I wonder how many criminal minds are going to confess about the last time you broke a rule (a big one, not just ripping the tags off your pillows). Some things are better off being left in the dark. Why incriminate yourself? I plead the fifth!
Actually, no. I want to tell you about something (not so serious) that was reckless of me, before I had children. I was very young, I believe I was turning 14-years-old that summer, and all young teens try to do crazy things in their life.
It was a hot summer in Miami. Days were filled with swimming and running around and plenty of crazy antics. We filmed a scary movie. I stole my dad’s car. We would sneak out at night for late night rendezvous at the pool next to the make-shift beach. Those were summers that I could never forget. Recklessness at its finest with people that I could never forget, and some I still keep in contact with to this day. These are all prime examples of breaking the rules but, none of them compare to that one night…
One gorgeous summer night, my aunt and this guy who I was incredibly in love with were hanging out in the house. It was late. He had ridden his bike over to see my aunt and I and watch movies in the living room. When it got late enough, the three of us decided to take a walk outside in the moonlight. We sat at the pool and kicked water with out feet at the waters’ edge. We laughed and talked about school, Puerto Rico, and if we were going to do something else after this.
We did something else.
If anyone is from Miami, you would know that in the apartment complexes when there are three story buildings there is a way to get onto the roof. My particular building didn’t have an easy way to climb to the rooftop (it was six-stories high), but another building did. This was a shorter building, only three stories (first floor were apartments, then the second floor was all two-story town homes) and we managed to make our way to the roof. We climbed the top of a staircase (I can’t really explain, but like I mentioned before if you’re from Miami you might know what I mean) and walked on the rooftop in the middle of the night. Underneath a star-lit sky, we hung our legs off the edge of the building and looked at the reflection of the full moon upon the lake. As we sat there, joked around, laughing, my aunt was looking over the opposite edge, towards the parking lot and saw the police roll up in their car. Lights flashing, no siren. As they began to ascend towards to rooftop, the three of us ran. We slid down an other staircase and reached the bottom. The only way to get out of there was to jump onto the grass below… Let’s just say, I was ready to jump, but I couldn’t leave my aunt behind, so I stayed with her. The police officers cuffed us and chided us for putting them in harm’s way because they were afraid to break their necks trying to come after us.
Damn my aunt and her fear of heights. She just refused to jump.
So as we were driven away in the cop car, sitting in the back of the cop car in those uncomfortable hard seats, with no handles on the doors and locked in, while handcuffed, we were scared. I didn’t cry, but I was terrified. I was in handcuffs! The officers escorted us to my house where my parents were awakened to the loud banging that cops always do. I was scolded for it and I wasn’t really in trouble. My parents didn’t even get in trouble either for not keeping a better eye on these mischievous teens, but my parents shook their heads, grabbed us by the ear and told us to stop getting in trouble. We laughed about it the next day, and I still climbed up on those rooftops at night. I was just a bit more careful not to make as much noise.
So, no one was hurt in the making of this memory, aside from my wrists from the cold, steel handcuffs. Things turned out fine afterwards, but it didn’t change my crazy, trouble-making ways. I was just more careful when I did crazy things. It taught me, if you’re going to do things you can get in trouble for, make sure you don’t get caught, and that you do it with people who aren’t afraid to jump.