Page 29 of Come Home to Me

Frank

The McDougan & Kent table at Derby’s is packed, as is the rest of the bar. Waitresses hustle and bustle with trays balanced on hands, turning sideways to get through thin spaces left between the backs of chairs.

Music blends with conversation.

Little explosions of laughter cover people’s words.

Ice clinks in glasses.

The lights and sounds of the city on the other side of the windows add to the energy in the bar. On a normal night, those things come together in a recipe for a spectacular Tuesday.

But this isn’t a normal night.

This is the night after everything between Sarah and me changed in the space of one elevator ride. I told her it was the start of an addiction. She laughed it off, but her eyes told me she felt the truth of the statement. The weight of it settling into the space between us.

With Sarah sitting across from me, laughter sparkling in those amazing eyes, the corners of her lips turning up in a sarcastic smile as she puts Jason in his place, this Tuesday transcends all other Tuesdays. When she focuses on me, the rest of the world falls away.

There’s the hint of our secret in the turn of her head. In the way she drops her gaze to the table and then right back up again, as if she can’t handle the power of our connection, but can’t bear to break it, either.

One by one, our coworkers excuse themselves and leave. The group at our table grows smaller and smaller. The energy of the bar diminishes. And finally, Sarah and I are alone. We lean in close, our knees pressed together under the table, her hand clasped in mine.

She sips at her second drink. “I didn’t take a pill today.” There’s an apology in her words that makes me sit back.

I’ve been thinking about what I said to her since Saturday. Replaying the scene in the parking lot over and over. My desire to help her that day overrode the knowledge that I’m not a doctor. I don’t have any idea what she’s been through, what her life is like. “If you need to take them…” I open my hands, feeling guilty in the same moment I’m proud of her. “Don’t go cold turkey because of me.”

Sarah’s gaze locks on mine. “I am doing it because of you, because of what you said, but it’s also because of me. I do have problems with anxiety. Panic attacks. Depression. You name it, I’m fighting it. My doctor just keeps on renewing my prescription, but I don’t want to hide behind the pills. They’re supposed to make the job easier. Not do it for me. Your reaction on Saturday reminded me I’ve been breaking my own rules.” She drags a finger through the condensation on her glass, lost in thought, looking like she wants to say more, but she chooses to stay silent.

I lean in to make eye contact. “I’ve fought through my own addictions, and watched others lose the battle time and time again. I’m hyper aware of the warning signs. Maybe too aware. You know what you’re going through. I don’t. It was wrong of me to say anything before I had all the information.”

Sarah studies me, obviously considering her next words. “Is that why you only ever have one drink? Because of your own addictions?” She gestures toward my glass of water, then gives me a look so open, so lacking pretense, I regret ever doubting if she was worth helping.

“You noticed that, did you?” I ask, even though I’m not surprised at all. Time and again, Sarah remembers tiny details from our conversations. It only makes sense that she’s paying close attention to my mannerisms, too.

Sarah nods and spins a finger around the rim of her glass. “I wasn’t sure I was right.” She looks up with a smile. “Until just now.”

I fold my arms on the table and consider how much to share. No one back home knows how close I came to falling apart. I got things under control before I hit rock bottom and never felt the need to tell my family after the fact. But Sarah needs to know she’s not alone, so I decide to tell her everything.

“When I was in college, and then later, when I’d first moved to Denver, I got into a habit of drinking too much on the weekends. Then, I’d drink too much on the weeknights. Then, I’d just drink too much. I turned into someone I didn’t respect and I didn’t like it. As soon as I realized what was happening, what I was doing to myself, I quit drinking.” I sigh as I remember those early days after college. “And man, it was such a wakeup call. I realized I didn’t really know what to do with myself if I wasn’t drunk…” I lose the rest of the statement, letting it trail off into oblivion. I don’t like thinking about those times, let alone talking about them. It’s like eavesdropping on a stranger’s memories. Some people are happy drunks. I’m not one of those people.

Sarah tilts her head. “Why have a drink at all, if things got so far out of control?”

“To prove to myself I can stop when I choose.” I watch a waitress cross in front of our table, her hair bouncing in curls past her shoulders, then give my attention back to Sarah. “If I’m the kind of man who can’t even have one drink without turning into a monster, then I’m not really in control, am I? The alcohol still controls me. But if I can have a drink and stop, then I control the alcohol.”

Sarah pulls her hair over her shoulder and I remember the way it looked wrapped around my fist yesterday. “I can see that,” she says as she fiddles with the ends of her hair, almost as if she’s reveling in the same memory. “Though the people in Alcoholics Anonymous might disagree with you.”

“I know my logic is full of holes, but this is the way it makes sense to me. The way it works for me. The way I feel best about good old Frank Wilde.”

And isn’t that what life is all about? Finding the best ways to get yourself through it all? We aren’t all carbon copies of the same person. It’s foolish to believe we all need the same answers to problems.

“I wasn’t going to point out any holes, silly. I respect you for your choices. It’s a big deal to come back from something like that.” Sarah shrugs and the smile falls from her face. “You must think so little of me, for being as out of control as I am when it comes to this stuff.” She lifts her glass off the table an inch or so and then puts it down.

“I’d hardly call what you’re doing being out of control. I’ve never seen you have more than two drinks.” I pause, considering whether to voice my next thought out loud then decide we’re way past censoring ourselves. “Although I will say that mixing the medication with the drinking is a bad idea.”

“I know that. I really do.” Sarah looks at me, a million things dancing behind her eyes. She chews on her bottom lip and then drops her gaze, only to bring it right back to mine. I wait patiently for her to decide what and how much to share with me.

Just when I think she’s decided to share absolutely nothing, she speaks up. “Things aren’t great between me and my family. It’s been bad for years.”

The words, so generic they give away nothing of the situation, come from somewhere so deep in her soul that I can see the effort it takes her to pull them out. She trembles under the weight of it all, bolstering her courage before speaking again. “My brother’s wedding brought all this…stuff…to the surface and I just couldn’t put myself through it…”

---