In the Nick of Time (32 page)

“Now, let’s get on to other business.” She shuffled a few papers around and rested her hands atop a manila folder with a dark brown coffee ring stain in the center of it. “I asked you to write a letter, a different one, for your new assignment, and you refused to read it in afternoon group. That’s essentially why I called this meeting with you today.”

“I did the assignment,” he mumbled.

“I saw that you had it; however, you still refused to recite it in group. Do you mind reading it to me now in private?” She cleared her throat, as if waiting for something important to be announced.

“Yeah, actually I
do
mind. I am not ready for that. This is much more…” He looked away from her, his agitation festering within. “Just forget about it, okay? Too much has happened now. I’m not reading it, and that’s final.” He was in recovery, not in a damn soap opera. This was his life! He didn’t have to share every nuance of his life with a bunch of strangers.

Isn’t anything sacred around here?!

“Nick…”

“Don’t say my name, okay?” He raised his finger in the air as a ting of panic set in. “Don’t say
anything
else to me about it.” He fidgeted in his seat.

“Nick,” she said calmly as she clasped her hands together. “That’s not how this works.”

“Oh, so there’s rules, huh? They seem to apply to only a few people. You’ve defended that man, talking about his special circumstances. We’ve all got
special
circumstances, Frieda! So fucking what! I’ll give him
special
circumstances, all right! How about
permanent
disability?! Would that be
special
enough for him?! Medical leave until he draws his last damn breath!”

“Nick, stay focused. I need you to calm down and pull yourself together.” She removed her glasses, set them down, and tee-peed her hands, using them as a stand of sorts beneath her rounded chin. “Are you tempted right now, Nick?” Her voice was calm, almost relaxing, despite his blood pressure rising high as the ceiling.

“Leave me alone,
please
!” He waved his hand in her direction. “I am asking you
nicely
to leave me alone.” He turned away, fighting himself, itching in his own skin. He’d never felt this way before until he’d entered this damn facility. So out of control, so wishing he could find a way to make her stop, go away. The place was doing something to him, and he spent more time being hurt and ill-tempered than feeling loved and healthy…

It’s the process. I’m purging. I’m detoxing mentally now…but I hate this shit.

“You want a drink, don’t you?” She leaned forward, studying him, making him feel like some freak under scientific observation.

“What gave me away? The sweat dripping off my damn face or the pissed off way I’m speaking? Let me sign you up for a rocket science class, pronto!”

“Nick…” she said. “Focus…”

“Nothing gets past ol’ Frieda’s sharp eagle eyes now, does it?! A fuckin’ genius you are!”

“Nick…”

“Yes! Yes, I want a damn drink! A big ass drink that is so fuckin’ huge,” he spread his arms wide towards the ceiling, “I could jump in it like a goddamn pool and swim a million laps! I want that son of a bitch to be rimmed with cocaine like fucking margarita salt, and for it to be as wide as your ass!” He seethed with rage, moving about in his seat like an incensed animal trying to break free. He glared at his nemesis, hoping to get a rise out of the woman but she didn’t flinch, not even a little bit—so, he continued.

“You gotta big ass, you know that, Frieda? It’s kind of sloppy, but fun to watch, like silly putty in the summertime. I bet your husband likes to knock it around, rub on it real hard, and watch it jiggle.” He wanted to be kicked out! He wanted her to grab her phone and dial someone to come haul his sorry ass away, second warning and DONE! He needed someone to rip him out of his seat by his collar, slam him out on the sidewalk with his half packed bag in tow, and scream, ‘Adios!’

DO IT! DO IT! KICK ME OUT! I’M NOT READING THAT GODDAMN LETTER, FRIEDA! I WON’T DO IT!

“Nick, none of that is going to work. You’re being rude and disrespectful to divert. I know what you’re doing.” Her temperament stayed the same, as if he’d only told her she had a snowflake in her hair. It was the damndest thing; she didn’t even cringe. This seasoned woman had seen his kind before, and nothing he said made her do his bidding. He hated her for resisting his instigator ways. “Stay on topic, please.”

“I want to go buy an entire liquor store.” He hung his head as he spoke, his words hooked to a whopping, exhaustive sigh. “I want to own that store and drink every damn thing in it, wall to wall. I want
every
glass bottle on
every
damn shelf, and I want it now. If I don’t get something, Frieda…I’m gonna lose it!” Sweat poured down his face as if he were standing in the damn shower rinsing the Aveeno shampoo right out of his hair. His body went from hot to cold in a nanosecond, and his damn brain began to pound within the tight confines of his skull. There wasn’t room for one more thought, a sentiment, an idea or a notion. He must have been seized with an emotional fever. How strange that one’s temperament could derail any semblance of good health.

“You want to use because you are in a very stressful situation. Work through it, Nick. Use these emotions to master the next hurdle. Right now, you are teaching your mind and body what to do while under stress. You have to retrain your brain, Nick, with different responses than using. Let’s talk about it. What do you believe caused your stress at this very moment?”

“What caused the stress? This letter you made me write… now you want me to read it, relive it all over again!!!” He reached into his pocket, retrieved the crumpled up thing, and tossed it on the lady’s desk in an angry huff. He wished he could set the thing ablaze with a mere glance.

“Nick, no one said recovery is easy. Your resolve has nothing to do with it. Each day is a challenge and you must face it. I’ve heard you say that many times yourself. You are having a difficult day. It’s
one
day, Nick…not the rest of your life.”

“A challenge is doing my job right each and every day. This is no challenge, it’s torture.”

“No, whatever you wrote is one of your triggers. Our triggers are the key to the problem. Once we know the triggers and how to use them to our advantage and navigate through, we can find healthier alternatives. Your upset, your prompts have been activated and that means the contents of this letter need to be explored.”

“Explored? Go call Dora and have Carmen San Diego and ‘Where’s Waldo?’ jump in for shits and giggles! I don’t want to find anything or do
any
goddamn exploring! Yeah, this is a trigger, okay? I remember all that shit you talked to us about regarding triggers. You told us to
avoid
our triggers, but here you are, pushing the issue, making me play Russian roulette with you. Kick me out of the program if you want; I’ll find another that will understand my plight. I will get my treatment with or without you but
nobody
makes me do shit I don’t want to do. Not now, not
ever
!” He pointed across the desk, a barrier between sensibility and insanity. He wasn’t certain which side he was on…

“Is that how you see it? A ‘me against you’ situation? You believe that this will somehow kill you? It won’t, Nick. You have to trust yourself more than that.”

“It’s not about trusting myself. I trust myself just fine.” He pointed at his chest as he shifted to the edge of his chair. “I wrote the letter, yeah, I did…and then you made me do this, took it a step further, wanted me to read it aloud. Wasn’t the first time enough? Do you know what happened to me after I read that first letter in group?”

“What happened?” She leaned back in her seat, looking genuinely concerned.

“I went back to my room and threw up, that’s what the hell happened.” He clasped his hands over his knee. “I also tried to find that cough medicine you all took away from me, the little travel bottle of Nyquil that I had forgotten was in my jacket pocket when I checked in… I think I’m coming down with something. Can I have it back?”

“No.”

“I asked you
not
to do this, Frieda,” he said woefully. “I said give me something else to do,
anything,
and I’d do it… but you just wouldn’t stop. Anything but
this
. I can’t do this in front of you or those people. I wrote it; that should be good enough.” He gnawed at the side of his lower lip, eliciting a dull pain and exposed skin, but he just kept right on, chewing it to bits like some rat on a chunk of cheese.

“It’s
not
enough. We need witnesses, Nick. I’ve already explained this to you. You are a logical person, but you are being illogical right now.”

I’m not readin’
shit
!” He clenched his teeth, dared her to cross the line, reach her hand into his cage and find out what lions are
really
made of.

“Okay.” She took hold of the balled up paper, wrinkled like wet boxer shorts shoved in a dresser drawer and long forgotten. As she moved, she kept her smile, maintained her precious peace, and didn’t let him rock her off her post; it was driving him crazy. “I’m opening the letter, Nick. However, I do require your participation in your recovery.” She said these words like he should give a bourbon flavored fuck, and he almost did, but thought better of it.

She scanned the thing, and an unmistakable look of sadness washed over her expression. Quickly pulling herself together, she registered a stiff upper lip. “You may not help me right this moment, but you
do
want to heal, Nick. Because you’re serious about your recovery, I know that you are willing to do this work. Charles, your teachers, everyone is pleased with your progress and dedication to your recovery. You are working hard in here.”

“Yes, I’m aware of that. Does that now mean that everything goes? Do I not have a say anymore?”

“Every time you are about to break free, cross over another barrier, you’ll encounter these sorts of internal problems. We’ve all been through it, Nick. I’m pushing you not to hurt you, but to help you help yourself. You’ll have to deal with it sooner or later. So are you ready
now
?”

He simply stared at her, sucking in air, feeling forlorn.

“Is the heat on in here? You all tryna to save on the bill or something?” He shivered and hugged himself as if he were outside, naked and freezing his ass of in a blizzard.

“I can have maintenance turn up the heat. Are you ready to read me the letter?”

Is this woman hard of hearing?! I just answered this like four or five times already!

“No, I’m not ready to read you the letter.” He mocked her tone, repeating her words just so as she flipped through some files, then placed a couple on the edge of her desk. Out the corner of his eye, he could see a name scribbled along one with a dark blue marker…
Taryn Jones.

“
When
will you be ready, Nick?” Her tone had a smidgen of an attitude laced across the syllables as she looked him in the eye, bringing him back into focus.

Good…are you mad now, Frieda? Join the damn club!

“Not today and not tonight. Not in the morning, not after breakfast, not at lunchtime, not at snack time, either. Not before dinner, not during dessert, even if it’s chocolate cake. Not tomorrow, next week, or even next month. Not during group, not
after
group, and definitely not before group. Not during art class, Oliver’s no class ass, or afternoon mass for the religious residents in the building I walk past.”

The woman smirked and shook her head as he continued.

“Not at Pilates, not at karate, not even if you offer me a Starbucks latte. Not for Visitor’s Day, not for Speaker Day, and not for my hay day that’s sailed the fuck away. I’m not reading the letter in English, Spanish, Swahili, Japanese, French, Italian, Portuguese, Russian, Dutch, German, or any other language you can think of, either. I can speak four of those languages I mentioned just fine, too. I’m not reading the letter at
any
time, Ms. Frieda, because
no
time is the
right
time. You got it?!”

The woman burst out laughing as she tapped her chin with her nail and gleamed at him, her eyes squinted with a twinkle.

“You are pretty damn funny today, Nick. First the butt comment, now this. That was good… You thought that all up on the spur on the moment?”

“Yup. You want some more of it, huh? This rappin’ forte and charm? I got plenty more where that came from.” She shook her head, as if disappointed, then stood to her feet and opened up all the blinds. The sun beamed in, blinding him, making him take cover behind the relief of his raised arm. She looked from side to side, then approached her small coffee maker, which still contained a measure of the murky brown liquid in the decanter. With extreme calm, she gripped the glass handle and poured herself a cup.

As she went through her routine, he looked sharply back at her desk, slicked his hands swiftly towards the file, flipped it open, got a good eyeful and snapped it shut just as she turned around to face him, her mug partially full.

“…What if I told you that
Taryn
wanted you to read the letter?”

She pushed on, ignoring his previous smart aleck performance. He preferred to stay in his funk though, to irk her a bit more, get her annoyed juices flowing. His jaw tightened, and his chest grew heavy as if an enormous weight, vicious in its own right, had landed upon him and demanded his innards. He ran his fingers across his face as his eyes became hazy with confusion, and then, he came to his senses. An idea struck him, too.

“She didn’t say that.” Leaning, he lifted his chin and gently stroked his jawbone with a feathery touch.

“You’re right, she didn’t, but she’s your friend, right?”

“Yeah, but you already know that so why don’t you just get to the point, Frieda?” He peered at his antagonist, daring her to toss him a line covered in manipulative bullshit.