Some Are Sicker Than Others (23 page)

Monty snickered at the notion. A dual diagnosis facility? Was that her offer? She was going to have to do a lot better than that.

“Now before you say anything, Monty, I want you to hear from your mother and father. And I want you to listen very carefully to the message they are trying to convey. Once they are finished, I want you to think long and hard about the choices you are making and the impact they have on the people in your life.”

Deborah’s eyes disengaged from Monty’s. She sat back in her chair and looked around the room. “Okay, so who wants to go first? Mr. Miller, are you ready to go?”

His dad looked up from the paper he was holding. He took his glasses out from his front shirt pocket then pushed them up to the bridge of his nose.

“Alright Mr. Miller,” Deborah said. “Just take your time and whenever you’re ready, you can begin.”

His dad cleared his throat and wiped his forehead, peering down at the paper trembling in his hand. “Monty,” he began somewhat flatly, like a politician reading from a script. “It has been nearly four years since the first time you called in the middle of the night threatening suicide. Since then, I have been through the deepest, darkest corners of hell with you and this disease. Every night your mother and I wait for the call from the coroner’s office to tell us that our son’s body was found dead on the side of the road. Do you know what that is like? To get up every day wondering if today is the day that your child is going to die? You have to know what that does to us. You are killing us, Monty—both your mother and I. We just can’t take it anymore. Our bodies can no longer handle the stress. We’re too old and too damn tired and this is the last time we’re going to offer you any help. After this, there will be no more second chances. If you do not take this offer we are giving you today, you will be cut off completely from the family and you will no longer be welcome in my home. That means no more Christmas vacations, Thanksgiving dinners, credit card payments, or student loans. No more money period. It will all disappear. There will be nothing left but you and your liquor. You will become nothing more than a bum on the street.”

His dad looked up from his paper, and for the first time in the entire monologue, it actually sounded like he was talking to him. “Is that what you want, Monty? To become one of those people living in the underpass, scrounging for food, begging for change? Because that’s where you’re headed if you keep going like this. That’s where you’ll end up if you don’t stop now.”

He relaxed his face and sank back against the cushions, his eyes returning to the script in his lap.  “I’m sorry to be doing this, but you’ve forced me into it. I can’t allow you to pull this family down. If we continue to let you and this disease ruin our lives, we will have no chance of survival. Please take this offer, Monty. Go to rehab. Go to Sanctuary. Find the reason behind your addiction. Find out the reason why you can’t quit.”

“You know the reason. Don’t try and pretend like you don’t.” 

“No, I don’t, Monty. Please, tell me. I want to understand.”

“You, of all people, should know better. You should know how impossible it is to quit. Like father like son, right?”

“What are you saying?”

“How many drinks did you have before you came here? How many cocktails did you have on the plane?”

His dad scoffed. “Oh please Monty, don’t try and change this thing around. You’re the one who needs help, not me.”

“Oh really? What about that time you got pulled over, had to spend the night in the drunk tank?” His dad’s posture immediately stiffened and his face flushed as red as a garden beet. “Yeah, I bet you thought I didn’t know about that. I bet you thought that was just between you and mom. What do you guys think, I’m stupid or something?”

“You’re right, Monty. I made a mistake. I shouldn’t have been out driving around. But that was ten years ago. I learned my lesson and I haven’t since drank and gotten behind the wheel of a car.”

“Yeah right. You expect me to believe that?”

“It’s the truth.”

“You mean to tell me you don’t drive around the block a few times after work sucking down one of those two liter bottles of wine?”

“No, of course not.”

“Bullshit.”

“Hey!” His dad shot up from the sofa, jamming an accusatory finger in Monty’s face. “I’m not the one who just got out of the hospital. I’m not the one trying to kill myself. Look at you. Look at what you’re wearing. You’re in a god damn hospital gown.”

“Alright,” Deborah said, standing up from the armchair and waving her hand in a calming motion. “I need everyone to take a few deep breaths and just try and calm down.” She walked over to where his dad was standing and placed her hand on his shoulder. “Dad, that means you too. Can you sit down for me?”

His dad shot her a look of exasperation that seemed to say,
why are you telling me to calm down
?

“It’s okay,” she said reassuringly, as if she could read his mind. “Everything’s going to be okay. Just have a seat.”

His dad threw his hands up in frustration then returned to his seat on the couch. Monty scooted as far as he could away from him. He could feel his anger permeating the room.

“That’s right,” Deborah said, returning to her armchair, breathing deeply in and out through her nose. “Everyone just relax. Breathe in and out, in and out. There. Does everyone feel better? Are we all ready to continue?”

“Are we done yet?” Monty blurted.

“No, Monty, we are not done. I still need you to hear from your mother. Can you do that for me? Can you listen to what your mother has to say?”

Monty let out a groan of irritation. How much more of this shit did he have to take?

“Alright, Cindy,” Deborah said. “Are you ready?”

“I don’t think I can,” his mom said quivering, her frail, veiny hands trembling in her lap.

“Just take your time, Cindy. Focus on the words in front of you.”

“I can’t, I just can’t.”

Monty’s dad leaned forward, reached across the couch, and grabbed her hand. “Come on honey,” he said, “you can do it. Just read the words, please.”

Monty could feel his mother’s entire body trembling. Her sobbing was so unbearable it made him want to open the window and jump.

“Monty,” she began, her voice shaky, barely audible. “You have no idea what you’ve done to me and your father. Your actions the past five years have been incomprehensible. The horrible things you’ve said to me on the phone are unforgivable. You have completely torn this family apart. If you do not accept this wonderful offer we are giving you, I will have no other choice but to turn my back on you. I will no longer accept you as my son. I know deep down inside your corroded soul, there is still a little piece of that sweet boy that I nurtured and cared for as a child. I know a little part of him is still in there just screaming to get out. Please for the sake of your soul and for the sake of our sanity, go to this facility in the mountains. Get better. Get help. Please.” Her soft sobbing turned into a shrill weeping and she dropped her paper into her lap. “I’m sorry,” she said, dabbing the tears away with her crumpled up tissue, “I can’t read anymore. I just can’t.”

“Are you sure, Cindy?” Deborah said.

“Yes. I can’t. I just can’t.”

“Okay, thank you, Cindy. I know how difficult that was. Monty? Did you hear what your mother just said?”

Monty nodded without looking up from his spot on the floor.

“So you know what’s at stake here if you don’t accept treatment?”

“Yeah, I get it. I’ll be cut off. Fine. Now, are we done?”

“No, we are not done.” Deborah glared at him for a few moments, clenching her jaw, and clasping her fists. Monty could tell he was starting to get to her. That phony smile had completely evaporated from her face. She took a deep breath then turned towards Robby and Susan sitting together on the edge of the bed. “Robby, Susan, would either of you like to say a few words?”

Robby popped up from the mattress, a Styrofoam spit cup in his left hand. “Yeah, I’d like to say a few words if you don’t mind.”

Oh great, thought Monty. Here we go again.

“Hey Monty. Hey.” Robby started snapping his fingers. “Look at me man. Look at me god damnit.”

“What?”

“You listen to me. You got one chance at this man. If you fuck this up, I ain’t gonna be around to pick your ass up off the ground. You got me? I can’t take this shit no more. It’s too much and I just can’t do it. I gotta worry about my recovery too, and I will be damned if I’m gonna let anything get in the way of that.”

“That’s right,” Monty said. “It’s all about you, isn’t it Robby?”

“You’re god damn right it is. I can’t let nothing get in the way of my recovery, and right now, you’re about as close to fucking that up as I’ve ever let anybody get in my entire life, and I just can’t let that happen, not now, not after all I’ve been through with this shit. You’re my best friend and I love you, but if you don’t go to this place and get some treatment, you’re on your own. And let me tell you, that’s a scary fucking place to be; all alone with no one to turn to, nothing but that shame and guilt bouncing around in your head. Believe me man, I know. The time I was most scared in my life—it wasn’t prison, fuck prison. Hell, prison saved my ass. You know when it was? It was when I was all alone with that fucking needle in my arm and that cold, steel barrel lodged down my throat.”

“Yeah I know, Robby. I’ve heard your story before. Why don’t you save it for someone who gives a shit? Save it for your fucking home group.”

Robby threw down his spit cup and ripped across the carpet, getting right up in Monty’s face. “You’re my fucking home group! You are! This ain’t a game, Monty. This is life and death. Don’t you get that?”

“Yeah, I get it.”

“So what? You just gonna kill yourself? Is that it?”

“Hey, you’re finally catching on. Congratulations man. Maybe you’re not as dumb as I thought.”

“You think by killing yourself you’re gonna bring back Victoria? Is that what you think?”

Monty’s posture stiffened. The sound of her name was like a needle scraping the inside of his ear canal. “Leave her out of this. She’s got nothing to do with this.”

“That’s bullshit. She’s got everything to fucking do with this. What do you think she’d say about you trying to drink yourself to death? Huh?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yeah you do. You know exactly what she’d say. She’d tell you to quit being such a fucking pussy and get off your ass and do something with your life. That’s what she’d fucking tell you, man.”

“Fuck you, Robby.”

“Fuck me? Fuck me? No. Fuck you. Fuck you Monty. You think she’d want you to just give up and throw your life away? Huh? And what about Tommy? You just gonna give up on him too?”

“Shut up Robby, I’m warning you.”

“That kid loves you, man. You’re the closest thing he’s ever had to a real fucking father. Have you ever stopped to think how this would make him feel? No, you didn’t think about that did you?” Robby paused then took a few steps backward and turned his attention towards the hotel door. “Well, why don’t we ask him? Why don’t we ask Tommy how it would make him feel?”

“What?”

“He’s here. He’s right outside in the hallway. Let’s fucking ask him how it would make him feel.”

Monty looked at the door then back at Robby, and for a second, he actually almost believed his lie. But then he quickly came to his senses. The kid was in New Mexico with his grandparents—there was no way in hell they’d bring him all the way out here. “You’re full of shit,” Monty said, slouching backwards, calling his bluff with a confident smile.

“Oh am I?” Robby smiled and reached into his pocket then pulled out his phone and flipped it open. “Care to make a wager on that?”

Monty looked at the phone. His heart began to flutter, his hands began to shake, and his eyes grew wide.

“Come on Monty, make a wager. How much you wanna bet he’s not right outside that door?”

He knew right then that Robby was serious. He could tell by the sadistic look in his eyes.

“No wait,” Monty said, reaching outward, like he was trying to pull Robby away from the door. “Don’t do it. Please. I can’t.

“Oh, yes you can, Monty. That kid just lost his mother and, now, you’re gonna explain to him why he’s about to lose his best god damn friend.”

Robby looked at the display on his cell phone then turned toward Deborah and said, “They’re here, Deborah. Is it okay if I bring ‘em in?”

“Yes, Robby, go ahead. Bring them on in.”

Monty shot up from his seat and pleaded with Deborah: “No please, I can’t. I just can’t.”

“You have to.”

“No, I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.”

Robby walked to the door and removed the deadbolt, then grabbed the handle and opened the door. “Come on in ya’ll,” he said, as he held the door open. “We’re right in here. Come on in.”

It was Vicky’s parents, Al and Martha. They walked in like they were in a funeral procession—heads down, hands folded, neither one of them uttering a single word. Tommy trailed in right after them, his little hand tugging at the back of his grandmother’s black dress.

“Tommy,” Robby said, getting down on one knee in the center of the room. “Can you come over here for a minute?”

Tommy looked around the room like a frightened rabbit then hid in terror behind his grandmother’s leg.

“Please Tommy. It’s just for a minute.”

The kid looked to his grandmother for some kind of direction. His grandmother nodded and said, “it’s okay honey. It’ll be okay.” Then, she placed her hand on the kid’s shoulders and led him to Robby in the center of the room. Robby put his hands around the kid’s tiny abdomen and leaned him back against the side of his knee. “I want you to take a good look, Monty. Take a good look at this kid right here and tell him. Tell him that you’re gonna die.”

Monty stood frozen, completely paralyzed, unable to speak, unable to blink. It was eerie—the kid looked just like his mother, everything from his dark, curly hair to his chipmunk-like cheeks—same nose, same eyes, same olive skin complexion, the resemblance was so close that it made it hard to breathe.

“Tell him, Monty,” Robby said.