The Drunk Logs (6 page)

I lit my cigarette before entering the pavilion and looked over the throngs of patients sitting at the picnic tables, as I listened for Jack Jack or Sam’s gravel laugh. I spotted them at the far left corner picnic table as they watched the cornhole game, laughing and carrying on. I walked to the left through the hard dry grass around the pavilion, and could feel stares from the patients.

“There’s the long lost son,” Father Tom said in his soft, high voice.

“So where’ve ya been, Peter?” Bobby said as he smiled.

“Ah, they got me on so much Valium. I didn’t feel like doing anything.”

“You got the tremors, huh?” Jack Jack asked.

“Yeah.”

“Why don’t you slide over and let him sit down, Jack Jack? You don’t have to take up the whole bench,” Father Tom said as he rolled his own cigarette.

Their attention turned to the cornhole game as a canvas sack slammed onto the platform.

“Hey, Bobby, why do you guys keep calling me Peter?” I asked.

“Have you looked at your face? You look like Peter Pumpkin Head,” Bobby laughed. “So don’t look so sad; everybody here, sooner or later, gets a nickname. For instance, I’m the White Ninja because I’m a black belt in karate and can use Chinese weapons, you’ve got Jack over there who’s been in so many rehab facilities they say his name twice, then you’ve got Shitmanfuck and 10 Second Delay, just to name a few.”

Bobby made it seem that it was a rite of passage or a badge of honor. To receive a nickname established that someone had made it into their little circle. Their circle of hell, heaven, or insanity—it’s for those chosen to determine.

“It’s all out of good fun. I mean, you have to laugh, because we’ve caused so much crap and been through so much crap, the only thing that we have left is to laugh. Ya know?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” I said.

Just then, a figure walked from the cornhole game to the edge of the picnic table, wiped away the sweat from his forehead, and breathed heavily.

“Here is a prime example of a new name,” said Jack Jack as he extended his hand to the figure. “With a slight build, large beer gut, thinning hair, and a red nose, ladies and gentlemen, I give you W.C. Fields, or Pat, as he’s also known.”

“Shut up, Jack Jack.”

I couldn’t believe my ears; he sounded exactly like him.

“Okay, Pat,” Jack Jack continued to imitate him. “How did you guys do?”

Pat seemed to try desperately to speak with a different voice, but only made matters worse when he breathed at inappropriate places.

“Horrible, we got destroyed. I just can’t figure out how to throw the damn bag.”

“So what time is our next class?” Everyone’s head turned toward Father Tom at the table.

“We got 10 more minutes before God on the wall tells us we have to go.” Jack Jack motioned to the intercom speaker above the nurse’s window.

“So…do any of you guys know Victoria?” I asked sheepishly, testing the waters.

“Squirrel!” they all yelled in unison.

“Squirrel?”

“Yeah, she loves those nuts, she hides them over in the blind spot by the pond,” Jack said as he put his arm around me and pointed in the distance. “Did she ask you if you wanted to go for a walk?”

“Yeah.”

Jack Jack began to laugh, followed by everyone at the table. “Well, boys, it looks like she’s getting an early start on hibernation. Hell, except for Father Tom, she almost had everybody’s nuts up in them trees, even Sam’s.”

Jack Jack, in his element, began to sound like a ringmaster.

“She’d need a crane to get them up there,” Sam said as the mucus built in his laugh.

“Listen, you just better let it go, the first thing that starts to go haywire when you start to get sober are the family eggs. Look at the preacher here. In all his life he’s never worked that muscle, or at least he wasn’t supposed to.”

Father Tom refused to add to the fire and sat quietly with his head down.

Jack Jack slowly swirled around Father Tom, eyed the correct moment to make his grand ending, and embraced him. “I mean just look at him, he’s just itching to taste the roast beef. But he can’t, so neither can you. Two drunks don’t make one good one.”

“To all patients, the 8 o’clock class will begin in 10 minutes; the 8 o’clock class will begin in 10 minutes.”

“All right, my pretties, you heard the mechanical lady. Let’s go,” Jack Jack ordered. “Hey Matt, are you coming?”

“Yeah, might as well.”

The pavilion rumbled as the masses removed themselves from their tables and proceeded down the path to the building. Like locusts leaving a decimated field, patients coming from every direction went through the doors. One patient, who had the audacity to stop in mid-stream, was battered by the passing masses.

By two’s, they entered the auditorium and went down a ramp; women sat in the middle, men on the left and right.

Ah, the color blue
, I thought. It covered me like a warm blanket. It was a welcome change of pace from the green and vanilla.

The podium stood off to the front right side, with a movie screen and a white marker board in the center. The large glass windows to the left showed the courtyard where I kept promising myself I would go, but hadn’t found the time. The large glass windows to the right showed the street, where all of society’s ills have entered, along with the covered bridge where we made our first steps—a constant reminder we hoped was for the last time.

“Hey, there’s Shorty and Shawn,” Jack Jack said. We played follow the leader, and sat together. I was closest to the aisle.

I was in awe of the enormity of the hall, especially that it could hold about 300 people and was nearly 3/4 full. I scanned the room and saw all different shapes, sizes, colors, and ages, and didn’t feel so alone. The most noise came from the center of the auditorium, which was full of women, but a few sections of the men’s area could have given them a run for their money. Across and up the aisle, Victoria smiled provocatively and waved as I blushed and returned the favor, interrupted by the men’s cackling.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” asked Bobby, as he leaned over me and waved. “Hello, VIK-toria. Where have you been?”

“Where have YOU been, Bobby? I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Come on, baby, you know where to find me.”

I pushed Bobby back. The fat from his stomach was making my arm sweat.

“Keep your ‘Glock’ in your pants, Bobby baby,” she said, as a heavy breeze passed by.

A man walked to the podium, slammed his notebook down, and yelled, “Isn’t it a great day to be sober?”

And with a feverish yell, “amen” followed from the crowd.

Larry Gates was one of the counselors at Stone River and was liked by all who entered. His white hair and trimmed beard made him look like Santa Claus, and his voice could be heard by all without the use of a microphone. He was full of life and energy and chose to pass his newfound gift to anyone who wished to listen and learn. His piercing blue eyes were overshadowed only by his sincere appearance, and his tailored suit was the only camouflage that hid the destruction done to his body.

“I said, isn’t it a great day to be sober?”

“Yes!” screamed the crowd.

“For those of you new here today, my name is Larry Gates, I am not the brother of billionaire Bill Gates, I am the alcoholic and drug addict Larry Gates…I am also a counselor at this fine establishment. If you look at me you might get the impression that I am well-to-do; well, you are wrong. I have, and am, nothing. I am starting from scratch at this point in my life. I do have a doctorate in engineering, so any of you who think you are smarter than me, you are wrong. I had…
had
a wife, two children, my own business, cars, $500,000 home and a six figure salary, most of it shot up my veins, snorted up my nose, or poured down in my belly. The other ‘most’ was taken away from me by the Honorable Judge Moody. So today, people, when I ask you if it is a great day to be sober—it is. It is. Today and every day after, if you are sober, is your birthday. So savor it, love it, and keep it close to your heart. Because this body has stolen, lied, cheated, and performed sexual acts I do not wish to talk about, in order to feed its disease.”

He left the podium and walked toward the center of the movie screen. “Well, I haven’t done one act, that spot is still tight as a pencil eraser…but anyway, I beg you to learn from what I have to teach you.”

Most of the patients were dead quiet, except for three or four women who continued to talk and laugh in the back of the auditorium. He walked calmly up the aisle, excused himself to everyone he passed down the row, and stood directly in front of them like a ten foot giant who hadn’t had a nicotine fix all day.

“Do you see the bridge through the window there?” he said as he pointed, but got no response from the women. “I said, Do you see the window?”

“Yes,” they all said quietly and looked quickly toward the window.

“Well, through that window is the covered bridge where all of you came in. So, everybody from this point to the main aisle, I want you to get up so they can leave, because I will
not
have anyone disrupt my lecture and prevent me from teaching the people who want to learn something.”

The auditorium was quiet.

“Come on, go. What, now you don’t want to leave?”

They all sat embarrassed and humiliated, and tried to muster up any small amount of defiance.

“I didn’t think so,” he said as he walked out and passed the people in the aisle. “You people can sit back down.”

I was cautious not to say anything, let alone breathe.
For the first lecture I’d been to since I arrived, this sure was an eye opener
, I thought. As I looked back, I saw many of the patients around the women stare disgustedly. The women sat defeated.

“All right, I’m going to show you something new today,” he said as he squeezed the top off the black marker and walked to the white board. “Everyone here is addicted to alcohol, drugs, or both. Correct?”

“Yes!” the patients screamed in unison.

“All right, how much would you say you spent on one drink, rock, baggy, whatever?”

“Twenty,” “eighty,” “two-fifty,” the patients called out.

“All right, we’ll just say, for the sake of argument, twenty dollars. Okay. Now I’m going to write down everything that the average person has, and I know you can relate to it within a few numbers. Every red-blooded American usually has these things sooner or later in his or her life.”

I examined the list of items Larry wrote on the marker board. Seventy-five percent of the items were things I had once owned. He began to add up this number to the astonishment of the patients. I never really understood the value that was at my disposal; I only considered my belongings things that I could do with however I saw fit. At the end, he circled this god-awful number and struck an arrow to the twenty dollars.

“Most of you have lost all of this. And it only cost you twenty dollars.”

People were silent. I started to calculate the number I had lost, and guessed many of the others were doing the same.

“I hope this sinks in…and we haven’t even gotten into legal and insurance costs. This place alone costs fifteen thousand dollars, people. So think about it. Class dismissed.”

Larry Gates disappeared as the mass of patients exited their rows and walked toward the door. My new group and I stood silent, and waited to exit as we added up our own numbers once again.

Jack Jack, Shorty, and Shawn stared at each other, and let out breaths of disbelief.

“So what is everybody doing?” Jack Jack asked as he tried to change the topic. Father Tom passed slowly behind him.

“Matt H., report to the nurses’ station, Matt H., report to the nurses’ station,” the intercom screamed.

“Son of a bitch…again? I’ll see you guys around.”

I grudgingly walked down the hall, passed Father Tom, and turned the corner. I noticed a long line in front of the other nurse’s window, where the detox-free patients still got medication for various reasons. I was quick to pass them all as they laughed, talked, and itched to get next in line, while I, still stuck to the norm, looked down at the green carpet and hoped no one was at the half-door.

“Good,” I whispered. “Only one.”

“Next,” the old nurse barked as I walked up to the door. “I.D. bracelet please.”

I stuck out my arm and, like always, the nurse pulled it in closer for inspection, which forced my waist to hit the half-door. She released and wrote the information in her notebook while she slowly opened the door, where I went to my usual spot without hesitation, and waited for the blood pressure machine. She wrapped the belt around my arm and pushed the start button. Patiently, I waited to hear the words I’d heard so many times before.

“Well, that’s a surprise…it’s actually down, but we still need to keep an eye on it,” she said as she squinted her eyes. “So, a nurse will still check on you throughout the night.”

I was relieved. Could it be the Valium, her eyesight, or the machine? Who cares I thought. I finally heard some good news.

“Okay. Raise your hands.”

I hoped that the tremors had gone, but as I raised my arms I felt my hands start to shake.

“Even the tremors have gone down some. Good for you, Matt,” the nurse said, emotionless.

Maybe I will get this detox band off my wrist and be done with the Valium, but just not today
, I thought.

“Here’s your Valium,” she said.

I swallowed the pill with one hand, began to feel a little cocky, and requested that cup of water. But to my embarrassment, it spilled on my jeans and shirt; I lifted my other hand to help.

“Now remember, the nurses will be checking on you throughout the night, but the doctor will be in tomorrow. So he’ll check in on you at around 9 o’clock.”

I left, and thought all the way down the hall that maybe it’s a good thing, the doctor is going to see me, maybe I’ll be fine, and he’ll say to take the band off right then and there. Or maybe, he’ll tell me the nurses have been wrong and I need to stay in detox for another week. Oh, how I dreaded not knowing what was going to happen.
But, if I got enough sleep, I’d be rested and relaxed for the doctor
, I thought. That’s all I had to do, get a good night sleep and everything would be fine.