34 comments/ 19710 views/ 8 favorites One For the Road Ch. 02 By: Vanadorn Ok, Chapter 2 here. I want to thank everyone for their comments and feedback. Please, do so and often. The first Chapter was longer than I expected, over 18k words, which made it larger than I would like in a single sitting but I kept it going until I came to a place that seemed to make sense to break it. This one is shorter at 14k words. A brief comment, alcoholism affects everyone sort of similar but not the same, so not every person has an identical experience. This is Jimmy's experiences and it might be similar or differ in places. That's ok, it doesn't mean that one is right or wrong, just that the situations are specific to each person who had to live through it. Like a great writer once said: Write what you know. So that's what this is, me writing what I know. There will be no RPG enemas or ex-Navy Seal snipering or simpering at your mistress's feet or cum filled ranch salad dressing. This is as close to reality as I could get it and still tell the story. Enjoy! -V I awoke the next day in a bit of a daze. My mouth felt scratchy and I couldn't swallow for some reason. I went to sit up and a stab of pain hit me behind the eyes, causing a flash of light to momentarily blind me. "Fuck," I groaned, the sound of my voice echoed like gravel on a tin roof. When I was able to reduce the pounding in my head to a low roar I made the attempt to sit up again, my gut doing somersaults as the room seemed to spin crazily. My balance slipped from me and I ended up sliding off the edge of the bed to land on the floor. The jarring caused me to clench my teeth together, spittle flying between my lips and dripping down my chest. My gorge made its way up my throat like a salmon swimming upstream, slowing down somewhere between my neck and my wildly beating heart. I panted, hoping like hell I wouldn't puke, rolled onto my face and pushed myself to a crawling position. "Myra?" I groaned questioningly, the house was so quiet. No one answered. "Uhhh," I moaned, forcing one knee forward and then one hand, shuffling across the floor in tiny steps and fits, making my way to the hall and towards the bathroom. "Myra?" I called again. No answer. I made it to the threshold and the bathroom tile felt cool to my fevered hands and knees. There it was, gleaming off white porcelain; beckoning me to come to it with the promise of support. "Come on, Jimmy-boy," the toilet said. "Let me help you." Um...the fucking toilet is talking to me. What the fuck? "Myra!" I tried to call again, a bit louder. No one answered. Except the toilet. "She's out. With the boys. At her mom's." I stopped crawling, looking at the lid. "Are you...are you talking to me?" Nothing happened. I waited, playing possum with the toilet. Again, nothing happened. Tentatively I continued my quest into the bathroom, making it to the toilet. I lifted the lid, wondering if it was going to say, "Ahhhh." Nothing. I hunched over the rim, staring down into the clear water, seeing my shadowy rippling face reflected back up at me. And then I let my gut roil freely and puked. Let's just leave it that I didn't see my face anymore. Once I was feeling better and my lungs were no longer on fire, I pulled myself upright and washed my face in the sink. Again and again I cupped my hands under the water and rubbed it across my skin. I drank a little, swished it around, and spat my mouth clean. Face, neck, mouth, face, neck, mouth, scalp, face, neck, mouth. Once finished I pushed myself higher and caught a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror. Fucking shit, Jimmy. You look like serious fucking shit. I ran my fingers through my hair, pushing it away from my face, even my follicles hurt. "Aspirin," I told the hungover fucker staring back at me, opening the vanity and popping two and then two more. I flushed the toilet after I glanced over at it, making a disgusted face as I did so. Feeling up to the task, I staggered out of the bathroom and made my way to the kitchen to get something to eat. "Holy. Fucking. Shit." I stood there in shock at the wreckage that was our kitchen. The cabinets were trashed, four of them had the doors busted in and one of them was barely hanging on, tilted crazily away from the wall. Dishes, glasses, mugs, bottles, jars, everything that was in every cabinet was in piles all across the floor. The coffee pot had been hurled into the sink, shard of busted black plastic radiating out like an impact crater. One of the four kitchen chairs had been hurled through the wall, two of the legs stuck in the sheet rock, the chair hovering three feet off the ground. "Holy shit, Jimmy," I couldn't even figure out how to walk into the place, fearful that I would slice my feet open. "What the fuck did you do, man?" The thing that made me feel the worst was seeing John's plastic yellow and red Elmo cereal bowl smashed to splinters under the trash that used to be our silverware drawer. "Dick," I told myself. "You're a fucking dick." I went back the bedroom where I got dressed including my work boots. From there I wandered out to the garage and grabbed my shop vac, a pair of gloves, and my snow shovel. I returned to the site of the destruction and just shook my head, cursing my own stupidity. I went to the phone and called Tim's number. It rang three times before he answered sleepily, "H'lo?" "Tim? Jim Skelly. You got wheels?" "Jimmy? Yeah, I got wheels? Why? We going out?" "No, man. I need your help, man. Come to my house, bring work gloves." "Sure, man. I'll be there in an hour or less." He sounded more awake. "You, ok?" "No, Tim. Not really." I steeled myself, taking a deeper breath. "Just come over, you'll see when you get here." I hung up and then called Jerry (on his way, please leave Grace at home), Brian (be there by 11, don't worry pal), my pop (what the fuck did you do Jimmy? I'll be there and I'm bringing your mother), and I even reached out to Scott (dude, Patchogue or not, I'm coming over now). The calls out of the way, I opened the front door and then began to clean the kitchen, one shovelful at a time. Over the next hour my friends and family showed up and jumped in to help. They took my appearance and reluctance to talk in stride until we had every broken piece of glass off the floor and the countertops cleaned and clear. Tim and Brian held the cabinets in place while Jerry and I worked on screwing them back where they belonged. Scott was fixing the drawer fronts and my mom and pop kept running out to the local Home Depot to bring me whatever we needed. Every time someone tried to engage me in conversation I clammed up and just kept saying, "It's my fault. Let's get it fixed please." Finally, everything that could be done was done. I called Luigi's and had them deliver three pizzas and asked them to drop off a dozen paper plates and cups as well. The food came and my helpers sat and ate with me, the conversation stilted and clumsy at best. It was my pop who broke the ice. "Ok, Jimmy. Time's up. What the fuck happened? The place looked like a bomb hit it and Myra and my grandsons ain't here." I sighed. "Myra took the boys to Stephanie's for the weekend, pop." "Why for? Did you do this shit when she was here?" his face was growing red as the thought of me wrecking the house in front of my wife and kids. I held my hands up and looked at with a sneer. "Not a fucking chance, pop. Myra skedaddled because she said I was drinking too much." Tim laughed. "Is that even a thing?" Jerry gave me a measured look. "Listen, Jimmy, I don't see you nearly as much, but I have to admit, that doesn't seem like you." "Sure you pound down the beers," Brian added, "but you've always been like that." "Well, what the hell do your boys know?" my mom asked, hands on her hips. "Are you in Myra's head? You just said you aren't here as much, so how the hell do you know?" She looked at me, green eyes piercing. "Well, Jimmy? Do you drink a lot?" "No, Mom. No more than usual." "I can vouch for him, Mrs. S," Tim chimed in, hand covering his heart. "Scout's honor, he don't drink more than he usually did and he's often the most sober." "Tim, you ain't now nor ever been no fucking scout," said my pop, scowling as he folded his hands over his prodigious gut. "Stop being a pussy, Jimmy. You drinking more than usual?" "I don't think so, pop. I swear it." "Well, Myra apparently thinks so." "Jimmy," my mother began, "Do you drink in the morning before work?" "Sometimes. Not always, maybe if I had a really bad night sleep, I guess." "Uh-huh. Do you drink when you get home?" "Well yeah, best was to wrap up a day is to have a beer or two. There isn't a rule or law that says a man can't have a beer at the end of a hard day? What is this, Iran?" "Don't sass your mom," my pop growled. "So you drink a beer in the morn and at the end of the day. Terrific," he scowled. "You sound like my brother, Patrick. That fucking loser." "Hey, Pop, that's bullshit. Patrick is a god damned alcoholic." "Why," quipped Tim, "does he go to meetings?" Scott reached over and gave Tim a rap on the back of the head. "Dude, make believe you have a fucking brain and shut the fuck up, Ok?" My mom gave everyone a withering stare. "Listen. Jimmy lives here with Myra and if she feels there's a problem, then it's up to Jimmy to fix it with Myra. She thinks you drink too much, then you decide if you want to work with your wife and do the right thing, or not work with your wife and upset her and get your mother seriously pissed at you." "Jimmy," my pop pointed his thumb back at the kitchen walls, "How'd the house get fucked up?" I frowned, screwing up my forehead to come up with a proper answer. "When she said she was leaving I was just so angry. I was like, what the fuck you mean you're leaving, but I couldn't say it because I was stunned that she was going because of a few beers. So when she was gone I sort of snapped and trashed the kitchen. But it's funny, because I don't remember actually trashing it." "Jesus, son." I nodded. "I know, tell me about it. So apparently I lose my shit and destroy every fucking dish and glass and whatever we own and then I proceed to get fucking wasted and sleep until almost 10." My breath was choking in my throat. "And Myra's gonna be home Sunday afternoon I hope and I can't let her know what a fucking dick I am and how much I fucked things up. I mean, she asked me to stop drinking and cut back and I fucked that up in a single day and then wasted our kitchen and got so fucking drunk afterwards I don't remember doing it." "Jimmy-boy, we're your friends, man." Jerry reached over and gave me a clap on the shoulder. "We'll get the place fixed up and we'll help you with this, man. You just have to want to do it. All the help don't mean crap if you don't want the help." "I can't tell you how much I need the help, Jerry." Brian stood up. "Listen, let me run home, I know we got some left over glasses and shit we haven't even gotten around to using. They're yours if you want 'em." "Dude," Tim said, hands in his pockets. "I know we're tight but I don't got nothing to give you. What I can do though is get that beer out of your garage. It's better'n it being here." My friends and family each offered what help and support they could, new dishes, glasses, a trip to Pathmark (I didn't want anyone from Myra's Stop and Shop to see my parents go in and buy a bunch of shit for the house and somehow it get back to her) for supplies, a couple of simple plywood cabinet fronts and a can of stain soon followed as well. By 4 that afternoon we were pretty much done. The kitchen didn't look exactly the same (no shit!) and there were some holes in the stacks of dishes and bowls that we didn't have before, but there was enough there that my family and I could live normally and not be forced to eat on Dixie cups and folded pizza boxes. After my buddies had left to return to their homes, my undying thanks and appreciation heaped upon their heads as they drove away, my pop and mom sat me down at the kitchen table and started in on me. "Jimmy. Everyone gets one. This was yours." I looked at my pop in disgust. "You think I planned on this? You think I liked asking for help? You think I want to do this shit again?" He shook his head. "I know it's not in your plan, you stubborn fuck. No one plans on this shit. But remember what you've gone through here, remember how you felt this morning and maybe next time you'll realize what you have to lose and you won't trash the fucking place and then drink until you pass out." "Jimmy, we love you," my mom laid her hand on my forearm, squeezing it. "That's all we're saying. We love you and want to help. We love Myra and the boys and want you all to have a happy life. But we can't be here; you're your own person and you have to make the decisions that will affect everyone around you." "So what happens if I need you guys? What happens if I need some help?" My pop frowned. "If it's the bullshit we came over to fix, then rest assured it won't. That's just it." "Son, search your heart. Is there any truth to Myra worrying about your drinking?" I thought about the hidden empties, the lying, the strange grey-outs and difficulty in remembering. My boss, drinking outside 7-11, the damned toilet talking to me this morning. I didn't really think I was a drunk, not when compared to real drunks. But there was something going on and I had to be honest with myself. "I don't know, mom. Maybe. It hasn't gotten out of control or anything, and I am sure that it's not that big of a deal; but I have to admit, Myra may have a point." "Jesus, Jimmy. My brother is a fucking alcoholic. He's a glass of whiskey away from his liver flipping him the bird and dying on him. He was like you when he was younger, full of shit and piss and vinegar. Ready for a fight and thinking he was everything. Stupid red-haired son of a bitch thought nothing of drinking his fucking life away until one day he realized he had no fucking life. You want to be like Patrick? He's my brother and I love him to death, but I can also tell when it's gone too far. And Patrick went too fucking far years ago." My pop leaned back in the chair, lacing his fingers across the bulging expanse of his gut, eyeing me with a critical gaze. "So we have my brother, has no wife, no kids, thank the lord for that little gem, no real job, on the government tit, jaundice five days out of nine, and he's gotten so fucking desperate sometimes he goes to the dive bars and bums drinks and smokes and sucks down half finished beers when no one is looking. Sweet Jesus, I got a fucking call two months ago to pick him up from fucking Yaphank because he got arrested for his problem!" "That ain't me, pop." "No. It isn't. But unless you learn something from all this shit, it's going to be. My brother might be a fucking drunk, but I'll be damned if my son is going to be one too." "Shane, enough." My mom gave my pop a deep glower that I recalled growing up meant the next word out of my mouth was going to get me a rap on the ear. Apparently my pop remembered it as well as he shrugged his shoulders and crossed his ankles as if his point was finished. Happy that he was listening, my mom turned back to me and continued. "Jimmy, if you think you might have a problem, you can go talk to someone." "Who, mom? AA meetings at the library? Is that going to help?" "I don't know enough about it to tell you, but I was thinking more of someplace like therapy? Your Aunt Sharon received some very good help with an outpatient program from some place in Suffolk. She had to meet there every day for a few hours and they really worked on her, but she did get better." My pop chuckled. "Yeah, for about six months until she fell off the wagon at Penny's wedding." "Shane, at least she tried. What did Patrick ever do except steal $50 from your wallet when he came over on St. Patrick's Day dinner?" "You know I never got that back either?" "Mom, I can't exactly truck out to Suffolk or anywhere for three or four hours every night; I'd never see my wife or boys. And Myra's got to work so that's not fair to her. We need every nickel coming in just to stay above water." "You should have enrolled in that technical school for the auto repair like I told you." "Pop, I love cars, I love driving them. I'm not so good at fixing them." "So humping lumber on a forklift is your fucking dream job then?" My temper was always a god damned yo-yo when my father was involved. "It's a good job for now. I've got plans." "You plans have been real bang up as of late, Jimmy." "Jimmy," my mom interrupted, "It's never too late to change. And if you need to take some time off from work to get some help, it would be worth it. Don't you and Myra have any money left from grandpa?" I shook my head no and thought back. My mom's dad, Grandpa Connell, had lived a pretty rough life. He came over here when he was eight in the 1950's. Ireland was pretty fucked up then. Struggling economically and every family that could afford to leave the country did so. A number of them settled in Hempstead along with most every other Mick who immigrated at that time; something like 40% of the town was Irish by the end of the 50's. One of the things he did right though was save every nickel he could make. He was a cheap old cuss, always complaining at the waste of money everyone spent. His house was cold in the winter, warm in summer, and he was proud of his damned tomato garden. He was the master of bartering and could out talk any fish merchant on the docks without trying. He had an intrinsic knowledge of how people worked and was able to act as the go between for so many dissimilar people who would never have met normally, that he was jokingly referred to as the "Irish Godfather". He passed away four years ago at 68, after suffering from cancer. Refused to give up smoking and lived with the pain until he couldn't walk or move anymore. He couldn't have weighed more than 130 lbs when he finally went. But Grandpa Connell surprised just about everyone that he died with a bit of a fortune under his name in property and weird investments. When it was over and the lawyers had taken their piece, Grandma Rose divided up a large chunk of his money amongst his kids and grandkids – a total of 8 of us who each got just over fifty-thousand dollars. John had just been born and Myra was going to have Joel any week and we knew we wanted a place to live other than the apartment we were barely existing in. So we hunted around for places not too far from either my parents or hers and settled here in the not so nice section of Wantagh. We ended up getting the house off foreclosure from the bank and it was a dump. We had to give them about $20k up front but the housing crisis was in full swing so the bank was desperate to make a deal. Our mortgage and taxes were just around $1,300 a month but we had a home. As for the rest of it, I looked out the front window to my Charger in the driveway. Gleaming and polished to a luminescent red, each metal and rubber surface lovingly washed and waxed by yours truly. I had always wanted one after seeing them tearing up and down Meadowbrook Parkway, the vehicles seemed to be leaning into the road as if they were eating the pavement. So I went down with the left over money and put most of it on a new (at that time) 2010 Dodge Charger and drove it away. I know Grandpa Connell would not have approved of my decision and neither did Myra when I pulled into the driveway with it. We fought for over a month about the damned car but I was able to convince her it was a good choice since my Honda Civic that I had at that time was no longer costing us in repairs and I didn't have a car payment since we owned it outright. One For the Road Ch. 02 The last three thousand or so that remained in the savings account slowly disappeared over the years; spent on diapers, formula, new tires for her Sedona, boots, shoes, and just about any other emergency a young couple faces every month. "No, mom. We're pretty much living check to check at this point." My father pushed himself to a sitting position and then stood with lumbering slowness. "Well, now that you're not going to buy fucking beer anymore you'll have some extra money in the house." "Shane, I said enough." My mom gave me a hug, patting my back. "You have to take care of yourself, Jimmy. Myra and the boys need you. We love you, son." "Thanks, mom." "Listen," my pop leaned in close, hand on my shoulder. "You do the right thing. Think for a fucking change, okay? Don't be like my pig of a brother." He squeezed tight, making his point before backing away with a follow up clap. "You do right by your wife and kids. They're the better part of you Jimmy." I watched them leave from the front door until I was alone again with just my thoughts and the quiet, empty house. Every time I walked into the kitchen I was filled with shame and walked back out again, not even eating dinner because I just felt dirty being in there. By eight that night I was pretty wiped out. I was tired, like a bone weary tired. It was an ache from the soles of my feet and up through my calves. I turned on the TV twice and shut it off again after only a few minutes. "What is it, Jimmy?" I asked myself, reclining back on the side of the couch, feet up on the opposite end. What was going on in my head? Why was I so afraid? I'm not the kind of guy who gets afraid, but here I am, alone in my house and feeling my stomach clenching up and an itch in the back of my throat. I think that's what was really spooking me. That itch. That pervasive itch that was tickling the end of my tongue. It was prickly and cottony and feeling scratchy and thick. And I knew it well because I had been squashing that itch every day for a long time. "Fucking shit." I climbed up from the couch and opened the garage door, just looking at the pantry wall to make sure Tim took the cases of Bud Light away. He did. "Good," I said noncommittally. "Good it's gone." I clicked off the garage light and went back into the TV room. Next to the hall closet was a small cabinet that we usually kept a couple bottles of wine and maybe some of the harder stuff. "Wonder if Tim took those away as well." I wasn't going to have any, I just was curious. So when I opened the cabinet door and saw nothing except for a half package of blue Solo cups, it was with jittery elation that I shut it back up. "Good thinking, Tim. Get that shit out of here." By the time 10:30 rolled around I was a fucking mess. I took a shower as hot as the water heater could get it, and then I had to cool down it felt like I was dying from a fever. So I blasted the cold water on my skin, my chest and face and crotch taking the full blast. I just couldn't get comfortable, my body was having a bitch of a time regulating itself. Pissed off more than bothered, I killed the water and rubbed myself dry, padding naked to the bedroom where I flopped back on the bed; staring blankly at the ceiling. Idly I reached over and grabbed Myra's pillow, tilting it towards my face where I breathed in the faint scent of her hair. Fucking shit, Myra. I am so fucking sorry. I am so sorry, babes. I hugged her pillow tighter to my face, the downy softness encasing my nose and mouth, my heart beating fast and erratically. My free hand reached down to check on Little Jimmy, giving my balls a brief squeeze and readjustment. I frowned. Nice, not even a twitch. Feeling finished with the whole fucking day I rolled over and closed my eyes, allowing myself to finally fall asleep. When I awoke the next day I had no idea what time it was. Sunlight was streaming through the window and I had to fumble behind the nightstand to find the alarm clock. 11:53. Fucking crap, I slept away the fucking day. I got up, expecting the feel rejuvenated after a long night in bed but instead it was just the opposite. I was so fucking bone weary tired. I took a piss and then went looking for something to eat, surprised at the different foods I would normally find in the fridge. "Whoa, thanks mom," I said pulling out a package of bacon. How long has it been since you had bacon in the house Jimmy? Eventually the smell of the cooking meat filled the room at the same time my bread was finished in the toaster over. Some mayo, a tomato and lettuce, and I had a nice BLT as my first meal on the new (at least for us) plates. God damned, that was good. I washed everything up and then took some time out to clean the rest of the house. No reason for Myra to come home to a fucking mess. Ok, laundry ain't my strong point. I folded the clothes for both the boys as well as Myra's and my own and it didn't look anything like when she did it. But it was clean and folded in half and put in the drawers so I know that had to count for something. Then I went outside and fucked around with the mower until it coughed to life. I mowed the grass, weeds, and leaves in the front and the back. Everything on the ground got chewed up and mowed flat. If the pile of leaves was too tall, I marched that mower back and forth over the pile until there wasn't a whole leaf left; just a brown and orange confetti looking mixture that I hoped would blow away during the night. Around 3 I hopped in my baby and took a drive to the local convenience store to grab myself a fountain soda. The Arabian looking guy behind the counter barely looked up as I walked in, his eyes fixated on some soccer match on the tiny 9" TV he had next to the register. I filled up a cup with ice and Pepsi and when to go ring myself out when I stopped in front of the Coors display. Gleaming silver, bold distinctive writing, and I knew it was filled with the Rocky Mountain amber liquid in 12 different distinctive cans. Sure it might be barely under room temperature now, but an hour in the fridge and it would be good to go. I grabbed one of the 12-packs and had to look at the back of hand as if it personally betrayed me. Jimmy, what the fuck are you doing? Are you serious? What about Myra and the boys? Well shit, I've had a rough weekend and I deserve a beer or two. You've had a shit weekend because you drink too many fucking beers. Hey, I'm fucking sweating here after working outside. It's just a fucking beer. I could feel the beads of moisture moving slowly down my forehead. If you're hot and thirsty, you have a god damned soda. Drink that you stupid drunk fuck. I'm not a fucking drunk. Really? Fucking prove it you shit. Walk away. My hand remained just over the cardboard handle. Hey, Jimmy. WALK...THE FUCK...AWAY! "Alright!" I exclaimed, pulling my hand back as if it was burned, whirling towards the counter. From the looks of the few people in the store it was obvious I had made my affirmation not only out loud, but with some volume. "Sorry," I muttered, handing the clerk two crumpled ones from my wallet. "Rough day." The guy nodded, giving me my change and probably hoping that I would just leave his fucking store and shut the fuck up. Well, I gave him what I assume he wanted and climbed back into my baby for the ride home. Once at home I went outside to skip rope some more, this making it to 215 before letting it slow down and drape across my feet. I followed it up with some push-ups just to keep my mind sharp and my body honed... Holy fuck, do I want a beer. I dropped to the ground, my face in the dying dry grass, my toes splayed, my elbows pointing out. I never realized how much I wanted a beer until I was physically trying to NOT have a beer. This was harder than anything I had thought I ever had to do before, and I felt so terrible that I wouldn't be able to keep it up. I pushed myself upright and staggered into the house where I sat on the love seat and stared out the front door, my mind blank and my thoughts incomplete. I remained like that until I dimly heard the sounds of slamming car doors and tell tale yells of my sons. My sons. I burst from the love seat at the same time the screen door flew open and John and Joel charged into the house. "Dad! Dad! We missed you!!" They each hit me like a pair of shots to my heart and it suddenly crystallized for me. This was the reason I had to stop drinking. These were my focus to keep my hands off the beer. Two young boys who I loved dearly, grasping at me in their frenzied hugs and laughing uproariously at their much anticipated reunion. "The yard looks good." I looked up, my eyes irritated by something, maybe dust and cat hair, who knows, but I blinked away my tears and saw Myra standing there with her bag in her hand and sort of lost. My wife, looking like something was going to be wrong. Like I was a stranger, someone to be wary of. My Myra, uncomfortable to be home and with me. Not a fucking chance. I stood up, lifting my sons with me in each arm, and swept the three of us to the love of my life where I put the boys down and we all fell into each other's arms and cried our eyes out. "Oh, babes. I missed you. I missed you and the J's so much. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Please don't leave, babes." "Jimmy. James! We all missed you too. I love you." "We love you Dad!" "We love you Mom!" We stood there in the doorway just hugging and happy to be back together, the broken wounds in our hearts and family fixed and healed after a terrible weekend apart. When she looked up at me with tear streaked cheeks I wanted to punch the mother fucker who made her cry and knew I would have to punch the fuck out of myself. She quivered as she hugged me until we all grew weary and our tears turned to laughter and giggles, the emotions running rampant through us like wind across a field. Finally we were spent, and for myself, somewhat energized. "Hey, babes. J's. Let me bring in your bags and I want to hear all about your weekend at Stephanie's. Leave nothing out, I want to hear it all, ok?" "You got it, Dad!" "I'm gonna watch TV until we talk." "I'm gonna go watch it with John-Boy, Dad." As the two of them flipped on the TV, I gave Myra a soul searching look and tilted my head down towards hers. "I wanted to let you know that I love you Myra Skelly." I leaned a bit further and kissed her on the forehead. She glanced at me, searching plaintively. "James? Did you drink anything today? You are acting off. Very affectionate and I love you for it, but just off." I glanced at the boys and they were engrossed in their show. I took Myra's hand and we walked out to her car where I was able to talk without disturbing our sons. "No, Myra. The last time I had something to drink was right after and the boys left Friday night." "Really?" She grabbed a bag of dirty clothes and I grabbed the remaining bags, turning to return to the house. "Yeah. I...I didn't do well when you left, Myra. Nothing I want to get into, but it was not my proudest moment. The next day I had mom and pop, Tim, Scott, Brian and Jerry all come by and give me a hand getting my life sort of back on track. There isn't a drop of booze in the house, a case of beer in the garage, or a cup of alcohol to be found." "Wow! I'm impressed, James. Really, I am." She leaned into me, hugging me along the side as we reentered the house. "I noticed the cabinets don't quite match anymore but," she held up a hand to forestall my comments, "they do look nice and I have to say, they are hanging better than the old ones did." "Thanks. It's not all me, in fact, not much of it is. I had some good help." "I'm glad, James. You need it, and I don't know what to do to help you." I held her hand in my own, "It's not up to you to help me, babes. This is something I have to do for myself. And for you and the boys. I know that, and damn it to hell, I'm going to do my best." We hugged and I could feel my body wrapping around hers, my arms enveloping her, trying to make her a part of me. The front of my chest grew damp as she cried silently against me and I held her; held her close and tight as only a husband can do until it passed. The rest of the night was completely opposite of how my life had been over the last two days. John and Joel told me everything they did with Grandma Stephanie and where they went and what they ate and how much fun they had even though they missed me. We played Go Fish at the table and ate fresh Entenman's cookies that Myra found in the cabinets. I had to thank her for not saying anything about all the replaced crockery and dishware, but I could tell she was disturbed. Then the night devolved to bath time and horsing around until the announcement came that it was bed time and John had to go back to kindergarten in the morning. I took my time tucking them both in, reading an extra story along with goofy voices, before I shut their lights and bid them a goodnight. Myra was in the bedroom, wearing her sleeping shirt and sitting up in bed waiting for me. "Hey, Daddy." I smiled. "Hey, Mommy." "One hell of a weekend, huh James?" I climbed in next to her, lying back on my pillow. "You have no idea." She did the same, rolling over to cuddle against me. "I do, James. I lived it too. Just from the other side." "I guess." I ran my hand across her back, up and down, up and down, slowly. "I'm sorry, babes." "James. Stop apologizing, ok? I know you're sorry. I do. I got it, and you got it. It's ok. You don't have to keep apologizing." "I wish things were better. You deserve better." She placed her fingertips on my chest, reaching up to caress the hollow of my throat. "I have you and that's enough for me. I like this version of you, James. You're...honest. Earnest. I like that. And I think that together, we can make it a little bit better every day." "I'll make you proud, babes. You'll see." I hugged her tighter and kissed the top of her head, my free hand trailing lower until it was cupping just on the inside the hollow of her back. We stayed like that together, just touching each other lightly, comfortable and intimate without being sexual. This wasn't the time to indulge Little Jimmy, this wasn't the time to show or prove or make a stand. All we had to do was just love each other and nothing more. And we fell asleep like that, together and with nothing but mutual adoration for one another. I tackled the next week like a linebacker, hitting it hard and plowing it down. Every morning I woke up feeling good about myself and my life. My boys were my focus, my wife was my inspiration, and taking care of my family was my purpose. Tim gave me a holler looking to shoot some pool on Wednesday but I bugged off, telling him I was going to spend it with Myra and the boys. He laughed and called me a fucking pussy but I had to give him props because he showed up at the house a little after 7:30 that night and brought a half dozen small pumpkins for John and Joel to carve. He hung out till after the boys went to bed and even Myra thanked him for coming by; she gave him a hug and kiss on the cheek for his efforts. I caught him checking out her ass as she went down the hall to bed which merited a sharp punch to the arm. "Watch it, Timmy. That's mine." "Relax, Jimmy. Just checking out the menu, not going to order anything. It's not my restaurant." He chuckled. I mimed his laughter ending with, "Ha fucking ha, Dick. Just watch your shit." We walked outside where he lit up a cigarette and offered me one. We smoked together, watching the night sky, the cool October breeze blowing across the front yard. He fumbled in his jacket pocket and pulled out a small bottle of Jack Daniels. "Dude, you mind?" I smiled at him, feeling confident. "Knock yourself out, compadre." He grinned and took a slug, screwing the cap back on. "How things been, man. Honestly?" "Pretty good. Myra and I have been getting along better each day, the boys are doing great, and I'm focused and more alert than I've been in years." "Glad to hear that, Jimmy. You were pretty fucked up when we came out. I don't like to think that Jimmy Skelly as anything other than a cinderblock or a brick wall. Solid, dependable, unbreaking. That's you, man." I nodded. "It is, bud. Don't you worry. Everyone trips and falls. The winners get up though while the losers stay on the ground and bitch about it." He finished his butt and ground it out under his heel. "I'm gonna cut out, Jimmy. This was nice. Thanks for letting me mooch out on your family time." "Hey, that's what buds are for." He checked his watch and smiled. "I'm out of here. I got someone I got to meet." I leered, eyebrows waggling up and down. "Does this person have tits?" He chuckled. "No." "Ugh. Faggot." "Dickhead. No, I got a job driving." I cocked an eyebrow. "You? First off – job. That's fucking funny. Second off – driving. Dude, you can't drive for shit." "Maybe, but I get $300 cash and all I gotta do is drive a dufflebag out to Coram and drive another one back out to Roosevelt Field." "What the fuck? Timmy, you involved in drugs or some shit?" He laughed. "I have no idea, I don't look in the bags. My buddy who I get weed from now and again needed someone to drive one night he was so fucking high so I did it. When we got to Roosevelt Field some spindly fucker in a Camaro ripped my buddy a new ass for being a fuck up and tossed me the cash. Ever since then, I make a little extra scratch about once a week or so moving bags around." "Tim. You're a fuck up. Don't get busted." "Nah, all's good." He held out his hand and we shook on it, clapping each other on the back in a manly show of affection before he stepped from the stoop and waved goodbye. Over the weekend I had Jerry and Grace and their daughter Brittany to the house. Myra and Grace had a great time catching up while John and Joel got to play with the Zavers' baby girl. There was a purpose to my plan as Jerry and I spent almost the entire time working on the damned crappy water heater. There were two elements and we were able to get one working completely and the other well enough. We set the temperature to 140 and kept checking it during the rest of the day. And sure enough, we had hot water back at the house again. Myra sang my praises and Jerry complimented me on my ability to "pass me the 10 mm socket" and "hold that light a little higher". We laughed and I barbequed hot dogs while the wives put together a salad for everyone. It was a little odd to not have a beer and I know that I was a bit distracted after dinner, but I made it through the day without succumbing and we called it a success. My work was the same but I imagined that Doug noticed I was less sloppy and more on the ball since he hadn't bitched me out for anything as the weeks went on. The weather grew colder and the size of the orders shrunk as the building season wrapped up and most contractors switched over to inside projects. It was the 2nd week of November when I had my first beer. It was cold this Tuesday, the temperature hitting barely 40, and it was raining. Not a pounding downpour, but a steady constant, you are going to get soaked no matter what you do rain. We were getting a delivery of sheetrock and the trailer driver had to back the truck up to the overhead in the yard in order to keep his load dry once the tarp came off. We were down to a bare 2 dozen boards already and there was no way Doug was going to let the load leave and return tomorrow so it fell to me to get it into the building. What it meant was that each time I wanted to take a load of rock off the truck, I had to wait for the driver to roll the tarp back so I can get the forks situated and lift it free; which meant the job took three times as long as normal. So I was getting rained on, three times as long as normal. Then I had to get the rock into the building fast before the top boards became saturated. And I had to do this around the contractors and home owner trucks that kept coming in and out of the yard gate to load up. One For the Road Ch. 02 I was growing angrier and less tolerant as the unload continued, my temper was fraying and I had developed a shivering chill from sitting in one place too long while waiting to move. It took over 2 hours to unload the rock and put it away, which put me behind the 8-ball on the rest of my job. So when the last load of lumber for the next day was strapped and the Yale forklift parked, we had already been closed for almost an hour and it was already after 5. I was miserable and took a dry shirt from the salesmen's office to wear since I was feeling like a sponge. Freddie Terlips was hanging around, one of the counter guys, and he suggested we all go out to Hooters and blow off a little steam since today was such a suckfest. I was going to beg off, telling Freddy that things were pretty tight and I didn't have the money to blow for "beer, wings, and cleavage" when he shrugged his shoulders and offered to pick up the tab. "I have to tell you, Jimmy," he said with a grin, "you bust your ass here and today I think everyone noticed how much effort you took not to scream 'fuck it' and come inside to warm up." A number of the other counter and sales guys agreed and the offers were made for everyone still sticking around to go. So I gave Myra a call, dismayed to get the answering machine, but I did say, "Honey, we had a shitty day so a bunch of us are going out to relax for an hour or two. I'll be home before 8. Love you, Babes." The group of us descended on the local Hooters where we were able to get a corner table with only a minimal wait. They had the game on in the background on the closest flat-screens and we had the waitress (Candy – like that was her real name) bring over a couple orders of wings and two pitchers of beer. As the group of us unwound and I could feel my pants drying uncomfortably against my legs, I absently took a mug from the center of the table and filled it with the closest pitcher. What are you doing, Jimmy? Just having a beer. Are you sure that's a good idea? Sure it is, I had a very shitty day. What about this last month? You've been watching yourself that whole time. I know, which I why I know that this one beer won't be a problem. It shows that I can control myself and there isn't a problem. One beer? Just one. You can drink one, Jimmy. Just one. It's ok. I took a sip, lips parted, letting the cold cold amber liquid slide on down. Pleasant flavor, subdued scent. I could taste the hops, grainy against my tongue. The remaining lace of the foam tickled my moustache as I swallowed the mouthful I had, such a clean flavor. In a single word: delicious. My mouth stretched wide as my grin grew broad, the remnant of the warming beer tantalizing on the roof of my mouth and the hollows of my cheeks. I took another single slow luxurious mouthful, actually feeling the burbling in my throat as the carbonation worked its way through my system, escaping with a gentle burp of hops and grain laden air. I kept my word and even though I might have eaten too many chicken wings, I only had a single beer. So I bid my work buddies farewell, climbed into my Charger, and drove home to my wife and kids. "Hey, hey! It's Daddy!" I called, banging open the front door and standing there with my hands spread. "Hey, Dad!" John threw himself at me, letting me catch him as he squeezed my neck as tight as he could in a fierce hug. "We heard you in the answering machine!" "You did? I didn't hear you guys." Joel grabbed me by the right leg, sitting on my foot and holding onto my calf and thigh with a tight grip. I swung my youngest son up and forward as I stepped into the house, his shrill laughter almost deafening. "Where's mommy?" "She's in the potty." "Ooo, that sounds private and important." From behind the closed bathroom door, Myra good naturedly called out, "It is! So stop talking about my 'potty' time, boys!" We all walked up to the bathroom door and one at a time, each knocked on it and asked, "Are you in there?" Regardless whether she answered or not, we continued this until we were all laughing and Myra eventually opened the door, wild eyed and grinning like a panther. The boys each yelled in fake terror and ran away while I dashed the other way, Myra trying to grab my trailing shirt. Eventually I got tangled up around the couch as John stopped short in front of me, my wife finally able to get a good grip and slow me down. "Yes! Yes!" she yelled with a grin, holding her hands against my shoulders and pushing me back. "I am in the bathroom!" I let her tumble me onto the couch where she landed in my lap, hands wrapped behind my neck. "We missed you, James Skelly!" I leaned up to give her a kiss and could feel her fighting her grin as we did so. It was when we broke away and the boys were trying to pull me free that I noticed a change in her eyes as she gave me a shadowed look. "Hey, Honey? You didn't perchance have a beer tonight, did you?" John and Joel each had one of my hands and were pulling me to the floor to play Matchbox cars with them. "Yeah, babes. Just one though." "Do you think that was a good idea?" "Sure. It was only one. No sweat and no problem." I flashed her a winning smile and tried to reassure her with my eyes. "Ok, if you say so." Even though she gave me her understanding, something about the cast to the face and her stance let me know that she wasn't totally convinced. For myself I was confident. I had gone for a month without even so much as a taste, and when I was presented with the temptation, I only had one. Piece of cake. On Friday I was hurrying home after work so Myra could make it to her job in time when I remembered I didn't have any mac and cheese mix in the house and I had promised the boys I would make my special version. So I detoured to the local convenience store and snagged two boxes of Kraft knock-offs, stepping quickly to the counter. While I was waiting for the elderly lady in front of me to make her final scratch-off lottery ticket selection I glanced around and noted that the store was having a sale on Budweiser. Six-pack for $3.25. "That's a damned good deal," I mused aloud. I had just gotten paid so had a pocket full of money. "I'm not going to drink them cold, but it couldn't hurt to have a 6-pack sitting around if I have another rough day." I picked it up and paid for it with my cheap blue boxes, nodding to myself that this wasn't a problem. Not at all. Once home I gave Myra a kiss goodbye and she dashed off to work, promising her I'd be "up and ready" when she came home. The boys wanted to know what I meant and I had to laugh as they talked about staying up and ready with me all night; not understanding the dual meaning of my words. I made dinner, fixing the mac and cheese with a handful of diced tomatoes, a quarter pound of ground beef, and sprinkled on top with a small amount of bread crumbs to bring it all together. We ate dinner with gusto, and I had to stop them from finishing it off since we wanted to have a little bit left for Myra to eat when she came home. After dinner the boys wanted to watch a movie so I went to the cabinet and pulled out Monster's Inc. and let them relax on the couch while Mike and Sully had their misadventures around the factory. I was sitting back, relaxing with my sons and decided that I was doing well enough to have a beer. I popped the can and it gave the welcoming hissing pop that let you know, "Hey, I'm here!" I drank it slowly, sipping it and pausing for a long time between swallows. When the movie was over I had the boys get into the pj's and gave them a half hour in their room to wind down, which allowed me the chance to sit with the bills for this week and have a second beer. Just two Jimmy. No need for any more. Is this a problem? No, I don't think so. No problem here. It's just a second beer. Don't worry about it. Yeah, this is ok. By 9:30 I had my sons under the covers and lights out and I put the remaining 4 beers in the back of the fridge behind the bread and lettuce on the bottom shelf. Just getting it out of the way, don't need it taking up the top shelf in here. Again, it's all cool. I washed my face, brushed my teeth, gargled with a little mouthwash and turned down the covers in the bedroom. I stripped down to just a pair of boxers and waited for Myra to come home. I didn't have to wait long before I heard her pull up and come in to the house. "Hey, Honey!" She called out with an exhausted edge to her voice. "Hey, babes. How was your night?" "Long. Soooo long." She kicked off her shoes and plopped down at the kitchen table. "Oooo, Jimmy Mac & Cheese. Someone loves me." I pushed the container closer to her and slid a fork over as well. "Eat, babes. Just relax." I stepped behind her and ran my large hands slowly through her hair, caressing her scalp with the pads of my fingers. "Oh god. I'll give you two hours to stop that." She shuddered, trying to eat with shaking hands as I massaged the stress out of her head. "Keep that up, Mr. Skelly, and you'll find yourself the recipient of one very happy wife." "That sounds like a good idea." I shifted my hands to her shoulders and pushed down, sliding the palms of my hands out and squeezing slightly with my fingers. As her flesh rippled under my touch I slithered my hands back up to her neck and traced my way back again down her shoulders and back. As the minutes passed by she grew looser and more boneless, eventually slumping down to the tabletop, her hair fanning in front of her face, her cheeks pressed against the cool surface. "Oh, James," she sighed. I kept it up for a few more passes and then lifted her from her chair and carried her to the bed where I propped her head back on the pillow and got her comfortable. With slow deliberate movements I stripped off her clothing one piece at a time until she was naked and soft and waiting for me. I crawled between her legs , my face inching its way up her left thigh with small kisses and then her right; working my way closer and closer to her crotch. Her pubic hair was matted flat from her pants so I ran my fingers through her brown triangular patch, awakening her hair and stimulating her skin. My fingers dipped through the lips of her pussy with gentle continuous pressure, parting her flesh and opening her inner secrets to me. Pink and inviting; calling to me. My lips found their way there and then my tongue pushed out, tasting the tangy sweetness of my wife's core. I licked her lower lips with deep heavy strokes, causing her thighs to tighten against my head, muffling my hearing. I could still make out her moans of encouragement which spurred me on to further oral activity. I shifted upward and rooted around until I could feel her clit between my own lips. I sucked on it softly, flicking the tip of my tongue repeatedly against the head, getting a raspy gasp torn from Myra's throat as she arched her hips. I could feel her pussy heating up against my face, her movements become wildly erratic as she struggled to keep her molten cleft against my hungry mouth. I placed one hand under her ass to hold her in place and my other one crawled over his stomach and ribs to grab her left tit and roll her nipple. "Holy shit!" she cursed, sucking in a lungful of air as she grabbed my head with her own hand and held me in place with a sudden burst of strength. "Ahh! James!" My mouth was bathed in a small trickle of growing moisture and I could feel her legs and calves spasming against my shoulders as her orgasm ripped through her body. She jerked and twisted and bounced as I ate her on and on until her motions grew weak and she tried to push me away, muttering, "No more, no more. Jimmy. Oh god. Oh." I wiped my mouth clean with one hand, pushed my way up her body, and placed Little Jimmy at the entrance of her pussy; pushing him home with a slow steady insistent single thrust. We both groaned in unison as I was sheathed inside her, my crotch hard against hers. I pulled back and pushed in, and then again and again. Within a few minutes I was fucking my wife with steady abandon, holding myself up by one arm as my cock drove in and out, deeper and deeper. I was breathing like a bellows, almost huffing I was banging away so hard. She had regained her own strength and was raising herself up to meet my own thrusts, our skin hitting each other with sweat dampened slapping sounds. And then like a freight train my orgasm hit me and I felt my legs lock in place. "Fuck, fucking fuck! Myra! Fuck!" My cum blasted out deeply into the heart of her pussy, my wife encouraging me by pulling my hips against hers and grinding her twat on my cock. I stayed like that until the last of my essence was gone and a wave of lethargy stole over me. "Fucking shit, babes. That was fucking awesome." I slumped over to the side, Little Jimmy popping free with a wet slithering squish, hugging Myra to my chest as sleep overtook us both. The next day I awoke feeling terrific, getting up before everyone. I had my morning piss and then made my way to the kitchen to see what I wanted for breakfast. While rooting around I remembered the Budweisers and took out a can, popping it open and taking a drink. Damned that was good. I sipped it again, drinking deeper until the last of it ran down my throat with a golden warming glow. I crushed the can in one hand and tossed it towards the garbage where it went in with a metallic clank. "Good morning, Honey," Myra greeted me, wearing her sleep shirt, her hair tousled from the pillow. She looked at the garbage and frowned. "James, did you just finish a beer?" I smiled. "Yeah, babes. Just one though." "Where did the beer come from? I thought we got rid of it all?" "I did. I bought a 6-pack yesterday, it was on sale." She looked nervous. "James, do you think it's a good idea to have beer in the house?" "Sure. Again, I only had one. It's not a problem. Really, don't make this bigger than it really is." She nodded her head but I could tell that she was unconvinced. "Ok, James. But if I think it's becoming a problem, you won't give me a hard time about getting rid of it, will you?" "Not a problem, Myra. You won't have to worry because it won't be a problem. Scout's honor." The days passed one after the other, all through November. Each day was a little bit shorter and colder than the day before. John and Joel were enjoying the coming winter and Myra was working with her mom and my parents on hosting Thanksgiving dinner. I didn't even notice that I was drinking a beer or two a day anymore. It just seemed normal, nothing special. So when I went to three, and then four, it didn't faze me at all. I saw that Myra was growing worried and tried to ask me to stop but each time I reassured her that this was nothing like what I was like before and not to worry, I had this under control. When I went to shoot pool with Timmy the week before Thanksgiving, it seemed natural that we would play for shots, something we had done before. So when I had beat him three games to two I was feeling no pain. I realized that maybe I shouldn't have had the last whiskey so I switched to soda to sober up a little. Being that I didn't want to risk driving drunk, we didn't leave the pool hall until 11 which meant after dropping Tim at home I didn't get back to my house until almost 12. It was slow and insidious but it crept up on me even when I was looking for it. As Thanksgiving was even closer, only two days away, Myra was almost constantly bitchy with me and nothing I did was right anymore. Give me a fucking break, I'm doing my best. Plus I was tired all the time. I gave up on jumping rope as I couldn't top 30 jumps without getting winded or tripping over the fucking cord. And Doug was being a hard ass for no reason. Frankly everything was going to shit and I had no idea why everyone was dumping their crap on me. "James, I need to talk to you," was how it started after I had John and Joel put to bed. "Fuck, Myra. Now what? It's late and I've got fucking work in the morning. Tomorrow's the last day before the holiday break and Doug's been an absolute prick to me." "James, your drinking is getting out of control again." I scowled. "Back on this shit again? Come on, babes. I told you, I've got it. It's not a problem, so don't make it one." "James you seem to be drinking all the time. And you promised me, you promised you wouldn't do this." She was wringing her hands together, clutching the dishtowel like a lifeline. "I want you to stop." "Fine!" I threw my hands up. "I'll stop, happy?" "No, I mean it." "So do I! What the fuck do you want me to do, fill out a form?" "James. Please. It's the holidays." "I know it's the holidays. Fuck like I don't know? Didn't I go to the store today and buy cranberry sauce and gravy and a bunch of other shit you asked?" I was getting upset and it bothered me that I was getting upset. Why the fuck were you getting upset, James? Calm the fuck down. "James, please calm down." Whoa, trippy. She said the same thing I was thinking. "I'm calm. I am, Myra. You're getting me upset. Deal, I'll not drink and you'll not nag me, ok?" She had tears running down her face as she turned away, whispering, "I can't." "You can't? Can't what? Not nag me? Is that what you can't do?" She said nothing, going to the bedroom and shutting the door. I sat in the kitchen, scowling and feeling like crap. "Nice going, Dickface." I looked at my nails, chewing on the pinky one absently. "Do you like making your wife cry? Tough guy asshole macho douchebag, making a woman cry. You make me sick, James. Sick, sick, sick." Disgustedly I went to the couch and lay down on it, falling asleep to the quiet sounds of the settling house. I awoke the next morning to Myra shaking my shoulder, my brain confused as to why I was looking at the TV room and wondering how come I was on the sofa. "James! James! Wake up, you overslept!" "Huh?" I rolled off the couch to the tune of a hundred screaming muscles, my back popping wildly as I straightened up and stretched it back into place. "What the fuck?" I staggered towards the TV until I could read the clock. 6:38. "Fucking shit!" I roared. "I'm going to be fucking late!" I flew passed Myra and ran into the bedroom, tossing my boxers into the hamper and quickly getting dressed. I pulled my boots on one at a time, lacing them up quickly while I struggled into my sweatshirt. I skipped down the hall to the bathroom; I could hear Myra in the kitchen banging something around and the door to the fridge slamming. "Nothing difficult, Myra! I have to go!" I squirted toothpaste into my mouth directly and began reaming my face with the dry toothbrush in a brutal rapid pistoning motion. "Toast, James! That's all, toast and butter! Can you get a coffee at work?" I spit in the sink and yelled back, "When the roach coach comes, I will." I washed out my mouth and then splashed water on my face, rubbing it in. My hair looked like...like I slept on the fucking couch. Fuck. I warmed up the water and dunked my head under the faucet, rubbing it around until I was soaked. Then I dried it with a quick pass of the towel and combed it back with a half dozen sharp tugs of the hair brush. Good enough. I ran into the kitchen just in time to put on my jacket, take the two pieces of buttered toast from Myra's hand, and give my wife a single scorching kiss. "I'm a dick, babes. Sorry about last night." She shook her head and waved me away towards the door. "Don't worry. Just watch yourself today. Run, it's 6:47. Go, drive safe! I love you!" "I love you, too!" I ran out to my baby, almost swallowing my first piece of toast whole. I started her up, pulled out of the driveway, and gunned the engine, chirping the tires as I sped away from home and towards my job.