The Journey Ch. 08

Hello friend, and welcome to Chapter Eight of The Journey.

As in much of the other chapters of the Journey, let me give a content warning for addiction, depression and racism.

~~ Springfield, Virginia, January ~~

"My name's Viv, and I'm an alcoholic. It's been thirty-one days since my last drink." My voice caught in my throat, and I paused to take a deep breath through my nose.

The scent of the church basement near my halfway house was a source of comfort for me now. The smell of old wood, old hymnals and burnt coffee filled me with a sense of belonging. Of safety. Early Saturday morning was my favorite time to come to a meeting. Fewer people, less pressure. And hopefully the chance to get my mind right to make it through another weekend sober.

"There's a woman, my ex-girlfriend... I'd... pushed her away, before I went to rehab. Didn't push her away so much as fucked her over, really. So, yeah, we broke up. When I got out of rehab, to my halfway house, I tried to wait. My sponsor said I should wait. But I couldn't. I went to her house to apologize to her. For fucking her over. You know, step eight."

My sponsor thought I needed to work on myself more before I did step eight, but I hadn't been able to wait. I'd been beating myself up non-stop about what I'd done.

"I hadn't thought... hadn't let myself hope... that she would forgive me, but I hoped that by apologizing to her I could... maybe forgive myself... So, I went to her. Apologized. Said my piece. And she didn't really... forgive me. At least, she didn't say the actual words. But we ended up going for coffee. Talking for a while. It was... nice. Unexpected."

Jane had let me monopolize the conversation, and I'd spent an hour spilling my guts, telling her not only everything about my twenty-eight days in Pinewood rehab, but also everything I'd admitted to or found out about myself in therapy. Coming to terms with the fact that I was an alcoholic. What had happened when I'd come out to Abuela. Exactly what had gone down at the bar with Mindy. My shame and guilt when I woke up in the hospital. I'd been like an exposed nerve, and Jane, bless her, had just listened, with surprisingly little judgment.

"We stayed in touch, afterwards. A few friendly texts, nothing serious, then a week later she asked if I wanted to meet her again sometime. And I said no."

That had surprised me more than it had her, I think.

"I told her that I did want to see her again, but I had to wait. Needed to wait. I relapsed about a week after I got out of rehab and I told her that. Told her I wanted to wait until I got my thirty-day chip back. That was three weeks ago."

I dug into my pocket, holding up the plastic disc I'd gotten the day before between two fingers, showing it to the room.

"Yesterday I texted her and told her I'd made it to thirty days again and now we're having lunch in—" I glanced at the clock on the wall, "Three hours. And I'm nervous as fuck."

I drew in a deep, shaky breath as I pocketed my chip.

"I barely slept last night. I wanted to drink so bad. It felt like pressure on my head from every direction, like I was sitting on the bottom of a swimming pool. My brain kept swinging back and forth all night from excitement that I'm going to see her again to anxiety that it'll go terribly. Or that it'll just be a friendly lunch, that I'll find out she's seeing someone. And a corner of my brain kept saying 'a few shots of tequila would put you right to sleep', then I wouldn't have to wait through a sleepless night to see what happens."

I looked down at my left hand, the nails chewed down to the quick. A nasty habit I'd acquired since I'd quit drinking.

"But I texted my sponsor, and my phone rang less than thirty seconds later."

I briefly closed my eyes, remembering the relief I'd felt. That there'd been someone there for me when I was feeling weak.

"He talked me off the ledge. I didn't sneak out, didn't break curfew to go to one of the four liquor stores within a half-mile of me. Instead I watched bad movies on my laptop, and finally fell asleep about four in the morning."

I looked around. I'd gotten to the meat of it.

"But I'm worried... I'm trying not to have any expectations of how things will go. I can't afford expectations. If I get my hopes up and nothing comes from it... it could make me spiral. When we were together, it was the best time of my life. She was the best thing that ever happened to me, and still my self-doubt caused me to spiral so badly that I got drunk and crashed my grandmother's car, almost lost my job and ended up in rehab. We're just going to lunch. It probably doesn't mean anything. And still, it's made me want to drink. I don't know what that means for me. Either with Jane or any relationship I'll ever have again."

I looked down. Scuffed the toe of my work boot across the wooden floorboards.

"I guess time will tell."

Two hours and forty minutes later, I showed up at the restaurant. Jane had been considerate enough to look up a lunch place not too far from my halfway house for us to meet, so I wouldn't have to spend a ton of time on public transit. It was less than a mile from where I was living. I'd shown up twenty minutes early. I'd been too nervous, too keyed up, and I'd power walked to the place, rationalizing that getting there early I could get us a good table. One where I wouldn't worry about someone listening in on our conversation.

When I walked in the door, I was disappointed that the table by the window in the back was occupied, but disappointment turned instantly to pleasure when I realized that the person occupying it was Jane. Her hazel eyes were looking out the window, one hand playing with the handle of a steaming mug of something in front of her.

I paused in the entryway, taking a moment to savor the vision of her. She was wearing a teal colored cowl neck sweater, her favorite leather jacket draped over the back of her chair. Her headwrap matched her sweater, as always. I remembered the time I'd commented how it seemed she had a head wrap for every outfit she owned and she'd shown me two drawers in her walk-in closet full of them, organized by color. A rainbow of her trademark look.

She turned, saw me standing there, and a smile graced her perfect lips.

She was so beautiful.

Chill the fuck out, Esparza, I told myself, no expectations, remember?

As I threaded my way through the tables towards her, I saw hesitation on her face and guessed that she was torn over whether to stand or not. Whether to greet me with a hug or handshake or play it cool. I saved her from having to make the decision, quickly pulling out the chair opposite her and sitting down.

"Hey, nice to see you again," I said, "You're early. I was sure I was going to beat you here."

"Well, I didn't feel like cleaning my house a third time this morning, so here I am."

She cleans when she's nervous. What does that mean?

"How've you been?" Jane asked me as she waved at the waiter, who held up his finger in the universal be-right-there signal and went into the kitchen.

"I'm doing okay. You already know I got my thirty-day chip back, so I'm definitely doing better than the last time we saw each other."

"You've lost so much weight since... since before. When you came to my house, my first thought was that you'd been sick or something."

"It's amazing how that can happen when you aren't drinking all the time," I said with a rueful chuckle.

I knew that I looked different now, what with my change in diet, not drinking every day and all the walking I did. I was almost gaunt in comparison to two months ago. My face wasn't nearly as round as it had been, my cheekbones more angular. I'd lost nearly twenty-five pounds since we'd broken up.

"I'm walking a lot more, my halfway house isn't on a bus line. Also, we had a nutritionist at the rehab to try and get us to change our eating habits, so I was eating a lot less junk for a while."

"Was?" she said, with that head tilt of hers she used to invite students to expand their answer.

"At the rehab, I was. But I'm living in a pretty sketch part of Springfield. Worse than before, I mean. It's a pretty far hike to a real grocery store and it's a real pain in the ass to schlep a bunch of bags all the way home. Easier to get stuff at the Seven-Eleven around the corner."

"Oh... that sucks. You know, I've been thinking of adding food deserts in minority communities as a topic for one of my classes."

"Yeah?"

"It's an artifact left over from redlining. Many poor neighborhoods and neighborhoods of color are underserved, sometimes with no grocery stores for miles. It can cause under- or malnutrition in children, which can disparately impact minority kid's test scores, and..." She trailed off when she noticed me grinning at her. "Sorry, I went into professor mode, didn't I?"

"Don't apologize. I've really missed that."

She cleared her throat. Did I detect a little flush in her cheeks?

"How have you been doing with the program?"

I leaned back, gingerly draping my arm over the back of the chair next to me. My shoulder was tender from physical therapy the day before.

"It's been... good. I thought I might relapse once or twice this month. But my sponsor has been great. Anytime I'm struggling I call or text him. He'll talk to me as long as I need, or go to a meeting with me."

"Are you going to a lot of meetings?"

"I'm doing A.A. pretty hardcore, yeah. There's only been one day I haven't gone to a meeting since I got out of Pinewood. That was the day I lost my chip."

"Did you have a bad day at school or work? What made you want to drink those other two times?"

"I don't really—"

The waiter showed up at our table, interrupting me. I ordered a coffee and some vegetable soup. Jane got a salad.

"Where were we?" She asked, leaning forward and putting her elbows on the table, chin in her hands.

"You were grilling me about drinking."

She dropped her hands in her lap and sat up straighter.

"I wasn't... I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"You don't need to apologize to me Jane, not for that. Never for that."

We sat in silence for a moment.

"Do you remember the first time I came to your house? When you cooked me your grandmother's pasta sauce?" I asked.

"Of course."

"Do you remember after we watched the movie? You were waiting for me to kiss you, and instead I opened my big mouth and asked why on earth you'd asked me out? Me of all people? Because I didn't think I was good enough for you?"

She nodded.

"At the time I was thinking, 'Why are you trying to ruin this? She wants you to kiss her, so just kiss her.' But instead I needed to know why. Even though I could have ruined everything, right from the start."

I looked down, playing with the spoon in my coffee.

"What made you think of that?"

"Because, I need to know what we're doing here." I looked up, meeting her gaze. "If this is just a friendly 'how ya doing, it was nice to see you' lunch, two exes meeting to catch up, that's fine. It's all I should expect, after what I did, how I lied to you. But if that's all this is, then I don't really want to talk about my drinking. Or not drinking."

"Viv, I—"

"If this is something else," I said, cutting her off, "that's fine too. It's great, in fact. I'm in. And if it is something else, I'll answer any question you have about my drinking. Any question, any time. Ever. I can't promise that I won't lie to you. I can promise that I'll try not to. I don't ever want to lie to you again. But I'm an addict and addicts lie. It's part of the disease, I've learned that much. I can promise that I don't want to lie, that I don't want to drink."

I paused, taking a deep breath.

"Okay, see, that was a lie right there. I want to drink, Jane. I want to drink so bad. I wanted to drink before I came to see you today. I wanted to drink last night, just so I could sleep, because I was so nervous about seeing you again. But I also want to be sober. I want to be sober very, very much."

She was silent, leaning back in her chair, folding her arms across her chest in a classic defensive pose (something I'd learned in group therapy).

"And to be honest, if this is just a friendly lunch, then like I said, I'll be sad, but it's okay. But it'll have to be our last one. I can't do this on the regular. I can't just be friends with you, hang out with you, knowing that's all it'll be. I'm pretty sure that would destroy my sobriety."

The waiter showed up and set our plates in front of us. I didn't touch my soup. Jane didn't touch her salad.

"So, that's what made me think of that night. Because I need to know. What are we doing here, Jane?"

She looked out the window. I waited. She finally spoke.

"Viv, you hurt me, and not just because you lied to me in the hospital to drive me away. When we had coffee three weeks ago and you told me about coming out to Abuela and what happened after... I realized how little you trusted or counted on me. I've been stewing over the fact that when you had your fight and she threw you out, you didn't come to me. I sort of understand the impulse to go get drunk after your blow up with her, but you chose not to do it with me, so we could talk it out together. So I could help you."

"Jane, I—"

"You got to say your thing, let me say mine."

I held up my hands in surrender.

"I told you I went to an Al-Anon meeting after I heard you went to rehab. I've been to a few more after you came to my house to apologize."

I felt my eyebrows go up, but held my tongue.

"I've learned a lot about codependent relationships. That being with an addict in recovery can be hard. That sometimes the relationship suffers at the expense of the addict's recovery. That sometimes the addict's recovery suffers at the expense of the relationship."

She looked down at the table, tracing shapes on the wood with her finger.

"I shared my story. Our story. How I never saw what was going on until things blew up in my face. That I never knew or suspected you had a problem, until you were gone. One of the women at the meeting pulled me aside after. She said that I should let you go, that in her experience, trying to make a relationship with an alcoholic in recovery work wasn't worth it. She told me that I was better off without you in my life."

I nodded, as icy fingers of fear gripped my stomach.

"I can't blame you, I'm—"

"Still. My. Turn," Jane said, in a stern voice. She was staring down at the table.

"Um... okay." I lapsed into silence again.

"When you came to my house, you told me that you'd taken away my right to make a choice about us. So, I'm staking my claim to make the choice now. I thought that woman at Al-Anon was right for a while. But the story she shared that day... She clearly hated her ex. And I gathered from some of the things she said he was a manipulative, abusive son-of-a-bitch. You were never that."

She looked up, and her eyes bore into mine.

"Viv, I couldn't... I never hated you. I wanted to, but I couldn't. I can't pretend nothing happened, can't just... we can't just pick up right where we left off. There's no way we can be where we were before your accident."

I was frozen, pinned in place by her gaze.

"But..." She tilted her head to the side as she looked at me. "I'd like to maybe... start over." She stretched her hand across the table, offering it to me, palm upturned. "Would you like to go on a date with me?"

I closed my eyes and realized I'd been holding my breath. It came out in a long whoosh. When my eyes opened again, I could tell they were wet, but I didn't care. I reached out and covered her hand with mine.

As our fingers intertwined, it felt like hope.

~~ Washington, D.C., February ~~

"So, you guys have been taking it slow?"

"Like molasses oozing downhill on a cold day," I said, as I helped myself to a Styrofoam cup and filled it with coffee from the urn on the table in the back of the room. Neither of us had felt the need to share with the group today, but Jack usually grilled me pretty hard afterwards if I didn't. In the past I'd have resented the hell out of it, but now I appreciated him staying on top of me.

"Anyone ever tell you that you sound like a sixty-year-old man from the South?" Jack asked with a smirk, as he filled a cup for himself. One of the reasons I'd asked him to be my sponsor was his sense of humor. It was as sarcastic and cutting as mine could be.

"I heard that one in rehab when someone asked a counselor how fast they could expect to get through the twelve steps." I added sugar and powdered creamer. Jack drank his black.

"Nice," he snorted.

Jack had been sober for four years, and I was the first person for whom he'd been a sponsor. I liked that he wasn't that much older than me, and that he wore t-shirts for rock bands I'd never heard of and Carhartt jackets. I'd always wanted a Carhartt jacket. I was enjoying getting to know him.

"Tell me what taking it slow looks like," he said.

"We've been on three dates... I guess you could call them dates. Two were just lunch. One was dinner and a movie. We held hands during the movie, but she still hasn't even kissed me, and I'm not going to make the first move. I'm letting things go at whatever pace she feels comfortable with."

"Smart. You gotta earn back trust."

"Did you go through something like this when you got sober?" I blew on my coffee then took a sip. "Gah, is there a rule that A.A. coffee always tastes burnt?"

"It's in the by-laws. I didn't have anyone in my life when I hit bottom. No one to get back. I met my wife a year after I quit booze."

"You had it easy, is what you're saying."

He laughed. "Is dating ever easy?"

"Meeting and dating someone after you're sober seems a lot easier than having your drinking fuck up the best thing that ever happened to you and then trying to put the pieces back together."

"True. Be thankful you're getting the opportunity to pick up those pieces. I've met a lot of people in the program who never got the chance."

"Every minute I spend with her feels like a second chance. Whatever happens, I don't want to ever take it for granted."

"When are you seeing her again?"

"Tuesday, lunch again. Super romantic." My statements about patience notwithstanding, I wanted to do more than lunch.

"One day at a time."

I laughed. "Listen, I can only use that mantra for one part of my life, and my love life ain't it."

"What else you got going on?" Jack asked as he held open the door. We walked out of the church and ambled down the sidewalk.

"Been trying to find a place to live. I have less than a month left at the halfway house. My old roommate moved his daughter back in with him."

"Any leads?"

"Not really. I've looked at a couple rooms for rent in houses around the area, but nothing I'd be happy with. Mainly because I didn't like the people renting them. I'd love to get a one bedroom somewhere, but because of all the income I lost during my suspension, it's going to take me months to get my finances back in order."

Left unsaid was how long it was going to take me to pay my brother Diego back for Abuela's car. I'd promised him that I'd take care of the entire amount of the loan he'd taken out to buy my grandmother a used car after I'd totaled hers. I'd already given him enough to cover the down payment. That had wiped out half of that settlement I'd gotten from the storage space where all my belongings had burned up in a fire while I'd been in rehab. I was carefully watching the rest, but it had been dwindling fast as I'd started to replace my stuff.

"My friend Connie offered to let me couch surf at her place for a while, but I don't think that would work out." I chewed on my thumbnail.

"Why not?"