Page 2 of Mountain Man Bad Boy

Mike had moved on from his longtime position as a salesman at the lumberyard to selling cars in the next town. I remembered him saying something about how he liked talking to people, and that was the best part of the job. He seemed to be doing fine, supporting his family. I didn’t care. His spot opened up at the lumberyard, and I took it.

It was a struggle to get there most days, but if I was going to give myself any credit, I was just barely keeping my head above water.

Surviving got old after a while, and I wondered what the hell I was doing. Last night, I had hit the Lucky Lady, the local watering hole, and had been able to score a few drinks before being kicked out. After, I went to the convenience store and grabbed a couple of bottles of cheap wine. I sat on the curb and drank by myself, until a group of teenagers started throwing sticks at me. Stumbling away toward my apartment, I blacked out. Somehow, I had managed to get home, and into the bed no less.

I woke with a massive headache and the taste of vomit in my mouth. Around me, a sea of detritus collected: old beer cans, empty takeout containers, dirty socks. I groaned, falling back into bed as the world spun.

It was too much. I was driving myself into the ground. Kids were making fun of me. I was a slob and a loser. I had ghosted the only people who cared about me, Mike and his friends. So what, I wasn’t dealing anymore—was that really something to be proud of when I couldn’t even make it through one day sober?

Never again, I thought. But how many times had I said that to myself. It didn’t seem to help. My willpower disintegrated an hour into the day, and I would shoot up just to make it through work. My boss knew. Everyone I worked with knew. They had all urged me to go to rehab, but I had shrugged it off, making promises that I never intended to keep.

Maybe today was the day. How much longer was I going to continue scraping by? Where was the joy in life? It seemed everything was so much harder than it should be. Just getting out of bed seemed like a monstrous chore; getting to work required chemical assistance. I was tired of life, tired of myself, tired of waking up in the morning to another day.

I lay there feeling sorry for myself for a long time. When my body started to crave the high, I fought back. I didn’t want to continue on this way. Everyone at work kept pushing me to go into rehab. Maybe that was the answer. Lord knew I couldn’t come clean on my own. Maybe it really was time to seek professional help.

I changed out of my stained clothes, choosing the cleanest outfit I could find. My room smelled horrible. I needed to clean it, to pick up all the trash and scrub the floors. But I couldn’t find the energy or the focus to begin the task. Instead, I set my sights on something that was even more important: researching rehab programs.

I hadn’t paid my cell phone bill in a couple of months, so all I could do with the burner phone was play a couple of downloaded games. I stuck it in my pocket anyway. It served to mask the severity of my problem. If people saw me on a phone, they would automatically assume I was normal.

The library had free internet—I could just check in there and look up recovery programs. I got in my truck, an old pickup I had bought off a friend in recovery almost five years ago. For some reason, even though I had made millions of mistakes, I had never been caught. I flew in under the radar where the law was concerned. I should have gone to jail a million times, but luck was always on my side.

I was actually sober this time, if you didn’t count the leftover fuzziness from last night. I drove carefully, forcing myself to pay attention. The library was on Main Street, and there was plenty of traffic on a Saturday afternoon. I eased into a parking spot, turning the engine off. Inside, the library was quiet, with the exception of a read-aloud program for preschoolers.

I slid into one of the cubbies for internet browsing and logged on using my library card. It was funny—no matter how far down in life I fell, I still managed to keep that library card. It was one of the few things in life that were really free and helpful. I typed in “rehab” and the name of my town and got a few hits.

The closest ones were in Nashville. One I had heard of in my brief flirtation with sobriety. One was a religious place. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. There was a third attached to a hospital, and that one seemed to be the best bet. At least there, if I had any troubles, there would be doctors available. I took a picture of the address and stuck the phone back in my pocket. If I could only find the courage to drive myself there, maybe things would turn around. But first, I had to talk to my boss.

2

GINA

My tabby cat stretched and purred beside me, nuzzling me awake. I reached a weary hand to scratch her ears. I called her Evil, and there was a whole backstory that went with that. Evil was destined to take over the world; she was just taking a minor hiatus to live with me in my Nashville apartment. As soon as she was tired of belly rubs and canned cat food, she was going to rise up and rule over us all. She already ruled over me, I thought sardonically, struggling out of bed.

Evil demanded to be fed, but I ignored her for a minute. Served her right for planning world domination. Despite the fact that I was currently single, there wasn’t a single thing I felt was missing in my life. I had a hard time of it growing up. My mom and dad divorced when I was three, so I didn’t really remember them together. My brothers and I bounced between them. When my mom lost her apartment, we went to live with Dad. When Dad got married again and his new wife imposed rules we weren’t used to following, we went back to live with Mom. She was in and out of rehab, and we stayed with our grandparents.

I went to four different high schools in four years. My younger brother Lincoln, joined the military right out of high school and we hadn’t seen him since. My older brother George, wasn’t so lucky. He got caught up with the wrong crowd, became addicted to oxycontin and then heroin. I watched it change him. He went from a sweet little kid to a thief and a liar. I never knew what he would steal from me next. I locked up all of my valuables, any cash I had or jewelry Dad had given me. If I forgot something even for one day, it disappeared, and I never saw it again.

He started going out at night and wouldn’t return until breakfast. At that point we were living with our mom, and there were lots of fights.

“Where have you been all night?” Mom would yell.

“Cleaning up after you!” George would shoot back.

He was right. She had no business telling him to stay clean and go to sleep. She stayed out all night sometimes too. She couldn’t hold a job. One week, she was a waitress or a cashier; the next, she would be stocking shelves. She was even an airline stewardess for a few months, taking trips to foreign places and buying us little gifts from the airport. That was when she was sober.

As soon as she began drinking on the job, she was fired, and we were back living with our grandparents. I left home as soon as I could, leaving George alone with Mom. They fought constantly, but I couldn’t stay and play referee anymore. It was exhausting being the only level-headed person since I was the one who didn’t drink or use drugs.

I studied hard and got into a good nursing school. Any money we had as a family had long since been spent. I took a job at a restaurant and worked my way through college. There were scholarships and loans—I did whatever I had to do to set myself free. After college, I moved to Nashville and found a job at an inpatient drug treatment center. It was coming full circle.

I didn’t hate my parents or my brothers. I felt sorry for them. Life was hard all around, and people just wanted to escape. The trouble was that the drugs they used became the problem instead of the solution. I wanted to help other people face their demons and reclaim their sobriety one person at a time. I just wasn’t ready to help my own family yet.

With the money I made as a nurse, I was able to afford a cute little apartment downtown. There were coffee shops and theaters I could walk to. Friday nights there were bands to see in upscale bars and plenty of restaurants to sample. I was close with a couple of the people I worked with and had made friends all around the city.

Some of my friends were casual drinkers, but I was suspicious even of a beer or two. I had seen how quickly it could escalate into life-destroying habits. Someday, I might be able to go back home and try to get my mom and my brother into recovery programs like mine. But for now, I was content helping strangers and living my best life with people who had never known the siren song of drink.

Besides, I had Evil to think of, and she had plenty of negative energy to go around. I fed her and cleaned out her water bowl before getting dressed or else she would cause chaos and knock over every item in her sight. Scrubs and clog charms were the work fashion, and while some of my colleagues spent extra money to get cartoon characters or hearts and stars, I stuck with plain old green. I loved all my coworkers, but some of them didn’t have the experience I had. Some of them grew up in loving homes and had never known an alcoholic or an addict.

Kids might appreciate loud colors, but I knew our patients would be soothed by the tasteful mint of traditional hospital scrubs. When there is so much going on in your head, it’s nice to have neutral tones on the outside. So, I just went with the scrubs provided by the treatment center, tying my hair up into a bun.

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