Shards Page 22

  My life stayed very small, again by choice. I saw my family and the family of the couple I worked for. My sister had kept her distance for a long time, but we slowly began to communicate again. My heart thrilled every time I got a text message from her; I lived for Skype conversations with my little nieces. I had not seen them since leaving Washington, and I had not seen my sister since rehab. I could not go to Washington, but my hope was that they would one day decide to visit us in New Mexico.

  In my free time, which by choice was not much, I tried to learn how to play guitar. However, the meth had messed with my brain and my retention was pretty poor. I often found myself just trying to make pretty sounds.

  I spent a lot of time with my dog Bella and Tater, my brand-new mastiff puppy. Life was simple and quiet and I liked it that way.

  On Sundays, my one day off, I developed a ritual with my mom. In the mornings, we would drive out to a coffee shop on the west side and then take a drive through the gorgeous valley and talk about the week. We would text my sister and compare this Sunday’s coffee to the last week’s and have a great time. Then we would come home and go our separate ways. I would try to do something productive but would often end up wandering around the house, starting small projects that I would never finish. Later, we would grab Mimi and have a wonderful lunch somewhere, usually at Little Anita’s because it was Mimi’s favorite. We would talk about the past week, what was new in the art world and with the family, and what was going on in my job.

  What I was most proud of was that with my job I was able to support my mom. Since she was able to stay home and work on her artwork full-time, I could finally help her live out her dream. On hard days, the thought that I could give back to my family got me through. I started to find my way back to who I always believed I was in my heart. It was a long journey and not easy.

  I started uncovering new layers of emotions in therapy. It was almost easier when I was in prison and when I had just been released because then I was just trying to get through my day, function, do what I had to do to meet my probation requirements. Now, as I worked more on the PTSD, my mind constantly returned to the past. Sometimes I felt my days were just logged hours waiting for the nights.

  The guilt at times was crippling, paralyzing, and I spent a lot of time thinking about my friends, wondering what they were doing and how they were doing. Staying busy seemed to be the only thing to combat my racing thoughts while I worked in therapy to ease the guilt and pain of what I had done. The PTSD was wearing. I tried to accept my PTSD for what it was. I found that if I got my hopes up for a little improvement or a new medication, the disappointment was almost too much to bear. I started focusing mostly on how to live with it. When my therapist introduced me to eye movement desensitization and reprocessing (EMDR) therapy, often used to treat Iraq vets and other victims of PTSD, I got excited at first. I mistakenly thought it erased your memories, but it merely teaches you how to live with them.

  Despite the PTSD, I still found myself having meth cravings. They pissed me off more than scared me, but the cravings still haunted me. I could go months without having dreams of using and then suddenly notice how healthy my veins looked. That always led to a craving.

  My old thoughts of making amends, of rectifying my past faded a bit. I wanted to apologize to everyone I’d hurt, but I didn’t feel I had the right to enter their lives and selfishly apologize. The more I faced my past in therapy, the more I realized my actions inflicted irrevocable pain and damage not only on those I loved but also on myself. Each day, making the right choices, working hard but finding balance, seemed like the only option for me.

  I began to feel youthful again. I had felt so old in rehab and in prison, and my bones always hurt, but now I was excited about my future and what it might hold. I was thinking about taking college classes or starting my own business. Under the terms of my parole, I couldn’t leave Albuquerque’s Bernalillo County for three more years, but after that I was hoping to travel.

  Despite my progress, the sacrifices I made for drugs are everlasting. The memories I have of that house are everlasting. If I could have gotten a lobotomy or some sort of procedure to take them away, I would have. But I couldn’t. I could only learn to live with them.

  What occurred in that house scarred me so deeply that some days breathing seemed impossible. Had I been sober and had any sort of clarity when I was there, I wouldn’t have survived. The mental pain would have eaten my body to death. The meth gave me a false sense of reality, masking the truth and keeping me alive until it almost killed me. The dealer stole my life, tattooed my mind with memories that I could not remove.

  I was happy for my second chance. It taught me that everything is a survivable situation. I lost myself fully, yet even now I have a chance at a life.

  Still, I miss my life on Maui. I miss my job, the work, my supervisors. I miss the adrenaline, I miss my desk, and I miss composing affidavits and warrants, of all things. I miss the investigation, trying to figure out the drug lines, the imports and exports, where the dope is hidden. I miss the technology and the surveillance. I miss the laughs at the station, the inappropriate dirty jokes and profane emails. I miss feeling at home in an all-male environment, when I didn’t despise men and think of lighting them on fire or stabbing them to death. I miss cleaning my firearms, I miss the radio, the constant chatter of the patrolmen working the beat. I miss learning the new laws, the techniques, the slang, and latest narcotics news. I miss the integrity I used to have. I miss the friendships.

  I know I threw all these things away the day I did that first line of ice, when I didn’t even know that I should smoke it or how to smoke it. And like anyone who has cast their lot in life, who has made choices—by which I guess I mean any human being—I have had to learn to live with them. I’ve learned to get up each morning, go to work, look forward to Sunday coffees with my mom and walks with my dogs and precious phone conversations with my sister and the particular way the wide New Mexico sky gives me room to move forward in my life.

  I often think of the words Sergeant Mankell, my recruit school combat instructor, wrote to me in a letter on the day of graduation:

  You have the heart of a lion, and you never quit.

  You acknowledged your pain, but did not indulge it.

  You are gentle and humble, yet sharp as a sword.

  You remained generous in all that I have seen you do.

  You are a warrior.

  On my best days, I believe those words still apply.

  I never intended to be a cop.

  I never imagined I’d be an addict.

  By thirty years old, I had been both.

  Acknowledgments

  Allison Moore

  I would like to express my gratitude to the many people who saw me through this book, past to present.

  To my aunt Stella Krauss, without whom this book would not have been written: thank you for your endless support, careful attention, and humor.

  I’d like to thank Nancy Woodruff, whose patience, hard work, love, and understanding have forever changed my life.

  I would also like to thank Jason Anthony and Maria Massie at Lippincott Massie McQuilkin and Stacy Creamer and Miya Kumangai at Touchstone for their help in creating, editing, and publishing this book.

  My deepest appreciation goes to Daniel Clothier, Ed Curran, Ti, Dr. Ritchie, Mike, Steve, Shelly, Nicole, and the entire staff at Vista Taos Renewal Center. Without your dedication and commitment, I would not be here today.

  To Andrew Martin, Robert Rivera, and Charles Fisher: thank you so much for your help and patience.

  Thank you to Dr. Laura M. Sturgis.

  To Dr. Jane Bloomfield: thank you for believing in me and being the absolute catalyst for this journey. To Leslie Lindquist: thank you for your countless hours of counseling and support and friendship.

  Thank you to Lynn Hopkins. I couldn’t have gotten this far without you.

  To Carolyn Mason: thank you for giving me critical opportunities, s
upport, faith, and encouragement. You have been my lifeline. To Bill C. Carroll: thank you for believing in me.

  To Kristy Anderson: thank you for being unwavering in your support.

  Sonia Grace: thank you for always reminding me of my greater purpose.

  To Mrs. Francelynn Lum and Lydia Hockridge: thank you for all your help, guidance, and encouragement.

  To Kathy Hall, LISW, and Jered Ebenrek, words can’t express my thoughts: thank you.

  Thank you to Honorable Judge R. Bissen: your words at sentencing continue to follow me daily.

  Billy: thank you for sharing your joy and your outrageous laugh.

  Dawn Freeze: thank you for being so accepting and such a supportive friend from the beginning.

  To the Maui Police Department and all of the people I love, to those I hurt and those who were victimized by my actions: thank you for taking me into your family, for giving me your unconditional love, and for providing me with opportunities that I could not have imagined in my wildest dreams. I am deeply sorry. I think of you often, my Hawaiian family, and not a moment goes by that I do not miss you all.

  To Detective Kaya, Detective Juan, Detective Dodds, and Sergeant Sagawinit: thank you for your compassion. You are my heroes. To my two closest friends at MPD: thank you for your friendship and love.

  Above all, I would like to thank my courageous grandmother Billie/Mimi, Uncle Rick, Uncle Toby, Aunt Alison, Uncle Kurt, Uncle Bud, and Aunt Liz, who supported me through grinding financial demands as well as carried me emotionally and physically through seemingly endless challenges. Also, thanks to Uncle Jay, Aunt Rosie, my dear cousins, and extended family for their strength, their belief in me, their unconditional love, and for supporting and encouraging me despite the hurt I inflicted upon them. It has been and continues to be a long and difficult journey for them.

  To my incredible mother: your heart drives me to be a better person. You are a daughter’s greatest gift. Thank you.

  To my sister: your love fuels my passion for life, your courage and support remain my anchor as well as my guiding light. For my brother-in-law, who helped and supported me even during the worst of times and forgave me for causing them: you inspire me. Thank you.

  I would also like to say a special thank-you to my cousin Ryan. May his spirit continue to shine for all of us who struggle and help remind us that there is hope.

  My apologies to anyone I may have failed to mention. Every person has been vital and key to my being here today. I want you to know I will always hold you dear to my heart. Thank you all.

  Nancy Woodruff

  All thanks for this book begin with Stella Krauss, former roommate and traveling companion, who introduced me to Alli’s story and then to Alli. Heartfelt thanks also go to Jason Anthony and Maria Massie for immediately recognizing that Alli’s story needed to be told and for helping in every way possible to make that happen. Charlotte and Phil Reavis, my aunt and uncle, offered wonderful hospitality during my research visit to Hawaii, and Alli’s family and friends welcomed me as one of their own during my trip to New Mexico. My stalwart writer friends Sara Eckel, Renee Bacher, Anne Korkeakivi, and Camilla Trinchieri gave me sound advice and support throughout the writing of this book, and Fred Carl was instrumental in helping obtain important court records. Stacy Creamer and Miya Kumangai at Touchstone are gifted publishing professionals and a pleasure to work with. My family—Mark, Sage, Reed, and Owen Lancaster—always cared and always listened. Finally, I thank Allison Moore for sharing her story with me; Alli, working with you was an unexpected and remarkable gift, and your friendship and trust have enriched my life immeasurably.

  © KYLE ZIMMERMAN PHOTOGRAPHY, INC. / NOEL DALTON, THE VANITY

  ALLISON MOORE is a former narcotics officer with the Maui Police Department. A native of New Mexico, she served a one-year sentence in the Federal Detention Center in Oahu for drug-related felonies. She is currently attempting to make amends to all those she has hurt and find her way back to life.

  NANCY WOODRUFF received her MFA from Columbia University, and she has taught writing at Columbia; SUNY Purchase; Richmond, the American International University in London; and New York University. She is the author of two novels, My Wife’s Affair and Someone Else’s Child. She currently lives in Brooklyn with her husband, sons, and daughter. Visit her at nancywoodruff.com.

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  Copyright © 2014 by Allison Moore with Nancy Woodruff

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Touchstone Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020.

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  First Touchstone hardcover edition April 2014

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  Interior design by Akasha Archer

  Jacket design by Catherine Casalino

  Jacket photograph © Radius Images/Alamy

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Moore, Allison, 1981–

  Shards / Allison Moore with Nancy Woodruff.

  pages cm

  “A Touchstone book.”

  1. Moore, Allison, 1981– 2. Police—Hawaii—Maui—Biography. 3. Vice control—Hawaii—Maui. 4. Police—Drug use—Hawaii—Maui. I. Title.

  HV7911.M647A3 2014

  363.2092—dc23

  [B]

  2013026028

  ISBN 978-1-4516-9635-6

  ISBN 978-1-4516-9637-0 (ebook)