Chapter 4

By the Rivers of Babylon

April 2013

The cold bite of winter kept us indoors for months, a blur of Netflix, takeout, and plans that never quite left the couch. But by spring, we were restless. One of my favorite bands was playing in the city, so we made it a date—something to break the monotony.

The concert was everything I needed—loud, full of energy, a night where I could let everything else fade into the background. But as we drove home, that high started to slip away when I saw red and blue lights flash in my rearview mirror.

My stomach sank.

“How much did you have to drink tonight?” The officer’s flashlight cut through the darkness, and suddenly, the night felt colder.

I wanted to lie, to smooth things over. But for some reason, I thought the truth would set me free.

“A couple of beers,” I said, trying to sound casual.

“Yeah, go ahead and step outside the vehicle.”

The officer led me to the side of the highway. “Stand right here.”

I wasn’t even drunk, I told myself. I’ll pass this. I’ll get back in the car. Everything will be fine.

“Okay, follow my finger with your eyes, and don’t move your head,” the officer said, moving his hand side to side.

I’m not even drunk, I told myself. 

“All right, now I’m going to need you to walk in a straight line. Nine steps, heel to toe. Count each one out loud. When you reach nine, turn around and come back. Do you understand?”

I nodded.

I’ll pass this. I’ll get back in the car. Everything will be fine.

“Now, I need you to stand on one leg,” the officer said. “Keep your arms at your sides and count until I tell you to stop.”

The commands were dizzying.

I lifted one leg and started to count. “One thousand one, one thousand two…”

There was a long pause. I could feel the officer's eyes on me.

“I’m going to need you to place your hands behind your back.”

As the handcuffs clicked into place, I caught the look of pity on my wife’s face. I didn’t want to believe what was happening.

The officer put me in the back of his cruiser and told my wife they’d have to tow the car.

By the time I got to the station, the reality of the situation started to sink in. I was looking at six months in jail, thousands in fines, a two-year license suspension, mandatory detention… The list of penalties went on and on.

I was already struggling at work, how would I manage without a car? 

As I sat in the holding cell waiting to get processed, I tried not to think about it. I wanted to be present.

The fluorescent lights, the cold, sterile walls, the sound of keys jangling—every detail felt sharp, vivid, like I was suddenly watching my life from the outside.

I thought about the story I would tell one day when I was famous.

What would my protagonist do?

He would sing, I told myself.

Like Paul and Silas

So I sang…

"By the rivers of Babylon

where we fell down

and there we wept,

when we remembered Zion.

I cleared my voice and sang it again. More fire. More passion.  

Cause the wicked carry us away captivity,

require from us a song.

How can we sing King Alpha’s song

in a straaange land?”

But as I sang, I suddenly had the urge to pee and wetting my pants was not gonna be a part of this story.

I started banging on the cell door, “Let me out! Let me out!”

For years, alcohol had served as a way to escape myself—to shut off the apprehensive voice in my head, the one that got in the way of me going after what I wanted.

Now I'd have to deal with the societal consequences that came with it. People wouldn’t just see me as the guy who had a few too many drinks—they’d see me as irresponsible, weak, a disappointment.

I played the arrest over and over in my head. Why me? Why now? 

Maybe I could've avoided incriminating myself. Maybe I could’ve had less to drink.

My wife felt it was her fault for letting me drive. But I couldn't let her take responsibility for my actions.

I got a lawyer the next day. I told him I needed to figure out my life. He advised that going to trial could buy me some time.

Little did I know, I was going to need it. My life had just reached a turning point—and this was only the beginning of a long, painful reckoning.