Post by The Enforcer on Jul 13, 2011 1:34:59 GMT -5
~April Night~
Six Days Sober
As he squished the "Channel Up" button under his thumb, Trent felt his pinky begin to tremble, then to twitch.
For the past forty minutes, he’d sat flipping through the channels on his LED television, trying to ignore the ongoing shaking that pulsed through his limbs. There was a simple solution, a quick fix, the kind of thing that would take no effort at all (other than moving his ass off the couch), but that solution meant flushing away six days. Six days of progress.
Six days of agonizing bullshit. For what?
Tossing the remote onto the sofa, Trent trudged across the living room and headed straight for the refrigerator on the far side of his kitchen. On top of the appliance sat a small black bottle, and he snatched it from its perch, popping the lid, then a few Vicodin, not bothering to count. With half the magic formula completed, he opened up the fridge, withdrawing an icy Blue Moon. Twisting off the cap, Trent put the bottle to his lips and took a long drink, practically smiling even as the beer rolled down his tongue and coated the back of his throat.
Returning to his spot on the couch, he continued on with the channel surfing, a wave of comfort washing over him as he mashed the "Channel Up" button, holding the remote in his cold, steady hand.
~An Evening in June~
Nineteen Days Sober
"So – how long?"
"Nineteen days."
"Good." Angel smiled and she reached across the table to squeeze her husband’s hand. "I’m glad to hear you’re doin’ this."
"Yeah. It was tough at first. Three days sober, off the wagon. Six days sober, off the wagon. Four days sober…" As he rattled off his repeated failures, Trent picked at the tip of his straw with his fingernail, bending and splitting the plastic to the point of uselessness. "But I’m tryin'. One day at a time and all that stuff."
"This is the man I wanted to see. This is the guy I was hoping to sit down and have a nice dinner with. Clear-eyed and sober. Working to make things right."
"I gotta admit, sometimes it still feels kinda shitty not being stoned, but I’m getting to the point where I don’t miss it anymore. I miss my family quite a bit, the pills and the booze not so much."
"You know what I miss the most?"
"The sex?" Trent looked up and raised an eyebrow as he jabbed at the ice in his drink, trying to impale a rather large cube near the bottom of the glass.
"I said what I miss the most." Angel chuckled and rummaged her fork through some lettuce, taking a bite of salad before continuing. "I miss that little bit of you in everything. I miss the way you made the perfect moments even better. I still laugh with the kids, rolling around on the floor with them, I still enjoy a beautiful sunset, talking with my parents, reading a good book – "
"Pride & Prejudice?"
"For the umpteenth time."
"Figured."
"I miss the way you made everything matter. So many sweet things just aren’t quite as sweet without you. What’s a good time without that special someone? What’s ever worth celebrating or being proud of without someone to share it with? There’s a lot of things I love, but I feel like I don’t love any of ‘em quite as much these days. What we have injected everything we built with something special. I miss those that sorta thing."
"That… that means a lot to hear." He stared at his wife, a wife he hadn’t seen in six weeks, and he watched her eyes as they watered up, a couple teardrops escaping, falling onto her plate and mixing with salad dressing. She seemed elated and devastated all at once, hopeful and defeated. And his only response was to take a sip of soda from his mutilated straw.
"Every word of it’s true."
"I know."
"Good."
"So – how are the kids? I miss my angels."
"They miss you too."
"Georgie doin’ alright in school?"
"Doin’ great." Now it was Angel’s turn to stab aimlessly at something in front of her, spiking her fork into a field of green, over and over, never bothering to take a bite. "Now that you’re sob—turning things around, you should come and see ‘em. Maybe we can even talk about moving back into the house. I’m sure Mom and Dad could stand some peace and quiet. They love the kids, but it’s a lot of ruckus."
"No."
"No?"
"Not now. I can’t do it now."
"What do you mean you can’t do it now?"
"Things have changed, but not enough yet. Or I dunno, maybe some stuff’s changed too much." Trent propped an elbow on the table and rubbed the back of his neck. "I get what you’re saying about missing that sweetness in everything ya do. I get it. All the gold in the world isn’t worth anything if you’ve got no one to spend it with. And I love you, god I love you – but this isn’t gonna work right now and three weeks sober doesn’t change it all. And everything you said, true as it was, much as it made me smile – this can’t happen. This is something I have to fix on my own."
"Ok."
"I know that’s not what you wanted to hear, or what you probably expected."
"No, not really."
"But, there’s just something of that guy I used to be, something I have to find."
Angel finally stopped playing with her salad, plucking a cherry tomato from the edge of the plate. She took a bite and chewed, and when she’d finished, she smiled, "Look me up when you do."
She winked, and empty as he felt, he couldn’t keep himself from smiling.
~An Evening in June~
Nineteen Days Sober
Pushing open the door to his empty kingdom, Trent tossed his keys on the corner table by the sofa and sighed, feeling the effects of a dinner that was too big for him to handle. He looked around the living room, cast in shadows, just the shapes of the furniture giving the room any substance and for a moment, just stood still, not moving from away from the front door.
He didn’t bother to hit the lights because there was nothing to see. Nothing in the house had any value. Not the 55" LED television. Not the title belts in the trophy room. There were a countless things around him, but nothing of merit. The house, and the belongings in it, were worth millions. It was his, the empire he had built from years of blood and sweat, broken bones and ultimate successes. But there was nothing worth bathing in light, and so it all remained in the shadows.
On tired knees, he slowly sauntered over to the recliner in the corner of the room. Spinning on his heels, Trent eased himself into the chair, taking a seat in his throne, king on his mountain of mud.
Six Days Sober
As he squished the "Channel Up" button under his thumb, Trent felt his pinky begin to tremble, then to twitch.
For the past forty minutes, he’d sat flipping through the channels on his LED television, trying to ignore the ongoing shaking that pulsed through his limbs. There was a simple solution, a quick fix, the kind of thing that would take no effort at all (other than moving his ass off the couch), but that solution meant flushing away six days. Six days of progress.
Six days of agonizing bullshit. For what?
Tossing the remote onto the sofa, Trent trudged across the living room and headed straight for the refrigerator on the far side of his kitchen. On top of the appliance sat a small black bottle, and he snatched it from its perch, popping the lid, then a few Vicodin, not bothering to count. With half the magic formula completed, he opened up the fridge, withdrawing an icy Blue Moon. Twisting off the cap, Trent put the bottle to his lips and took a long drink, practically smiling even as the beer rolled down his tongue and coated the back of his throat.
Returning to his spot on the couch, he continued on with the channel surfing, a wave of comfort washing over him as he mashed the "Channel Up" button, holding the remote in his cold, steady hand.
~An Evening in June~
Nineteen Days Sober
"So – how long?"
"Nineteen days."
"Good." Angel smiled and she reached across the table to squeeze her husband’s hand. "I’m glad to hear you’re doin’ this."
"Yeah. It was tough at first. Three days sober, off the wagon. Six days sober, off the wagon. Four days sober…" As he rattled off his repeated failures, Trent picked at the tip of his straw with his fingernail, bending and splitting the plastic to the point of uselessness. "But I’m tryin'. One day at a time and all that stuff."
"This is the man I wanted to see. This is the guy I was hoping to sit down and have a nice dinner with. Clear-eyed and sober. Working to make things right."
"I gotta admit, sometimes it still feels kinda shitty not being stoned, but I’m getting to the point where I don’t miss it anymore. I miss my family quite a bit, the pills and the booze not so much."
"You know what I miss the most?"
"The sex?" Trent looked up and raised an eyebrow as he jabbed at the ice in his drink, trying to impale a rather large cube near the bottom of the glass.
"I said what I miss the most." Angel chuckled and rummaged her fork through some lettuce, taking a bite of salad before continuing. "I miss that little bit of you in everything. I miss the way you made the perfect moments even better. I still laugh with the kids, rolling around on the floor with them, I still enjoy a beautiful sunset, talking with my parents, reading a good book – "
"Pride & Prejudice?"
"For the umpteenth time."
"Figured."
"I miss the way you made everything matter. So many sweet things just aren’t quite as sweet without you. What’s a good time without that special someone? What’s ever worth celebrating or being proud of without someone to share it with? There’s a lot of things I love, but I feel like I don’t love any of ‘em quite as much these days. What we have injected everything we built with something special. I miss those that sorta thing."
"That… that means a lot to hear." He stared at his wife, a wife he hadn’t seen in six weeks, and he watched her eyes as they watered up, a couple teardrops escaping, falling onto her plate and mixing with salad dressing. She seemed elated and devastated all at once, hopeful and defeated. And his only response was to take a sip of soda from his mutilated straw.
"Every word of it’s true."
"I know."
"Good."
"So – how are the kids? I miss my angels."
"They miss you too."
"Georgie doin’ alright in school?"
"Doin’ great." Now it was Angel’s turn to stab aimlessly at something in front of her, spiking her fork into a field of green, over and over, never bothering to take a bite. "Now that you’re sob—turning things around, you should come and see ‘em. Maybe we can even talk about moving back into the house. I’m sure Mom and Dad could stand some peace and quiet. They love the kids, but it’s a lot of ruckus."
"No."
"No?"
"Not now. I can’t do it now."
"What do you mean you can’t do it now?"
"Things have changed, but not enough yet. Or I dunno, maybe some stuff’s changed too much." Trent propped an elbow on the table and rubbed the back of his neck. "I get what you’re saying about missing that sweetness in everything ya do. I get it. All the gold in the world isn’t worth anything if you’ve got no one to spend it with. And I love you, god I love you – but this isn’t gonna work right now and three weeks sober doesn’t change it all. And everything you said, true as it was, much as it made me smile – this can’t happen. This is something I have to fix on my own."
"Ok."
"I know that’s not what you wanted to hear, or what you probably expected."
"No, not really."
"But, there’s just something of that guy I used to be, something I have to find."
Angel finally stopped playing with her salad, plucking a cherry tomato from the edge of the plate. She took a bite and chewed, and when she’d finished, she smiled, "Look me up when you do."
She winked, and empty as he felt, he couldn’t keep himself from smiling.
~An Evening in June~
Nineteen Days Sober
Pushing open the door to his empty kingdom, Trent tossed his keys on the corner table by the sofa and sighed, feeling the effects of a dinner that was too big for him to handle. He looked around the living room, cast in shadows, just the shapes of the furniture giving the room any substance and for a moment, just stood still, not moving from away from the front door.
He didn’t bother to hit the lights because there was nothing to see. Nothing in the house had any value. Not the 55" LED television. Not the title belts in the trophy room. There were a countless things around him, but nothing of merit. The house, and the belongings in it, were worth millions. It was his, the empire he had built from years of blood and sweat, broken bones and ultimate successes. But there was nothing worth bathing in light, and so it all remained in the shadows.
On tired knees, he slowly sauntered over to the recliner in the corner of the room. Spinning on his heels, Trent eased himself into the chair, taking a seat in his throne, king on his mountain of mud.