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absolute adventure.
    I had found my one true love, or so I thought, convincing myself and that the dream was our lives would never end. He was happy as long as he was the center of my world. I gave Barry everything, my time, my love and my body. I believed in him, and I dreamed of the day when he would propose and my life would be perfect.
    Barry supported my delusions. He was a master at making me feel like the most desired woman in the world. We spoke of true love, of marriage and of running away together. This was my first experience with being swept off my feet by a man. It wouldn't be my last but it was the benchmark for future encounters.
    Soon, I was spending Barry’s money for him, and he loved it.
    It was a whirlwind, and toxic. We did everything in excess. That should have been a red flag for me. Instead I made excuses when things didn't seem or feel right. I wanted the romance with Barry to last forever.
    If we got married, I wouldn’t have to work, I’d focus on college and he would pay for it. Or even better, I didn’t have to go to college because we would always have resources. Thoughts would race through my mind, and I felt blessed beyond reason.
    Then came the day when what Barry and I were finished. The way it ended was something I could never have foreseen or even imagined. It was so far removed from the man that I thought I knew. As it turns out, I didn't know him at all. The smooth operator and flashy lifestyle that made me fall for him were the very things that tore us apart.
    Barry was a fraud!

CHAPTER 7: Probation and Club Tibet
    “Liberalism, above all, means emancipation—emancipation from one's fears, his inadequacies, from prejudice, from discrimination, from poverty.”
    ~ Hubert H. Humphrey ~
    I enjoyed a lot of good times with Barry, my African prince while I still believed everything was real.
    We hired a rental car while out in Florida on one of our lavish trips and I was driving back to the hotel to meet him with a few bottles of alcohol. Suddenly blue and red lights flickered behind me, and the threatening whoop of the police siren told me to pull over. I did.
    In my mind I was just another citizen on the roads, trying to make my way back to the man I loved. Why were they bothering me? A burly, bearded police officer took one look at the alcohol on the front seat and asked me to get out of the car. “Why?” I asked, not sure of my rights. Could they treat me this way without cause?
    “Miss, get out of the vehicle,” the bearded officer repeated. He didn’t have a friendly face. “Keep your hands where I can see them. Move slowly. We are going to search your vehicle.”
    “What do you mean search my car? What is this about? Why did you pull me over?”
    My teenage mind had not grasped the concept of racial profiling just yet, and I refused to get out.
    He yanked the door open and grabbed my arm to pull me out. Outraged, I yelled a profanity... a big mistake. He handcuffed me while the other policeman searched the car.
    They found nothing, but this only made me protest even more. My big mouth! I should have held my tongue. They pushed me into the police car and took me back to the station, charged with obstruction of justice and driving without a driver’s license. The charges were trumped up – it was my mouth and my color that had landed me in the cell. I’d forgotten my driver’s license in a different hand-bag back at the hotel.
    It was terrifying in that crowded holding cell, with its windowless walls, stained mattress and faint reek of vomit and urine. Unless I could raise bail money, I would get transferred to the women’s annex prison with real criminals.
    I contemplated calling my father, but discarded that idea.
    “Why do you need bail money?” he would say. “You got yourself in there. I didn't send you! There is a place to sleep, food, and facilities. Your problem, it’s like a hotel in there.”
    Or worse, he would help me, depleting his savings to take me