57 comments/ 18608 views/ 13 favorites One For the Road Ch. 04 By: Vanadorn I want to thank everyone for their votes, comments, and feedback. It really means a lot to me to have your words and to know you took the time out to write them. This is chapter 4 and there is only 1 chapter left to go in this story. This chapter is a bit meaty at 15k words so keep that in mind if you have a problem with longer tales. I also want to thank everyone who commented on their own personal aspects and stories, it's humbling to hear from you. 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 needles in your sleeping eyeballs or sudden Navy Seal assaults or deciding to suck your wife's bull's dick or sharing your girlfriend with your poker buddies. This is as close to reality as I could get it and still tell the story. Enjoy! -V ***** I drove away with no idea where I was going to go next. The dashboard clock was showing 5:13 and it was Christmas Day. My head felt foggy, like I was still trying to wake up; my thoughts unfocused and fragmented. All I could honestly say was that I punched my pop. Hard. And with malice. Fuck. I drove aimlessly for a while until I ended up by the High School. It was quiet here, even the security and rent-a-cops were nowhere to be found. I pulled around back near the football field and parked as close to the bleachers as I could. Then I reached into the back seat and struggled into my navy blue parka and flipped the hood up. Digging around under the seat I pulled up the bottle of whiskey I had there and took a swig. For the first time in a while, the drink didn't give me an immediate rush. Sure I felt better taking a swallow, but it didn't make me feel better deep inside where it counted. So I took another one. Nope, same thing. By the time I took the third drink I was growing frantic in my inability to get anything out of the alcohol I was guzzling. Why wasn't it working? What was wrong? I could feel hot tears boiling in my eyes, falling down my face like twin streams of acid scoring my flesh. And then I cried. I cried like I can't remember ever crying before. Here I was sitting in my Charger behind the high school, Christmas day, bitterly cold out, removed from my wife and kids, no one I could go to, and just chased out of my parents' house after hitting my pop. I had no job and no one else I could call. And it pulled at me, tearing at me, bringing me so far down I couldn't see sky above. I hugged the bottle to my chest as I rocked in my seat, great sobs tearing free. It hurt, it hurt so much. I could feel my legs curling up underneath as I rolled to the side, trying to keep warm and sane in the silence of my despondency. I couldn't imagine ever being this sad before and couldn't fathom ever wanting to feel this terrible again. It was in this state of sorrow and misery that I slipped from consciousness and fell asleep; the sound of the cold winter wind whipping through the metal struts of the bleachers playing harmony against the melody of moaning sobs that tiredly fell from my lips. I awoke slowly, something irritating my eyes. A tapping, continuous tapping like pebbles in a tin can. One a time. Falling, falling. Tap tap tap...tap tap tap. And against a brightness to the world beyond my eyes. I twisted my neck a tiny bit and it felt like a thousand volts tear through my spine; the cold had seeped into my bones and froze me in rictus place. I groaned and tried to stretch out the mounting agony in my back and shoulders; making some effort to return myself to the land of the living. I was so cold. My hands and face and ankles had a chilly numbness to them, too long exposed to the stillness of the cold air of late December. I cracked my lids and tried to look around, the blinding light from the side window piercing my skull like a throbbing spike. "Hey! Buddy! You ok?" Groaning, I tried to pull myself upright and instead had my gut flipflop under my belt. My gorge rose but luckily I hadn't eaten anything recently so I was able to keep myself from letting go. Looking to my left I was able to see the outline of someone in a coat and a cop's hat shining a flashlight through my window, a concerned expression on his face. I leaned forward and started my baby, the engine thrumming to life and the sound of the vents blowing air (currently cold). I then slowly hit the button for the window and let the auto-slide finish the job for me. A blast of cool yet fresh air filled the interior of the Charger and helped me to centralize my focus. "Yeah," I croaked, coughing to clear my throat. "Yeah, I'm ok." "You know this is not a parking lot. You can't stay here." I took a closer and more awake look at my night time visitor. It was a Nassau cop and he had to be in his late 50's. He was bundled up in his cop's coat but still managed to look every part the police officer. "I'm sorry, officer," I said with a stronger voice. "I wasn't planning on stopping here." He studied my face, shining the flashlight over it and across the interior of my car. He noted my hastily packed bags tossed haphazardly on my back seat, my somewhat slovenly appearance, and lastly the empty (empty??) bottle of Jameson Whiskey lying on the passenger seat. In a spate of sudden compassion I wasn't expecting he asked, "Are you ok? Do you have nowhere else you can go?" I wasn't going to break down in front of this cop, no chance. So I took a moment to compose myself before answering. "Yes officer, I'm fine. And no, not at this time I don't have anywhere I can go." He stared at me, lips pursed as he thought deep and hard. I was hoping he would just give me a break. Please, just leave me be. "Well," he said slowly, "It's almost 11: 30 and you really shouldn't be out here. I would really need to ask you to move on," Ah, shit. Fuck me. God damn it. He continued after a long pause. "But, it is Christmas and no one would be out here if they didn't need to be. I'll tell you what. I'll come by here again at 6 and get you to move then. That should give you some time to get some sleep and get that," he pointed to the whiskey bottle, "out of your system." "Oh, gods. Thanks officer. Really. Thanks." "It's ok, son." He turned the flashlight away. "Just do yourself a favor and run the car once in a while to keep the heat up. It's going to get cold." He paused. "Are you sure I can't drive you somewhere?" I shook my head. "No. Honestly thanks so much. But this will be fine. Really." "Alright." He turned to go. "For what it's worth, Merry Christmas." I swallowed the sudden lump in my throat. "You too, officer." I watched him turn slowly in the parking lot and drive away, leaving me in the lonely darkness. I sat in my car and let the heater warm up the interior before killing the engine once more. Rummaging around the back I pulled over a pair of sweatshirts and draped them along my lower half. Then I lay back once again and stared out the window at the sky above, just watching the darkness and letting myself fall asleep. When I awoke next it was still dark, but this time I wasn't as startled to see the cop knocking on my window. I started the car and cracked the window. "Hello, officer." "Hello, son. You feeling any better?" I nodded. "Much. Thanks." "I hate to do this, but I'm going to half to ask you to move on." "It's not a problem, officer. I'm on my way." "Good luck to you." I buckled up and drove slowly out of the high school parking lot and made my way back to Main Street. Once there I drove slowly up the road until I spotted a Dunkin Donuts. Not much else was open the morning after Christmas at 6:30, so I was happy to get what I was able to. I went in, had a coffee and two egg sandwiches. Once fortified I had the lady bag me up 6 donuts, paid my bill, and drove away, heading toward Jerry and Grace's. I pulled up in front of their house and sat there for a few minutes, debating on whether I was going to go to the door or not. Finally I screwed up my courage and strode up the walk, knocking on the door with two sets of three sharp raps. I heard some movement inside and then Jerry opened the door in a bathrobe and a set of shorts. "Jimmy? Holy crap, Jimmy!" He stepped forward, embracing me hard and giving me a few claps on the back. I returned the greeting and just felt so good to have someone happy to see me. "Man, are you a sight for sore eye. Come in, come in." He escorted me inside and called out, "Grace! Jimmy's here!" "Thanks, Jerry." I offered him the donuts. "Merry Christmas. I hate to come by this early, man." "Think nothing of it. Come in." I followed him to the kitchen where he turned on the coffee maker and placed the Dunkin bag on the table. "I heard from Myra about a week or so ago." My skin ran cold. "Oh." "Yeah, I was looking for you. Grace and I were having a Pre-Christmas party and wanted to invite the 4 of you. She told me that you were having some problems and were living with your parents." I swallowed, my mouth dry. "Yeah. It's been...rough." "I can imagine." He shook his head. "Damn, buddy. I can't even imagine what you're going through." "Listen, Jerry. I need a favor from you." "What is it?" I hesitated and then squared my shoulders. "I need a place to crash for a little bit." I saw his eye unfocus and his mouth grow slack, which had me press on. "Just a couch, and only a few days. Two, three tops." Jerry thought about it and then nodded. "Not a problem, pal. I'm mostly off for the week so it should be ok. Let me just clear it with Grace and you can stay here." "Clear what with me?" His wife walked in, wearing a sweat shirt and pants, leaning over to give me a kiss on the cheek. "Hey, Jimmy. I heard what's going on. I'm so sorry." "Thanks, Grace." "Honey," Jerry said, "Jimmy needs a place to stay for a few days and I told him he can stay with us as long as it's ok with you." Grace gave her husband a hundred-watt smile and replied, "Sure, dear. I'll get out some sheets for you Jimmy." She gave me a once over, noting my state of 'disrepair'. "Say, you want to use the bathroom and maybe freshen up? Take a shower?" "Oh gods, Grace. That'd be wonderful. Do you mind?" She giggled. "Not at all. Let me get you some towels." The shower felt really nice, the water was hotter than I had been used to and the shampoo wasn't that $.99 Suave stuff we had been using for the last few years. Once I was finished I hated to bother my friends but needed to get my clothes clean so asked if I could use the washer and dryer. They agreed with good natured hospitality and I put a load up. Throughout the day whenever they weren't busy with Brittany, their daughter, or anything that needed to get done, I had to opportunity to fill Jerry in on what was going with me; but from my perspective. He listened quietly and I appreciated that he kept his counsel to himself for the most part. It was obvious to me though that he had already been prejudiced from hearing Myra first from some of his leading questions and comments. "Wow, but don't you think that maybe she had a point?" "I can see that. But I guess when the kids are involved she had to do what was right by them first." "I couldn't imagine the therapy not working at all since they've had such a success rate." "I'm sure your parents were only hoping to help and they are hurting too." On the 27th Jerry had to go to work for a few hours since his company was on half days during the Christmas break and I had a couple hours to kill before having to ride out to Phoenix House. Grace was taking care of Brittany when the dishwasher buzzed and she asked me if I could "be a dear and empty it for me?" So I rolled off the couch and emptied the dishes and glasses, putting them in the cabinet for her. I did the same for the silverware, dumping it in the drawer before finishing the job and then returning to the couch. A little while later I could hear her clattering around in the kitchen as if she was looking for something and then the same sort of noises came from the dishwasher as well. I kept my attention focused on Maury for a while and tried to ignore the banging. At 11 I thanked Grace for her time and mentioned I'd be home after 4:30 when the therapy ended. She waved goodbye but I don't think I heard her actually say anything. Weird. Sally tried to pump me for information but I wasn't going to go into a diatribe about the bullshit I had over the holidays with my parents, instead only saying that we had a rough time but were past it now. The end of the day couldn't come fast enough for me and I took my time drive back to Jerry and Grace's. stopping near the park to drink two beers I had in my trunk; trying to stay on my plan of weaning myself off the alcohol. By the time I got back to the Zavers' I was feeling much better about my situation and was more of my normal happy self. Jerry was a bit cooler tonight and Grace seemed like she was less happy than the other day. I tried to stay out of their way and had a good night's sleep on their couch. It was on the morning of the 29th and Jerry stopped to chat with me while I was eating some Frosted Flakes in the kitchen for breakfast. "Hey, bud. How was your night?" I swallowed my cereal and nodded my head. "Pretty good, man. Thanks for asking." "Good. Good." He checked his watch. "Say, listen. Grace's mom is coming out to stay with us for a week or so for New Years and it's kind of a pain in the ass, you know?" I chuckled. "Yeah. Stephanie and I didn't quite get along as well." "Tell me about it. So listen, I have to keep the peace and when she comes out it's a complete domination of my time and the house. I hate to do this, but, do you think you'd go back to your parents' while she's here? It's just that with her here, I can't get anything done and you'd be real uncomfortable." I shrugged. "I ain't going back to mom and pop's right now. My pop keeps his mad on for a little bit and this hasn't been nearly enough time." Taking another spoonful I thought about my situation. "I can give Brian a call and see if he'll let me crash there for a bit." Jerry smiled and I felt better I was able to help my buddy out like this. So before I had to go to Phoenix House, I bagged up all my stuff, thanked Jerry and Grace so much for their hospitality, gave Jerry a $20 with my thanks for feeding me and letting me use their shower and wash and stuff, and drove off to therapy. After my time there I went to Brian's and got him and his wife Laura to let me stay there "till just after New Year's. Promise." Laura was not a nice person. She was judgmental to Brian, didn't drink or smoke and looked down at people who did, was one of those broads that you felt needed to really get laid hard just to crack a smile and even then it was only because she was contemplating on spending your paycheck. I stayed there for two days and I had to admit, it was a real strain on my friendship with Brian not to call his wife a "stuck up bible-thumping closet lesbian cunt". So there it was, New Year's Eve, December 31st and I was out of my next buddy's house and contemplating going to Tim's or driving out to Patchogue to stay with Scott. I was still in touch with mom every day and even though pop wasn't talking to me at all, we still managed to talk about everything. Plus, all my mail still came to my parent's house until I could find a new place to stay; unemployment statements as well as any paperwork from the courts. Mom had just told me about a formal demand for child support from Myra and that it needed to be fulfilled by January 4th to the tune of 25% of all my income - including unemployment. "Mom," I said exasperated, "That's bullshit. I barely get $300 from the government as it is each week and I have to give her $75 of it? Can they do that?" "I don't know, Jimmy. But Myra's pretty desperate. You father and I have helped out where we could and I understand that her supervisor took pity on her and gave her more hours. But the extra hours only go so far and when she works, either her mom or I have to babysit." I sighed. "This would all go away if the social workers would just let me come home." "Jimmy. They'll do that when they are good and ready, not a minute earlier." "I don't see how I'm supposed to afford to give her this money. I'm practically living in my car as it is." "I don't know, son. But this is a pretty official looking letter and I wouldn't ignore it if I were you." "Alright mom. I'll give my lawyer guy a call and make sure that I have to do this. If he says yes, then yes it is. Even if it's bullshit." "Keep me posted, Jimmy. I love you and happy New Year. Let's hope next year is a better one." "Me too, mom. Happy New Year to you and pop too." I chuckled. "Are you going to make it to midnight this time?" She laughed. "I have to. We're babysitting J&J tonight and they are going to want to bang the pots and pans." "All night?" "Yes. Myra's having a much needed night out with some friends. The poor dear has been burning the candle at both ends for a while now. So your father and I agreed to watch the boys for her." I was bothered. "So she can go out with her girlfriends for a night on the town but I try to arrange a dinner at Bracco's three months ago and she blows me off? That's crap, mom. Plain and simple." "James," my mother's voice grew firmer. "Myra's been the sole parent and guardian for a while now. She has Child Services coming in, the lawyer's issues, the stress of the house, not enough money coming, and the extra time at work - besides all her normal daily activities. In this case, we're happy she's going out to let her hair down." "Maybe," I grumbled. "It still sucks." "I don't know what you want me to say, Jimmy." My mom sighed into the phone. "Listen, just have a good night and call me tomorrow to tell me where you are, ok?" "Will do. Good night, mom." "Good night, Jimmy." I drove to Phoenix House, the anger once again slowly roiling about my midsection. What the fuck was all that happy horseshit? I'm scrambling for a place to live and Myra's out doing whatever for New Year's? And for that matter, with who? My blood ran cold and the viper in my veins suddenly grew wings. What if it's a guy she's going out with? Bullshit. That's all this entire mess is. Bullshit. My time with Sally could not have been any less productive if my nuts were on fire. She prattled on and on and finally at the end of it fixed me with a solid glare and asked, "So, James, you have not been focused this entire time. Is there something wrong? Anything? You can tell me." "Nah, Sally. It's fine. Everything is fine. I guess it's just almost a new year, new beginnings, we only have a week or two of this left and then the courts can let me see my kids and wife." She frowned, her brows creasing. "Oh, my. Oh, my. No, no, James. It doesn't work quite like that." The anger I had been barely containing suddenly slipped a few links off the chain, changing into a mixture of cold and hot fury. I could feel the fire in the back of my eyes as I looked at the older woman with ill restrained feelings. "What do you mean it 'doesn't work quite like that'? I've been coming here every day I have to for a month plus, there's a week or two left, and the 6 week requirement is complete. That's what I was told. That's what was supposed to happen." "James, we are here to make sure that you have a hold and handle on your alcoholism." She pointed at me. "See that? Every time I say 'alcoholic' or a word like it in reference to you, you cringe and your eyes narrow. Indicating that you don't like the term, and that you don't see yourself as one." One For the Road Ch. 04 "Because I've seen some real alcoholics, and I'm not one. This entire shit grew out of a mess from a fight my wife and I had. The cops got involved, the courts got involved, and now my life is a train wreck and I'm trying to get off the tracks and out of the way." "James, you are responsible for your own life. If things are impacting it in a way you don't like, most of the time it's because of your own choices." She sighed. "As for the courts, it is true the 6 week program for you ends soon, but I cannot in good conscience inform the powers that be that you have successfully understood and embraced the situation." "What. The. Fuck?" I stood to my full height, hands clenched at my sides. "Do you know what you are saying?" I could feel the tension rising. "Do you know what this does to me?!" I couldn't see well out of my left eye as it blurred over and a red haze filled my vision. "Do you have ANY FUCKING IDEA WHAT YOU ARE DOING TO ME!?!?!?!" I had to give Sally respect; she sat there while I went volcanic in front of her. The only thing that changed was a hardening in her expression but other than that, she waited until my last words were echoes. "And that, James, is a perfect example of why you aren't ready yet." You ugly sanctimonious cow faced titless wonder moron. You jack twated cum guzzling ass wrangling she bitch. You miserable ex-drunk gutter blowing slut sucker. I said nothing. I turned, grabbed my coat, and walked out, heading to my baby where I started her up, cut the wheel to the left, and peeled rubber out of the parking lot and back to the Northern State Parkway. Holy crap was I angry. This FUCKING BITCH effectively was making it impossible for me to get home. How dare she? HOW FUCKING DARE SHE!? Ok, calm down Jimmy. Calm the fuck down. Whoa shit, the exit for the Sagtikos is coming up. What the fuck? How fast am I going? 96. 96 mph. Ugh! Just what you need now, Jimmy, a fucking ticket. Get your car removed and then where are you, living in a box under a bridge. I let my foot fall from the gas pedal and slowed down, keeping my Charger just above 60. Where am I going? I have nowhere to go. I have to go somewhere? Idly I reached behind me and picked up a beer, popping the top and drinking it in short bursts. Yes, this is a stupid idea, I know that. But fuck it, I'm too keyed up and the beer will help me to focus. No one was paying any attention to me as I drove, one of many cars trundling around on New Year's Eve. But I did take the exit for Wantagh Avenue and I found myself driving slowly through my neighborhood. What the fuck, Jimmy? What are you looking for? Are you going to go by the house? I opened another beer. There's that Order against you, you can't go there. Fuck that, I'm just going to look to make sure that Myra doesn't go out with another guy. That's not right. Ever. I turned left on my block and let the car idle its way past my neighbors' houses, creeping up on my own home. There were no lights hanging for the holidays this year but she did manage to put some paper decorations in the windows and it looked like a wreath was on the door. I saw her Kia was in the driveway, the rear driver's taillight was broken now and covered in clear tape. When did that happen? Shit, more shit to fix. There was another car in the driveway, a Nissan Sentra that I didn't recognize. Who the fuck was that? And in the driveway? My space? Who the hell was there? I dropped my empty can into the paper bag and pulled out my last one. Last one? Holy crap, I drank 5 of them since leaving Phoenix House? I put down the unopened one and opened my car door, unfolding myself and standing on the apron of my driveway. Go up there, Jimmy. Go on. Go up there. See what's going on. Go on man, you need to know. I didn't move, afraid that I would go up there, afraid of what I might find, and mostly afraid to the tenuously caged destructive anger I was struggling to keep the lid on. So instead I stood there as the minutes ticked by and my pulse boiled and surged. And then my front door opened. There she was, Myra. My Myra. Standing there in her black dress with a pair of high heels. Her fancy purse from TJ Maxx clutched in her hand while she wore her white winter coat wide open. Her hair was blown out and fanned away from her face in a rolling brown wave. There were three other people coming out with her, two women and one man. The women I recognized from her job, the guy was new to me. Who the FUCK was he? And why was he in MY house? As they were chattering away and working their way down the driveway to the Nissan the first woman stopped in surprise at seeing me and said, "Oh! Myra, I think someone's here for you?" Myra looked up and stopped, her mouth open in shock. "Oh my god! Jimmy?" We stared at each other, and all I felt was love for my wife. It had been so long. So long. And here she was looking so beautiful. The guy then fucked it up by opening his mouth and asking, "Myra, you ok?" And then on noticing her apparent terror on seeing me he stepped in front of her to shield her from me and continued with, "Want me to get rid of this joker, My?" My? She has a pet name now with you fuckface?!? "Hey, asshole," I snarled. "This is MY house and that's MY wife. Back the hell off and don't get in the middle." "Myra," one of the women said, standing next to her and pulling out her cell phone, "You still have an order of protection against him. I'm calling the police." She turned to me and said louder. "You hear me? I'm calling the police, Mr. Skelly! You should go and leave Myra alone." The guy made shooing motions with his arms, trying to get me to leave my fucking property with his limp wristed fucking actions. "Go! Get out of here! Leave My alone! Be gone!" What the fuck, am I a cat? And he kept approaching me while my wife was shaking her head and saying, "No, no, no," over and over again. This guy looked like a threat. A threat to me, a threat to my marriage, and a threat to my fucking sanity. And the only way to deal with a threat is with violence. I stepped towards him, fists raised, and he sort of stumbled in his attempt to slow down. His left arm cocked back and I watched as he balled his fist; knowing this poor bastard was a runner, a gym guy, and had no idea how to fight or throw a punch. I let him arc out first, his inexpert blow cracking against the side of my head and ear, rebounding off my shoulder. Dick. My right fist was lost in his stomach somewhere, causing him to fold forward, presenting me with the top of his head. So I grabbed a huge amount of his hair with my left hand and yanked him backwards and up, readying myself to bitchslap the fucking shit out of this homewrecking cock sucker. But before I could make first contact (or second, since you might have to count my first gut shot), the broad with the cel phone was screaming, "Let my husband go! Let him go!" Husband? I looked at him with bloodshot eyes, the poor son of a bitch holding onto my wrist and pulling himself to his tiptoes to relieve the pressure on his scalp, frantically trying to get away. His wife had forgotten she was going to call the police, her cel flapping back and forth as she vacillated between approaching me to save her significant other and keeping the fuck away from me. And the last woman was consoling my wife who had dropped to her stocking clad knees on the driveway and was crying her makeup into her cupped hands. I made a serious mistake. Fuck. I let go of the poor fucker, no longer crowning him he collapsed to the ground, naked tears running down his cheeks. "I...I gotta go." I then ran to my Charger, jumped in the driver's seat, and peeled down the block as fast as I could stomp the gas. Fucking shit, fucking dumb bastard, Jimmy. You really fucked up. You dumb Irish prick. What the fuck were you thinking? This was a good idea? This was going to solve problems and get you two back together? Holy crap, you could have beat that guy to death and then been in jail forever. It was getting harder to drive through my tears but I navigated my way through the streets until I ended up in front of Tim's house. I sat there until I felt more in control and then went and knocked on the door. Tim answered, the scent of weed sticking to his clothes. "Jimmy? Hey man!" he sobered up a tiny bit on seeing me, reaching forward to give me a handshake and firm hug. "What brings you here?" "Tim. I need a place to crash for a while." "Fuck, dude. You came to the right place. Me casa is su casa. Come on in." I sat in Tim's mother's cluttered living room and filled my best bud in on everything that had been going on for the last couple of months. He listened with an open ear, keeping his judgments to himself and just offering his support. When I was finished there was nothing left. I was a wrung out sponge, the tattered remains of some dog's chew toy. "Tim, I know it's New Year's Eve, but you think I can sleep for a bit, bud?" He looked around and wrinkled his nose. "My mom'll be home later and she'll want to use the living room. Let's get you downstairs. Basement is pretty clean since Thanksgiving." I followed my bud down the 12 stone steps to the cool and faintly damp interior of his basement. In our youth we had often spent some time down here, sometimes with girls, sometimes with beer. It was still sort of the same, old couch, low table, battered fridge, foosball table in the corner. It was just a bit...shabbier. More tired. Sort of like me. Tim stripped the ugly blue sheet off the couch down here and rooted around the closet for a blanket and pillow. "Here, man. Crap out for a bit down here. When you're feeling up to it, let me know and we'll go do something. Jimmy and Timmy; back for round two!" He chuckled as I kicked off my shoes and lay my head back, already fading to sleep. I awoke sometime during the early morning hours and made my way upstairs to take a leak. The house was quiet and I didn't hear anything going on outside. After relieving myself I went into Tim's kitchen and saw an open bag of cheap Lay's chips. I ate them in great handfuls while filling an old coffee mug I pulled off the counter with water from the tap to wash it down. When the knot it my guy was a little looser, I looked about for something else to eat or drink, surprised to find a 6-pack of Heineken in the fridge. I drank one while standing there and then took a second one down to the basement with me. There in the dark I sipped my beer and hated myself for doing it. I hate myself, so much. I can't stop, I just can't. I don't want to be like this, I really don't. But I don't know what to do and everything I try blows up around me. Here I am in the dark of my friend's house in his basement, drinking beer I took from his fridge, and I have nothing to show for my time here. Nothing except for the cloying thirst trying to take me to hell. In the darkness I held the bottle up to the ceiling and toasted in that direction. "You win, god. I give up." And then I drank it down. The next few days were the last of the coherent ones I could remember for some time. I had Tim go with me out to my baby and take what little left I still owned into his mom's house. I made an agreement with Tim's mom that I'd keep out of her hair until I got my head on straight, a week tops, and would give her $50 bucks or so to help out. I had always thought of Tim's mom as white trash to some extent but she was happy enough to take my money and admonished me "to keep the damned noise down, no pussy in my basement, and if you puke you clean up your own shit." I know I drank. My drink of choice was almost always Bud and cheap whiskey. Every couple of days Tim and I would go to the local liquor guy and stock up and then we'd go back and laugh and drink and pass out. One day my phone stopped working and I sold it to one of Tim's weed friends for $30 which I then spent on more booze. I didn't dare start my baby after a while since I couldn't keep my head clear when driving. So instead I pulled it deep to the back of the driveway and left it to sit in the puddly ruts day after day, week after week. I had stopped going to Phoenix House when I told Sally off and had no idea what that meant as far as the legal case was concerned. In fact I didn't care much about it, just living my life alone, day after day, drinking and chilling and staring at the basement walls and watching what passed for TV. I know I had money in my bank account since my debit card kept working for beer and snacks so that meant the unemployment was still coming in. The truth is I just existed, wallowing in my own head. If I thought about Myra I would take a drink to dull the pain. If I thought about John and Joel the ache in my heart almost demanded I kill it somehow. There were these flashes of memories. Things that I sort of recalled during this time. One For the Road Ch. 04 "Myra, not going to happen." "There was no money coming in and you were nowhere to be found. Jimmy, I love you and always will, but you killed a part of me." I could feel my molars grinding together. "Myra, I'm not going to give you a divorce." She stared at me, eyes shrouded and haunted. "It's not your choice, Jimmy. It's going to happen." My pulse felt thready and weak and my vision was clouding up. "Myra. Listen to me. We're Catholic, there is no divorce, you hear me? We're married for life, in the eyes of god." "Jimmy, you are not a practicing Catholic and neither am I." I banged my hand on the bed. "I don't care! You can't unlearn that stuff from when you were a kid. You aren't going." Myra stared at me and swallowed nervously. "James. I will never prevent you from seeing the boys once the courts agree to it. And I am serious, you will always be the main and first love of my life. But you cannot force this to bend to your will. As much as I love you, you've also killed part of my heart. And everything since then has forced me to wall that part up for now. You cannot beat this into submission. And James, I've already had to make some rough choices." "What...what do you mean?" "I'm...I needed help with the mortgage. And the phone bill. And the oil delivery." She twisted her hands again. "And the produce manager at work, Mark, well, it's no secret that he always sort of liked me." "No," I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "No, Myra. No." "I haven't slept with him yet, Jimmy." She sighed, tears falling freely now with no sobs to power them; just running down her face like a faucet. "But he's been real helpful with the house and money and repairs. And the boys have been better behaved since he's come around. I know what he wants and I'm...I'm going to have to give it to him sooner than later." She sobbed straight from her soul. "I don't have much of a choice. Not if I want to help our sons. The courts, lawyers, CPS, everything...you. It's all ripping us apart, James. It's time...time to end it." "Oh god, Myra. Babes." How could I keep on hurting? How could there be any more of me to hurt? Wasn't I done? Wasn't this enough? "I...I'm sorry." "Myra. I'll never grant you a divorce. Ever. No matter what. Ever. You hear me? You hear? In sickness and health, rich or poor, good times and bad, until death do us part." She bowed her head and left the room, whispering only, "I love you, James." I sat there in my bed, just staring ahead sightlessly. I know mom and pop came in but I couldn't tell you what was said or what I responded, if anything. All I know was the room grew progressively darker and I stared at the opposite wall with nothing in me anymore except dull, biting agony. Oh gods, I wanted to die. I want to drink a bottle of whiskey and then roll to the side of a cliff and blow my brains out. That's what I wanted. To just fucking die. "Why do you want to die, Jimmy?" Huh? I blinked in the fluorescent light of the room, obvious now that the sun had already set. Sitting in front of me was a middle aged man in a dark coat and jeans, legs folded, a glass of water by his arm. He adjusted his glasses and nodded at me. "I said, why do you want to die?" "Um...who the hell are you?" He chuckled. "Man, it's obvious you haven't heard a word I said. I said, my name is Father Michael Baldwin. I'm a grief and alcohol counselor here at Nassau Community. I was assigned your case a few days ago but you have been unable to talk until today." "Great," I muttered, "Another therapist. The last one did a real great job." "Therapy is a funny thing, Jimmy. It works wonders, but only if you are ready to actually get it. Otherwise it's the biggest time waster you ever had." Ok, this guy made some sense. "Well, that was my last one. Six weeks of group and talking and opening up and that fake Jesus crap, no offense, Father." "None taken." He cocked his head. "Where'd you go?" "Phoenix House." "They do nice work. But it's not for everyone." "Well, it wasn't for me." "Then why'd you go?" I flopped my head back on the pillow and stared at the ceiling. "So I could go home to my wife and kids." He nodded. "That's a good goal. Lofty one, too." Father Michael stood up and placed his hand on my chest. "And it probably hurts even more because it was doomed to fail." Huh? "Jimmy. Therapy only works if it's for you. If it's for anything other than you, it will never work. Ever." He pointed his thumb out the door. "The woman who was here earlier today and left crying. That was your wife?" I nodded. "She...she's leaving me." "Ah. And that's why you want to die." "You wouldn't understand, Father. She was my rock, my pillar, the other half of me. We have two sons together. But...it's over." Father Michael just watched me as I wallowed in my grief before reaching over to the next bed and grabbing a pillow from it. He then approached me and tried to put it over my face. "Hey...HEY!" I shoved and pushed and twisted. "What the hell are you doing, Father?" "Giving you what you want." Getting nowhere he dropped the pillow to the floor and stared at me. "Damn it, Jimmy. If you want to die so much, why the hell are you fighting me?" "What the fuck kind of priest are you? Killing me? Hell? What the fuck?" He laughed. "Jimmy, we're going to get along fine. But first things first." He suddenly reached out and smacked me hard on the right side of my face. It was a stinging blow and it rocked my head to the side. As I straightened out to rip him a new one, his opposite hand flashed out and struck me again on the left side. "That was to get you to pay attention to me." His eyes were cold as he hunched lower. "Are you paying attention to me?" I nodded quietly. "Good. Then listen up. I am here for one reason, to get you better. I will do anything and everything I have to to get you to understand that there is NO DAMNED way it is better if you were dead. Ever. All life is precious. Every life." He thumped one finger into my chest. "And if you ever want a chance, a shot, any minute opportunity to see your children and your wife and anyone else who loved you, loves you, or will love you, it's because you want to get better." He point to the pillow he dropped. "Because if you don't make the decision to WANT to get better for Jimmy, you might as well smother yourself ." Father Michael pushed away from my bed and began walking to the door. "We'll be talking tomorrow, Jimmy. You're going to be released and will be staying with your parents. I already have the address and have spoken with them at length about your situation and what my therapy will entail. They agreed to help and will be the other part of your equation and support system when I am not there." I stared at him, still not believing this intense guy was a priest. "You have this all figured out, don't you?" He smiled. "Nope. That's up to you." He waved. "See you tomorrow." My release the next day was strange. A representative from the Sheriff's department came in and handed me a copy of the separation, a modified order of protection that allowed pre-arranged phone calls only but still no visits (thanks Nassau County CPS! Pricks), and a four month old restraining order for a Charles Barrington who I had no idea who he was until I figured it was the poor bastard I almost beat the shit out of back at New Years. Busy day for me. The nurses were very nice and they helped me out of the hospital by wheelchair to my parents' car. I gave them both a hug and thanked them for putting up with me then got into the seat behind my pop and we drove to their house. It was quiet on the ride, no one was talking and I was afraid to say anything, just letting my mind wander. By the time we pulled up and my pop shut the car off, the silence was so thick you could cut it. "Jimmy." "Yeah, pop?" I asked, wondering what was on his mind. Please, don't pick a fight with me, I couldn't hack it right now. "I...I love you, son." Holy shit. "Um," "And," he continued, interrupting me, "and under no circumstances would I ever want you to die or kill yourself." Shit. Father Baldwin must have talked to them. My mom was sitting there crying quietly and my pop was red faced and embarrassed as this show of emotion. "Listen. I'm not going to kill myself, ok? I'm Jimmy Skelly; Shane and Mary's stubborn unbending son!" I laughed at myself. "Seriously, I'm not going anywhere." Crap, do I actually believe what I'm saying? I'm dying inside from Myra's revelation, but I don't think it's consuming me. God I hope not. We went inside and the three of us walked on eggshells for a bit as I cleaned out my old room (again) and went through my even smaller pile of belongings. "Hey, mom, I am going to need someone to drive me to Tim's so I can get my car and my stuff." "Jimmy, about that," my mom said with a tone of finality in her voice. "You are not supposed to have any contact with Tim for now." "What?" I stopped on my way to the bathroom to look back at her. "Why not?" "Father Mike doesn't want you around what he called 'trigger' people and based upon the last 4 months or so, he feels Tim is one." "Shit, mom. He's been my friend since 5th grade." "Honey, Tim might be a good 'buddy', but no friend would have let you do to yourself what you did. Your father and I will go to his house and pick up your car and we'll also see about getting whatever belongings you still have left there. Father Mike should be here soon and we'll leave then so you two can start your therapy." I grumbled inside as I went to the toilet and let loose a stream. I looked down, a little surprised to note that I had to lean forward to see Little Jimmy properly since the curve of my belly was in the way. When the hell did that happen? I wondered. Also, when was the last time I actually used my prick for something other than peeing? I washed my hands and slid the bathroom scale out, tapping the top to activate it and then climbed on. 313. What the fuck!?!? I climbed off, shook the scale and checked it to make sure nothing was wrong. I then skinned off my jeans and tossed my shirt to the side and climbed on again. 307. Holy crap, Jimmy. You are over 300 lbs. You've never been over 300 lbs. When the fuck did you get to be over 300 lbs? HOW the fuck did that happen? Shit, I thought about and guessed I had to put on 35 lbs or so since Christmas. 35 lbs in four and a half months. I grabbed my gut and shook it, dismayed to find there was so much to grab. Fuck me. Fuck, I'm becoming a fat drunken fuck. "Jimmy!" my mom called out. "We're going! We'll be back soon." I heard the door close and I walked out of the bathroom, my clothes held loosely in one hand. I padded naked to my room and searched around for something to wear, settling on a pair of elastic waist shorts and a tee shirt; horrified to feel it clinging tightly to my midsection. Feeling depressed all over again I wandered into the kitchen and rooted around the fridge for something to eat, as well as making sure there wasn't something to drink either. There wasn't. There was a knock at the door and I resignedly went to it, greeting Father Michael with a desultory "Hey" and "Come on in." He joined me in the kitchen where he asked for a glass of water first and then bid me to sit with him. "Well, Jimmy? Are you ready for the first day or the rest of your life?" I shrugged, my thoughts elsewhere. "Sure," I answered, my gaze wandering out the window. "Ok, Jimmy. Spill it. What is it?" "Nothing. It's nothing." He shook his head. "That is not the way this is going to go. You are going to answer me, speak with me, and treat this as your last chance for a regular life or I'm going to leave and you can find a less painful way to kill yourself besides alcohol poisoning. Now talk." "I just found out I can't talk to Tim." "This would be your friend, Tim Mallox?" I nodded. "Jimmy, I am sure that in his own way, Tim is a terrific friend and I wouldn't want you to think that you couldn't eventually talk to him and restart most of the same antics the two of you used to participate in. However, at this time, Tim is a trigger. He's one of the flashpoints in your life that gets you to drink." He leaned back and continued. "From my interviews and conversations, including with Mr. Mallox and his mother whose house you were residing at, I could not picture a worse person for you to have stayed with during those months. He's a habitual drug user, idolizes you and your drinking, has no discernable legal employment. His mother is better but has no interest in her son's life or well-being and is emotionally removed from his state of affairs. She is working two jobs to keep the roof over her and her son's heads and is rarely if ever home at a regular time, 7 days a week." "Jimmy, I promise you, that if we do this and we do it for you, get you to a place where you are healthy and well adjusted, you will have no problem having a friendship once more with Mr. Mallox and be able to do it in a manner that is both proper and not destructive. Ok?" I nodded my head and settled back to talk with Father Michael. "Alright. I'm game. Let's get to it," I said with a feeling of optimism. "Great. Jimmy, you're a miserable alcoholic drunk." "Hey!" "I'm serious," he continued. "You're a drunk. You are a drunk now and you will always an alcoholic, so you better get used to it." "What kind of therapy is that?!" I cried out. "You're supposed to break it to me slowly, get me to understand it and all that shit. Sorry, Father." "No offense," he laughed. "First, stop apologizing for cursing. It happens." "Sorry, Father. Recovering Irish Catholic. I can't help it," I offered with a grin. "Understood. Second, you are looking at something that occurs much later on. Right now we have one thing and one thing only for you to accept - and that is that you are an alcoholic." He pointed at me, "See? That right there? That sort of sneer you started to make when I said alcoholic. That's your biggest stumbling block." He sighed. "James. The truth is that most alcoholics don't admit they are one. They go through life blaming everything and everyone else. They have a hard time accepting responsibility for their actions and assume that the world owes them something. The world doesn't owe you anything. Nothing. No one puts a drink in your hand, no one makes you drink it, and no one goes through the trouble of impacting your life and all those lives around you by your drinking. You do, only you." I could feel myself getting upset the more he talked. I hadn't seen my boys in months, Myra was leaving me, I couldn't hang out with the oldest friend because he was a bad influence, I was 35 lbs. overweight, I had no job and no idea what I had in the bank account, and I just spent three days in the hospital and the last time I checked, I had no medical insurance. And now he was telling me that I was a drunk and it was just my fault. My own. No one elses. Was...was it true? I know my heart was screaming the answer but I had ignored it for so long...for so long I had lived with the knowledge that it wasn't my fault and I was in control. I was. Me, Jimmy Skelly, unbending and unbreaking. I was in control, I could stop whenever I wanted. Damn it, Jimmy. How many times had you uttered those words over the years? Hell, how many times did you utter those words over the last few months with Myra? Hundreds? What about to yourself? Thousands? But you couldn't, could you? You can't fix everything, you can't control everything. And the more you try, the worse it gets. Fuck. So Father Mike and I talked every day that week and every day I came to the ugly realization that my drinking was my problem. Mine. And I was an alcoholic. I drove away my wife, I alienated my parents, and I was solely responsible for my life becoming the unmanageable mess it was today. On Friday he invited me to St. William the Abbot Catholic Church for my first AA meeting at which point I told him, "I'm not going to be forced back into Catholicism, am I?" He laughed. "No, Jimmy. Some people feel like AA is a religious experience, but truthfully, it isn't. It's what you get out of it, like therapy. So you can go there, just meet up and get a feel for it, and then we'll meet next week Monday. You want me to drive?" I hadn't been behind the wheel of my baby for a long time now, I couldn't clearly remember when. I know she was filthy and fucked up and needed some work and tuning up, but I couldn't make myself leave the house, existing in the kitchen, living room, and bedroom only. There was no fucking way I was going to drive. "Yeah. Would you mind?" "No at all. I'll be back about 6:30 to pick you up." I ate very little that night for dinner, my nervousness and constant trips to the bathroom driving my pop nuts to the point that he accused me of jerking off under the table and washing my hands every fifteen minutes to clean the spunk off. I think he was disappointed that I didn't fire back at him which made him realize how fucking twisted up I was over this whole thing. Father Mike picked me up shortly after and we drove in silence to the church. It was nice I guess, as far as churches go. White and with a steeple, a handful of people hanging outside smoking cigarettes and bullshitting in small groups. I got out of the car and straightened my shirt, not liking the way it hugged my chest, and made my way to the front door. A number of the people hanging around nodded in our direction, a few of them bidding Father Michael a greeting by name. Ok, this was a fucking surprise to me, but not one of these people looked like drunks. Really, none of them. Hell, she looked like a soccer mom, that one could have been a damned accountant, those two over there most likely played basketball. Alright, that broad was a train wreck and she had too many tattoos, looks like a freak, but fuck me - they looked like...regular people. Eventually someone came out and said "The meeting for the friends of Bill W is gathering if anyone is interested." I saw most of the loiterers stomp out their butts and start walking in. I guessed that Bill W was a code or some shit; damn, is there a book on this shit I was supposed to know before coming in? Fuck it, I joined the walk in, ignoring the sweatiness gathering in my palms. Thankfully we didn't go into the church part of the church, we went into some meeting room to the side. Had to be forty or so of us in here, with room for another twenty if need be. A heavy set older guy was at the front and he called the meeting to order and everyone said hello. I wasn't going to say shit, only watch and follow along, and try not to feel so fucking scared. Man up, Jimmy! Man up! The AA meeting was an eye opener for me. It was similar to what I had been a part of at Phoenix House, but maybe it was my changed mindset or whatever, but this just resonated with me. I felt like I was a part of the experience here. They had a few people read some part of twelve traditions which was just an outline of what AA was. And then the speaker asked if there was anyone new here, and Father Mike who was in the front turned around in his chair and looked directly at me. Fuck. Man up. Stand up. Just do it. The crowd was waiting, looking around, a number of them zeroing in on me. I placed my hands on my knees and pushed myself standing. "Me. I am." "Great! Welcome! What's your name?" "Jimmy. Jimmy Skelly." "Hi, Jimmy," the entire group welcomed me in one voice. I could feel my face growing flush. The speaker held his hand out towards me, palm up, "Anything you want to tell us about yourself, Jimmy?"