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 5^th 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?"