One For the Road Ch. 04

Yeah...Too soon for me now. "Not right now. Another time." Yeah, next time , Jimmy.

"Not a problem," he said with a smile and I sat back down. "Welcome anyway!" And like that, my time up and in the spot light ended. I didn't burn, pass out, get ridiculed, or anything - just said hi and was made to feel welcome.

And that was the key for me, I was made to feel welcome by a room full of people who looked normal and acted normal, but each one of them - everyone had been where I am now at some point. Life shattered, a fucking mess - and now? On their way to being better off.

I listened to people speak as they made their way around the room and felt just amazed at some of the shit people had been through and put their family's through. There was one guy who had walked out of his house 3 years ago to go on a bender and had somehow found his way back from the brink 5 months ago. That lady over there drove her car into her own living room. Each person had their own pile of shit and were still muddling through it.

But that was the point. They were doing it every day. Every day they made the CHOICE to not have a drink. They woke up, did their day, and said at one point, "I am not going to have a drink today." And they did it and lived it.

At the end they passed a box around for people to drop what they could into it and I felt like a jackass as I only had 68 cents in change on me. I was assured by the tired looking blond in the next seat that anything was appreciated and to only give if I could afford to. Father Mike personally escorted me to the speaker who thanked me for coming and handed me a white poker chip asking me if I'd like to come back.

"Yes," I replied, surprised at my own answer.

And that was my beginning. Every day I talked to my mom and pop, trying to sort my life out and get a grip on reality. Father Michael came by often and talked to me, by phone if he couldn't make it, giving me the support I didn't know I needed. And I went to the meetings and listened long and hard. What did Grandpa Connell used to say? "Take the cotton out of your ears and stick in in your mouth, Jimmy. Don't talk, just listen."

The second week of my sobriety threatened to upset my applecart as I started to take stock of my life and the big assed hole I had dug for myself. CPS came to the house and interviewed me, wanting to make sure I was participating with some program and making headway. Father Mike was there along with mom and pop and they were my staunchest supporters - holding this social working twit at bay and deflecting her snide comments and judgmental attitude. Shit like, "the children really shouldn't be exposed to negative influences at this time," and, "it's in our best interests to keep the father away from his children as he has yet to prove himself to be capable of rational and mature responsibility."

Fuck you, twat.

My pop surprised me at this point. "Listen," he said exasperatedly. "My wife and I are fine to meet the boys. They come here all the time. Why the fuck, if you are so damned worried about getting sued for someone stubbing their fucking toe, don't you allow Jimmy to see his sons who he ain't seen in 6 months, Jesus knows that can't be 'healthy' for the kids, here under supervision? My wife, me, you, hell bring a damned Sheriff if you want, can all watch to make sure that Jimmy doesn't decide to drink a beer in front of the kids and then attack them. I swear, I've never heard of such bullshit in my life. He's their father, and let me say, he might have had some damned problems lately, but he LOVES his kids something fierce and you are hurting them all by keeping this farce up any longer."

The CPS bitch said she'd talk about it with her supervisor and would get back to us. Father Baldwin gave her his contact information and gently reminded her that he was part of the social worker buddy network or whatever professional courtesy they all share. I hoped that his input was going to speed the wheels along but he informed me that Child Services was the crappiest and slowest of the social agencies to deal with and it might be weeks until some news came my way.

On day 16 of being sober I went out to my Charger for the first time in and cried. My mom was standing next to me as I looked my baby over. She was filthy from bumper to bumper, so many scratches in her paint from neglect and who knows what. There was a dent in the driver's side door where I had apparently forced it open against something else while drunk, leaving a 2' tall ripple in the steel. The interior was disgusting; old bottles, cans, food wrappers, spider webs, and ants. Who knew you can get ants in a car? But there they were, crawling all over everything. There were cigarette burns in the upholstery and my radio was missing; god knows where it was.

I looked in the trunk and didn't recognize the mass of fabric and cloth in there at first, realizing afterwards that it was apparently my 'hamper' and dirty laundry from who knows. And I must have vomited in the trunk at one point. There were at least a dozen empty whiskey bottles rattling around the mess and maybe three dozen more beer cars.

I cleared enough of the crap away from the driver's seat to sit in the foul smelling interior and try to start my car. The engine turned over after a whining pause and then rumbled to life. And my well-tuned ear could tell that something was wrong. The engine sounded throatier, like if it was a person it had a build-up of phlegm in its lungs. I turned it off and sat there, unbelieving that this was my pride and joy.

Mom gave me a hug after I got out of the car and said nothing, only leading me back into the house where I followed her into the kitchen. She handed me a roll of paper towels, a bottle of carpet cleaner and Windex, and an empty garbage bag. "Don't look at the whole job, Jimmy. Do it one piece at a time. Today, you clean the front seat. Tomorrow, you clean the backseat, and so on."

I took them from her and bent to give her a kiss on the cheek. "Thanks, mom."

She wiped her eyes. "Go clean it up, Jimmy. Just like you're doing with your life. You can do this."

I walked out thinking to myself how many times I had said those words before. I can do this. I've got this. It's not a problem. Well today, I was going to actually live up to my words and take care of business.

Day 21. I was more active in my meetings, admitting to the group that I was on the 2^nd step, crediting AA and all these people with the ability to help me combat my alcoholism. Some of the members were big on Jesus or god or whatever as the focus of their change. For me I was more about the group. Religion is good for some, but it wasn't going to work for me.

A few days later I received a bill from the hospital for my stay there. $24,475. I laughed. A real deep belly laugh that I couldn't remember giving any time recently. I showed it to my pop and he scowled at it. "What the hell, Jimmy? Did you get open heart surgery in there?" I shrugged, picking up a rock from the walkway and handing it to him. "What you want me to do with this?" he asked.

"It's mine, pop. Squeeze it for me and whatever blood falls out we can send to them."

The second week of May was another milestone for me, around 30 days plus of sobriety. AA gave me a red chip, Father Michael personally handing it to me at the end of the meeting. "I'm very proud of you, Jimmy. It's been a rough road for you and you have more to walk, but you are doing great and I'm just glad to be a part of it."

I thanked him for his support and while we were talking afterwards, a guy in his mid-30's approached us slowly. "Hey, Jimmy," he called, holding his hand out to shake. "Congratulations on 30 days, man."

"Thanks," I replied, not sure who he was but he looked vaguely familiar. "One day at a time, you know."

He laughed, "Sure do." He smirked, looking me in the eye. "You don't remember me, do you?"

"Sorry, bud. I'd like to, but can't put a name with your face."

"Tom. Tom Maldeves. Of Maldeve's Construction?"

I snapped my fingers. "Holy crap! I'm sorry man. It's been a long time. How've you been? Still shopping at Florence?"

"Things are good, season's picking up. And yeah, I still get supplies from there." He looked over at Father Michael. "I see you are carpooling to the meetings. Do you still have that Charger?"

"Yeah. It's off the road now, I'm working on it slowly. Should be up and running soon, I hope. Why you ask?"

"Well, I am looking for some laborers for my crew. Nothing fancy, $16 and hour. And I remember that you used to bust your hump." He pointed to the disintegrating group leaving the church. "I know what you're going through, five years plus sober for me. I don't come often, maybe once a month or so, just as a refresher. And I saw you there, and it's obvious to me you're making an effort. So...you interested?"

"Holy shit! Yes I am!" I pumped his hand, shaking it firmly up and down. "Oh my god. When do I start? What can I do? I really need a job."

"Chill. It's fine. Monday after Mother's Day, can you get to the Home Depot on Hempstead Turnpike by 7:00 AM?"

"If I have to grow fins and swim there I'll get there."

"Terrific. If you're there, I'll pick you up and you can consider yourself hired. Pack a lunch and bring a jug for water." He paused. "Oh, and expect to work."

I grinned and shook his hand one last time. "No problem ,Tom. I won't let you down."

He tapped the red chip in my hand and walked away with a matching smile.

On the home front the bills from the hospital were still climbing, over $29,000 at this point as radiologist and psychologist and doctorologists or whatever added their nickels and dimes to the burden of the outstanding bill. I had received some new notification from the courts about outstanding child support payments which were already over $2,000 and climbing, not counting interest and penalties and what not.

And Child Services still hadn't said that I could see my sons yet. The social worker informed Father Mike that it was "an internal discussion they were taking seriously at this time." Bullshit, of course.

On Mother's Day my pop and I took mom out for brunch where we ate in quiet company, happy to be with each other. At the end of the meal I asked them if they were going to see Myra.

My mom glanced at pop and replied, "Yes, Jimmy. We were going to go by later today."

I pulled a large envelope out from my pocket and handed it to her. "Can you give this to her for me?"

She looked down at it, seeing my wife's name written across the front in magic marker. "What is it?"

I sighed. "It's sort of an apology. I'm not good at writing, god knows my grades in school proved it."

"Ain't that the damned truth," my pop volunteered, the twisted smile on his lips taking the sting out of his comment.

Mom gave his shoulder a playful smack and motioned for me to continue. "Anyway. It's something I had to do for AA. It's a list of everything that I've done that I could remember. Every time I lied to her, every time I hid my drinking, and every time I let her down. I just wanted to let her know that a lot of our problems were my fault. Mine. And that I am taking responsibility and trying to get better."

"Oh, Jimmy." My mom had fresh tears in her eyes.

"I know it won't fix things, but I want her to know that I'm here, I love her, and even though I haven't seen her or the J's in so long, she's still their mom and I am so thankful for what we did in making them."

She tucked the envelope in her bag. "I'll make sure she gets it, son."

Monday morning I woke up at 5:30, made two sandwiches, loaded up a small cooler bag with my lunch and a big bottle of water, and took out my old bicycle from the shed. I put air in the tires, dropped some oil on the chain, and got on, riding towards Hempstead Turnpike. Forty-five pain filled agonizing minutes later I pulled up in front of the Home Depot and got off my bike on shaking legs. Oh gods, my knees hurt, my thighs hurt, my ankles hurt.

I staggered inside, asking the greeter if I could leave my bike against the wall for a few minutes. Getting the ok I went to the closest register and purchased two small packs of Advil and a cheap bottle of water. I downed the 4 aspirins and waited outside while my heart calmed down and my muscles unclenched. Tom Maldeves rolled up a bit before 7 in his big white and black truck, three other guys already inside and riding in the back. "Hey , Jimmy! Great to see you!"

"Thanks, Tom." I shook his hand gratefully. "Thanks for the chance."

"No problem. This is Hector my number 2. And this is Juan and Saul." I shook the other guys hands silently. "Is that your bike? Crap, Jimmy, You rode your bike here?"

"I said I'd be here."

He laughed. "Alright, you did. Toss it in the back. I thought you'd have your car fixed for this."

I shrugged, climbing on the tailgate and hoisting my bicycle into the back with the other building supplies. "Once I get a paycheck, I'll be able to afford plugs, filters, fluids, and belts."

He nodded his head, saying nothing, and we drove off to the job in question. It was a dormer, a partial second floor, and it was obvious they had already been here a few days working. My job was a lot of running around hoisting lumber, getting tools, and lots and lots of cleanup. And I learned a lot that first day.

Like how much I don't know about construction. Like how much I was out of shape. Like how hard the other guys on the crew worked and how I had to bust my ass just to barely keep up with them.

When 4:30 rolled around Tom called it a day and we all piled back into the truck while he drove us back to Hempstead. I was dreading the bike ride home, thinking I was going to call my mom and hope she'd pick me up. Tom dropped off the other three guys first, giving two of them cash from his pocket for their effort today. He then asked me for my address and I told him he didn't have to take me home.

"Nonsense. You made it today, Jimmy. Least I can do is get you home." I gave him the address and we bullshitted the rest of the way. As we pulled up outside my parents' house he helped my get my bike down and reached into his pocket. He peeled off 4 $50's and handed them to me. "Listen to me, Jimmy. This is an advance, not a gift, an advance on your paycheck. You use this to get your car running by Wednesday and drop a tank of gas in it. I don't want you half dead because you biked to work."

"Tom. Really, thanks man. I won't let you down."

"Didn't think you would," he started the truck. "See you tomorrow, Jimmy."

So that night I worked on my baby until it was time for my meeting, and then I came home and worked on it some more until it was too dark to do anything. Tuesday was a rinse and repeat of Monday. My pop was outside with me, helping me to put the last of the sparkplugs in. "Alright, Jimmy," he said wiping the grease off his hands, "Start this piece of shit up and see if you can move it off my driveway."

I smiled, stuck my key in the ignition, and turned it. The Charger started up and sounded much smoother than it had the last time. I revved the engine and heard it catch briefly before engaging. Loud, growling, anxious. Sounding much like I wanted it to. "Good, pop. Sounds good."

He shrugged, closing the hood. "Kind of bullshit. In my day, everyone knew how to work on their car. Nowadays, there's so much computer shit under the hood, you can't do anything without getting a manual." He clapped me on the shoulder. "But yeah, Jimmy. Sounds real good. It feels good, doesn't it? Putting parts of your life back together?"

"Yeah, pop. It does." He gave me a small shove, pushing me away from the driver's door. As I stepped back he slid in front of me and sat down behind the wheel. "Hey!" I complained with a smile. "What gives?"

"Ha! You've had this crap here long enough. Get in the passenger side and let me take it for a drive."

"Pop," I walked around, opening the other door, the smell of the cleaned interior much more pleasant to my nose. "It's not legal to drive. I still have to get the insurance renewed."

He pointed to the seatbelt and I complied. "Shut the door, boy. Your mom and I took care of it and paid for the next 6 months." As I buckled up he glowered at me. "You keep getting better, Jimmy. Don't make an ass of us, ok?"

"Not a chance, pop." I grabbed his hand and shook it with honest emotion. "You can count on me."

"Good." He put my baby in reverse and pulled out of the driveway. "Now, let's see what this chicken shit car can do."

When we came home an hour later, mom was standing in the kitchen pointing at the clock. "It's 10:36! Do you two jokers have any idea how long you've been gone! Tell me next time you're going out. Where the hell were you?"

Pop gave a deep stretch and then walked over to mom and kissed her full on the mouth. "Honey, I'm tired and going to bed." He wrapped one arm around her waist and pulled her along with him adding, "Oh, and we're going to talk about trading in my car for something a bit more...manly. Good night, Jimmy," he tossed over his shoulder, waving his hand in the air as he led mom to the bedroom.

My life continued on in this manner, getting slightly better every day. There were small victories and small defeats along the way, but I was in control. I dictated what I wanted in life, and it wasn't a drink.

On Monday, Memorial Day, the CPS worker showed up at my parents' house; mom and pop were putting together a small barbeque for what I thought was originally the three of us. Then Father Mike showed up as well, bidding everyone a friendly hello, going to the Child Services worker to check her watch. What was up? Just about when I was going to ask why the two of them were here and was this a surprise visit, I heard a small voice from the side gate call out plaintively, "Daddy?"

I turned and saw a young boy, tall for his age, maybe 6, red curly hair and wearing a blue and grey striped shirt. He was standing next to another boy, blond and slightly younger, holding a battered Florence Building Supply hat in his hand. They were both waiting there, looking at me. Looking at me with hope and fear and uncertainty.

My boys.

My sons.

I dropped the platter of hotdogs I was holding on the lawn and fell to my knees like someone smashed my back with a 2x4. I gasped in terrible pain, holding one hand to my chest as I tried to stop the swimming of my vision and the roaring in my ears. I managed to croak out, "John. Joel. Oh my god."

And then two figures slammed into me with wrapping arms and boyish cries and such squeals of joy. I cried as I held my sons, tears running across their hair and over my chin. Their scent was in my nose and I was blind to everything except the watery vision of the two boys holding on to me like they were drowning. I couldn't breathe - the smell of metal was in my throat, sobbing over and over again as I hugged my two sons with fevered want, crushing them to my chest as if I could meld my body with theirs.

And the only intelligible thing that the gathered few were able to understand in the gibberish my sons and I were saying to each other was the oft repeated and continuous cries of, "I love you! I've missed you so much! I love you!"

To be concluded.