“...And this is the second thing you do:
You cover the altar of the Lord with tears, with weeping and crying; So He does
not regard the offering anymore, nor receive it with goodwill from your hands. 14 Yet
you say, “For what reason?” Because the Lord
has been witness between you and the wife of your youth, with whom you have
dealt treacherously; yet she is your companion and your wife by covenant.” - Malachi
2:13-14
I was folding laundry in my sports bra and sweatpants late one Thursday in
October of 2013 when the police showed up at my door to arrest me. There
had been no fight, no quarrel, just a minor tug of war with my husband over a
photo album earlier when he leered at me in a very evil way and smirked: “Now I
have my 9-1-1.”
The next thing I knew, I was being handcuffed, put into the back of a police
unit and taken to the community jail to be booked for felony assault.
I had no clue about the physical,
emotional and mental trauma I was about to endure in the next three days; I was
in too much of a state of shock that he had accomplished what he had set out to
do: kick me out of the house, remove all the funds, and have me charged with a
felony assault so he wouldn’t have to pay alimony/child support.
I do not fault the police officers;
they even seemed sympathetic and regretful of having to arrest me. We arrived
at the Women’s Jail close to midnight and that is when the nightmare began.
At the time of my arrest, I was a
54 year old, upper middle class mother of five children living a quiet life in
suburban south Orange County. I had never smoked, abused substances or been in
any kind of trouble. I had brought up my children as a stay at home mom,
home-schooled them, and got the eldest four into good colleges with generous scholarships. I worked part-time at a local fabric store been a Girl Scout
Leader for nine years and involved with church since my youth. If it could
happen to me…it could happen to anyone; providing they are married to a
narcissist.
I had first heard this word from my
therapist who I had been seeing for PTSD and she used it in relation to my
husband:
Narcissistic personality disorder (NPD) is a personality disorder in which a person is excessively preoccupied with personal adequacy, power, prestige and vanity, mentally unable to see the destructive damage they are causing to themselves and to others in the process. It is estimated that this condition affects one percent of the population, with rates greater for men. First formulated in 1968, NPD was historically called megalomania, and is a form of severe egocentrism.[1]
They cuffed my hands behind my back and left me sitting that way in the
back of the car for about an hour while they took his statement and took
pictures. I have a severe lower back problem as a result of an injury I sustained
years ago in which he had pushed me while in a rage onto the ground while
8-1/2 months pregnant with my sixth child. After a few minutes sitting with my
hands behind my back I felt my discs slip out of place. The ride to the station
was agony. The back seat was hard as rock and every time the car turned,
accelerated or slowed down, I was sliding all over the place. We finally got to
the County jail. They parked and told me to get out. By this time I was in so
much pain I could barely move. They began to get impatient. “Ma’am, you can get
out now!” I did my best and struggled. “Ma’am, is there a problem?”
“I have a lower back injury.”
They looked at one another. “When did you receive this injury?”
“It’s an old injury that I have been treated for on an ongoing basis. Would
you please help me get out?”
They put their hands under my armpits and lifted me until I could stand up.
I could no longer stand up straight and walked bent over like an old woman
until I felt the disc slip back into place. As I look back on it now, I
remember them looking at each other and could almost see the silent question
passing between them. Why are we arresting this 5’2” little bitty woman for
physical violence when she can’t even get out of a car?
I walked in-between them to a patio area just outside the jail. The
officers turned to me. “This is your one and only chance to make your phone
calls before we take your cell phone away.”
I had no idea what time it was but figured it was around 1:00 or 2:00 am in
the morning by this time. Because my hands were still cuffed behind my back, I
had the phone on speaker so the policemen heard both sides of my conversation.
I was hoping someone would answer the phone. I called one of my dearest
friends, Arlene.
“Arlene…He has accused me of attacking him and I have been arrested.”
“What?!”
She was half asleep. I had to repeat myself several times before she
understood me. “Can you find out for me how to post bail?” I gave her my debit
card number but He had already emptied our joint bank account earlier that day
in anticipation of this so I would be left with no money.
“Who else can you call?” Arlene wanted to know. “What about Marlayne?”
“No, I think she’s on her way to a wedding up north.”
“Who else?”
“Oh, I’ll call Teresa (the wife and His boss).
“I’ll see what I can do.”
The policeman were standing over me, looking at their watches impatiently.
“C’mon, we have to hurry up!”
“Please, I need to make one more phone call.” I dialed Teresa’s number.
“Hello?”
“Teresa, He had me arrested”
“What?!” she screamed. “Oh my god! He did it? He had you arrested? Are the
police there? Let me talk to them!”
“You’re on speaker, they’re right here, listening.”
“THEY’RE THERE??!!!”
“Yes,” I looked at the police officers. “Do you want to talk to her?”
“No, we are not going to talk to anybody. The purpose of the phone call was
to help you to find somebody to make bail.”
“RHONDA! GIRLFRIEND! I told you to be careful! I told you I did not trust him.”
The police officers kept exchanging looks.
“I was careful, I didn’t do anything.”
“Well then what is he accusing you of?!”
“I was cleaning the house because my son was inviting some his college
buddies over for a movie night and I noticed on the shelf that an old family
photo album was missing off the shelf. He was walking upstairs and I asked him
about the photo album and he said that he had taken it to work. I told him that
there was some old, priceless photos in there, did you leave it at work? No, I
think I left it in my car…I don’t remember. I said, can I go see? He said, NO!
I don’t want you in my car! I said, where are the keys? He told me he would
open the trunk for me. We went outside, he opened up the trunk. He said, I
don’t think it’s in there. That’s when I saw a box and underneath I saw the
gold photo album. Here it is! I picked up the photo album and said I would take
the photos out of there I wanted. I looked up at him and he was smirking at me.
He said, On second thought, he said, and reached out to grab away the photo
album, I don’t know if I want you to have this. I asked why? Because you are a
vindictive person and I don’t want you to destroy my family pictures! I said,
oh, I wouldn’t do that, I just want to take my pictures out, I promise. He was
still holding onto the photo album.” He said “No, I don’t want you to have it!”
He tugged back. “I said, I don’t have time for this, I reached down and wrapped
my arms around the photo album and jerked it out of his hands. “I will get my
photos and give it back to you, okay.” I started walking away and that’s when
he smiled at me and said “Ahh, now I have my 9-1-1!”
I turned around to see him smirking at me.” I told Teresa that I thought
that He was trying to antagonize me.”
The police grew impatient again. “Ma’am, we have to go, we have to start
the booking process.”
Teresa screamed loud enough for everyone to hear. “OH MY GOD! I CAN’T
BELIEVE THIS IS HAPPENING! What should I do? What do I need to do?”
“I don’t know, I have to go now. Just call Arlene and brainstorm with her.”
“Why have you already called Arlene?”
“Yes, I have and she is already trying to help.”
The policeman ended the phone call. The Hispanic officer looked at me. “Did
your husband actually say I got my 9-1-1?”
“Yes, but at the time I wasn’t sure if he had said 9-1-1 or 4-1-1 because I
wanted to go back inside and get the house ready for my son.”
The two officers looked askance at each other, shook their heads.
“Wow.” We stood there in silence for a moment. They were very nice to me and
walked me through what was going to happen in the next few hours because I had
absolutely no clue.
If you are not in the habit of being in trouble with the law, the first
time you are arrested is a shock.
I walk in the door and saw a line of other people, all hand-cuffed, male
and female. Some of them were very young, teenagers, college kids, some middle-aged
and obviously intoxicated or drugged. When a bench became available the
officers had me sit down to wait.
Finally, thirty minutes later my name was called. I walked up to the
window. They asked me for my personal information and what I was arrested for.
“I’m not sure.” I looked at the police officer. “What was I arrested for?”
The office stated the penal code for domestic violence. The officer behind
the window looked at him. “What are the details, what did she do?”
“She bit her husband.”
The officer behind the window looked up. “She did what?” He looked
incredulous. “What?”
They repeated it. “She bit her husband.”
“Seriously?”
The arresting office just chuckled and shrugged his shoulders. The officer
behind the desk rolled his eyes and continued to write but I could tell he
couldn’t believe it any more than I did.
A few minutes later I was directed to another window where I had to put all
of my belongings into a zipped lock bag (my wallet, ID, credits cards and cell
phone.)
I was herded into another area. At this point, I was transferred from the
arresting officers to the jail guards for processing. Finally the hand cuffs
came off.
I was taken behind locked, security doors. I sat down on the bench where
the guards patted me down. I sat docilely as they searched the inside of my
mouth, my nose, my ears and hair. Then I was given an ID band. I was put into a
cement holding area. Everything was made of cement, the floors, walls and
benches. I sat there for what seemed like an eternity. I was hoping that Arlene
and Teresa would be able to get me out in the next couple of hours…boy was I
wrong. As I waited, more and more women were being processed into this cement
room; it got so crowded people were forced to sit on the ground.
TO BE CONTINUED...
