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.

• Like laughing at something I found funny on John Stewart that I ended up shitting myself.

• Tim had taken me for a ride one time when he was scoring weed money and the guy we met up with at Roosevelt Field had a lip ring connected to his eyebrow ring by a chain. I thought that was the funniest thing ever and laughed in his face until he told Tim to get me the hell out of there and not bring me around any more.

• There was a time I had to carry a box downstairs and somehow I forgot to button my pants and they slipped down to my ankles while I was trying to walk the steps. I crab walked to the bottom and laughed myself silly while Tim was looking at me like I had three heads.

Real funny stuff. Funny as in pathetic.

What snapped me out of it though was a trip to the hospital. Apparently I was in the shower and was feeling sick. I slipped and banged my head on the back of the tub, making one hell of a holy racket, and ended up puking while lying down. It sort of got stuck in my throat and I was gasping and gagging, drowning in my own whiskey laden vomit. I couldn't stand and was blacking out when Tim kicked the door in and before I faded, I could see him racing over to help me.

When I awoke I was in Nassau University Hospital in East Meadow and had a pile of bandages on my head, an IV in my arm, and the worst hangover I ever felt. I tried to pull myself up but a comforting hand eased me back onto the bed and bid me to sleep. Who was I to argue?

The next time I woke up it was daylight and a real ugly nurse was shaking me awake. "It's time for your medication, Mr. Skelly."

"Huh? What happened?"

She gave me some pills and cup of water to swallow them with and then started to take my vitals. "You've been here for three days, Mr. Skelly. Concussion, severe trauma to the larynx, asphyxia, and alcohol poisoning. We have rehydrated your body and you're coming along fine. If the doctor agrees, you can be released tomorrow."

"Oh."

"Your mother and father were here the last two days. Your friend Tim was here the first day. And there have been other visitors as well." She pointed to the side table and I turned my head to look.

There were small bags of cookies and cards piled up there for me to look at once I awoke. But what caused me to choke up and sob were the hand drawn crayon cards on folded yellow paper showing my two stick figure boys near a lying down larger figure. My sons were here. They were here which means Myra was here. And they saw me like this.

The nurse tried to console me as I sobbed and moaned and cried, eventually other people came in and something happened which calmed me down and had me fall asleep after a few seconds.

The next time I woke up it was to see my mom and pop near my bed. My mom looked so tired and drawn, but my pop - he just looked old. Old, sad, hollow. I swallowed to wet my tongue and croaked out, "Hey."

They both looked at me and smiled with relief. "Hey, Jimmy." "Hey son."

I sighed, drawing some strength up from god knows where. "I'm so sorry, pop."

"Don't," he scolded me, hand on my bicep. "Don't you fucking dare start that. It's done, it happened, it's over. We're Irish, not Italian. We do guilt, not grudges, ok?"

I smiled. "Thanks, pop."

My mom gave a thin smile, leaning over to kiss me on the cheek. "I haven't been able to call you for so long. Your phone wasn't picking up and then they said it was no longer in service. The courts came by, Myra's been sick, the J's missed you, Sally from Phoenix House reached out. Jimmy, you fell off the face of the earth."

"Didn't anyone think to call, Tim?"

"We tried, everyone did. No one answered and eventually his phone was disconnected as well."

I sighed. "So how'd you find me here?"

"Myra called us. When you were here for the birth of John and Joel, you had each listed each other in the admission forms as emergency contacts. The hospital called her and she called us. And here we are."

We caught up with each other for some time, dismayed to learn it was April. Four months. I had lost four months somewhere and had nothing to show for it. They suddenly seemed distracted and mentioned that they "were going to the gift shop for a few minutes. We'll be right back," before leaving.

In the silence that followed their passing I smelled the faint aroma of coconut that was oddly familiar and a voice from the door tentatively ask, "James? Can I come in?"

I looked and it was Myra. My wife. The smell was from her shampoo, how the hell could I forget that? I reached out towards her, as if by will alone I could bring her towards me. She took a few steps in and then sped up until she fell across my chest and hugged me tight. "Oh, Jimmy. Oh, James. Oh, Jimmy." She sobbed and I held her and I could feel the quivering of her shoulders as she let out whatever had been burning inside of her. "I thought you had died."

I shook my head and hugged her back. "No, babes. I just wish I had is all."

We stayed like that for a few minutes longer before she sat up and stared at me. "Where have you been?"

I filled her in on what I could remember of the last few disjointed months and she did the same. Her story was the mirror opposite of my own and I found myself growing upset as she went on with the terrible hoops and hurdles she and the boys have had to jump through. She was on government assistance at this time, getting an EBT card and other help from too many agencies that I'd like to think about. The house was in danger of foreclosure and the boys were having a rough time, alternatingly missing their dad and acting out in defiance.

But it was the last part of her conversation that tore the remains of my heart out of me.

"And that's what the problem is now, James."

"What, babes?"

She sighed, looking down. "James. Child Protective Services has been very hostile to me. Very hostile. Even with mom and yours helping out, they had come in and said that the children's home life and safety was deteriorating. I just had nothing left to give, no where else I could stretch to make it get any better."

She sat up straighter on the edge of the bed and twisted her fingers together. "So I made myself a promise. If you weren't coming home or getting better by the 15^th of March, I was going to have to make a hard decision."

In the deepest recesses of my heart I could feel the snake of anger sort of stir, but it was so tired, so worn out; there was so little strength in my one time fury. "Myra. It's mid-April. What hard decision did you make?"

My wife stood up and moved a step away from the bed, distancing herself from me as she gathered her courage. "Jimmy, I filed for a separation."

Thud. That was the sound of my last support column dropping away. "No," I gasped out. "No chance."

"Jimmy. I have to. I have to do what's right for the boys and for me." She had tears in her eyes. "I've been trying to reach you for so long, there is nothing left I can do or give. I was done."