I'm Jill. Most of you know me already. For those who don't, I've been battling with addiction to alcohol and drugs for more than ten years. I've been here for a couple of weeks, and each day, it seems like I'm getting a little bit better. I mean, it's still hard . . ."

Her voice broke off.

"What's the hard part, Jill?"

"I just don't know if things will change when I leave here . . . I mean, it's pretty easy to be sober here, but I'm scared that when I leave, I'll just go back to my old ways."

Jeez, I thought. I thought. How about just trying to be tougher? I mean, if you don't want to drink, then just don't drink. How about just trying to be tougher? I mean, if you don't want to drink, then just don't drink.

A young girl, not much older than Chandler, raised her hand.

"I'd like to share."

"Go right ahead."

"I'm Catherina. The reason I'm here is, I've been struggling with an eating disorder. I'm anorexic, and it makes me so unhappy . . . every day, I wake up with this feeling like I can't do it, I can't get better. I don't want to be like this, you know, but I feel trapped."

Holy s.h.i.+t, I thought. I thought. These people really have issues. These people really have issues.

"How's everyone else doing? Can we hear from our new member, maybe? Jesse, would you like to share?"

"I don't know," I said uneasily. "I mean, sure, I'm open to sharing, but I don't exactly know why I'm here."

"Well, that's fine, Jesse. Tell you what, how are you feeling right now?"

"I'm feeling okay, I guess. I'm glad that I'm here . . . I think I just need some time to figure some things out. I need some time to be alone, I think."

"That's a good start," Ben said. "There's no hurry. Ease into it."

I sat in my seat, fidgeting, but at the same time trying to listen as the other members of the group listed a staggering catalog of psychological conditions: anxiety, PTSD, cocaine addictions, and abusive relations.h.i.+ps.

h.e.l.l, I thought wearily. I thought wearily. Compared to these folks, I'm practically normal. Compared to these folks, I'm practically normal.

My first private session came later that afternoon, with Dr. Thomas. I sat on a chair directly across from her in a small, cozy little office.

"I thought people had to lie down when they did this sort of thing," I joked.

"No room for a couch in here," Dr. Thomas said, smiling. "Although, if you want to lie on the floor, we can probably accommodate you." "Although, if you want to lie on the floor, we can probably accommodate you."

"That's okay." I laughed. "I'm good just like this."

"So, Jesse," she said. "What brings you to my office? What do you want to discuss? This is your time."