9 Days Sober

The first thing I detect when I come to is that I am freezing. Shivering, I open my eyes and realize my pants are half ice. I've either pissed myself or something was spilled very specifically in my lap. I look around as I sit up, the hangover surging through my body. My head pounding as if cymbals are being crashed on my ears. My stomach threatens to violently empty itself. I swallow hard and take in the porch I have slept on all night. It's not quite dawn but people are walking their dogs, or on their morning run before heading to the office. "Fuck me...." I whisper. I am such a piece of shit.

Oh, fuck...fuck..fuck...I realize whose porch I'm on. Mine. Or use to be mine. My ex-wife got the house. So, I'm on her porch. I attempt to stand up, but immediately lose my balance and stumble back down. A woman walking her dog stops and watches. The dog, assessing the situation. Should he bark, play protector or try to run in for attention. I can see her inner dialog, should I help him? Do I call the police? It's not really my business. What if he's a hardened criminal? With a few seconds and me still struggling, she decides that indeed, it's not her place and she drags her dog off down the street.

I have a no-contact order, a restraining order, and 3 failed rehab attempts as a result of the divorce. If I am caught here, that's jail for me. No chances. I am moving as fast as my recovering addict body can move when the front door violently swings open. I freeze.

"JOE! What the actual fuck? Are you serious right now?" I put my hands up in surrender. "I didn't realize. I promise. I had no idea. I'm so sorry. I'm leaving right now. I'm gone" I turn my back and start down the stairs. My jacket a crumbled mess under my arm.

Rachel sighs, exasperated. I stop and half turn to her, unsure if I am getting a lecture or perhaps a shoe tossed at my head. Crosses her arms and leans against the door frame. "There’s coffee...come in" She moves aside as an invitation to come in. I hesitate. Is this a cruel joke, a setup? I realize I am too hungry, too hungover to care. Besides, I have no car, no way to get to the city where my apartment is and pretty sure, by the way I smell, I spent every dime on me on booze last night.

I'm sitting at the island in our old kitchen, since remodeled. I wrap both hands over my favourite mug. Well, what use to be my favourite mug. A flashback a few years back plays in my mind. The catalyst of events. This mug, overflowing with straight vodka. After being on an all day bender with Evan, I had come home, attempted to keep the party going. I woke up Rachel in the process. Pissed off, tired, and fed up with my antics, she had stormed down the stairs, still crumpled with sleep, and taken the mug from my hands, dumping its contents down the sink. I don't remember everything that happened next, but I do know that her doing that angered me in a way I didn't recognize. Flashes of my hand across her face. Smashed plates and her cookies she had made that day, violently hurled against the wall above her as she lay on the floor, holding her face and backing away from me in terror. It had happened so fast. When I saw her, terrified of me, I came to. Crying I tried to apologize. On my knees in front of her, trying to take her in my arms, begging for one more chance. Trying to explain that it wasn't me, I was drunk. But that was the problem. I was always sorry when I was drunk. But this time was different. It felt finale. I had actually hit her. Before I had smashed things, yelled, but I had never before laid a finger on her. Now it was too late, and too many times. Too many second chances. I shake my head of the memory and clear my throat. Rachel is leaning against the counter, waiting for me to explain.

"I'm sorry..." I start.

She holds up her palm at me, cutting me off. "Stop it, Joe. What happened?"

"I was leaving a meeting, every intention to go home, watch a movie and get take out. I had been 9 days sober. I was doing good Rachel, I really was. You would have been proud" I realize the absolute mockery and irony of my words. We both ignore them.

She shakes her head "It's always Evan. When are you going to realize that meetings and AA aren't enough? You have to surround yourself with positive influences Joe. 2 years and the most you've made is 9 days sober."

I look down, any pride of my 9 days quickly dissipated by her shame. Today is day 1. I down my coffee. "Thanks, Rachel, you didn't have to. But I should go" I stand up and look around. There are photos of our wedding still up. Photos of us. On vacations, camping, white water rafting. I want to ask why she still has these up when she also has a restraining order against me, the same reason I guess why she invited me in. There is still love there, oddly.

She walks me out, gives me an awkward hug. "Joe, you need to stick to your program. You need to walk away from people like Evan and Bill. You are 43. Not Frat boys partying every night. Grow up already. Stop while you can still salvage a bit of your life that is left. Our marriage is disintegrated but your life doesn't have to be" She smells good. Familiar. Her perfume is still the same after all these years. Her deep auburn hair is shorter than when we were together. Falls at her shoulders now. I always loved her long hair and I realize now she kept it that way for me. To please me.....I am a piece of shit.

I am standing on the porch again. Feeling a bit better, I wave her off. Mumble thank you again and make my way down the road. I have no idea where my car is or how I got to the suburbs. I check my back pocket for my wallet. A couple of dollars. That will get me home on the train. I also find a receipt from the Birch Tree pub. $590 dollars. Mostly booze. I feel sick, not because of the hangover, but because I don't have $600. I don't even have $100. I am petrified to look at my credit card statement.

I am off the train, walking back to my shitty apartment downtown and I pause outside the liquor store. It's now just past 9 am and their doors have just opened. The homeless man outside asks me for change and I laugh. I take a deep breath. A drink would feel good right now. Hair of the dog. I could just have one and start my sober journey after. One drink.

In the liquor store, the clerk knows me. "Heya Joe. Back for more already?" He doesn't say it playfully, he's genuinely concerned but as an acquaintance, he has no weight. I just smile softly as I place down the 6 pack of beer. "You know me" I reply.

Back in my apartment I have charged my phone and can see the pictures from last night. The debauchery. I have 4 missed calls from Evan. I put my phone face down and stare at the opened beer on my table. 9:45 am now. I tell myself it's better, more acceptable if it's not so early. I'll just wait until 10 am. It's 5 o'clock somewhere, right? My phone buzzes. It's a text from Evan.

Where did you go last night dude? You just disappeared. Left me with a $200 tab at The Loft.

Fuck.

I pick up my phone and type back. Aye, I'm sorry. I have no idea what happened. I just woke up on Rachel's porch. I gotta step back from this shit. Sorry mate, I'll get the cash to you. I got work on me I gotta do. I'm having one last beer. Last hair of the dog and then I'm getting serious about getting help. Don't be offended but I won't be in touch. Just never ends well for me.

9:49 am

My phone buzzes back. I sincerely wish you all the best mate. I do. I hope for better, sober days. It's a battle, this sickness. I hope you win. Take care.

Evan isn't so bad. He's also an addict. Much worse than I. Not just booze but hard drugs. Somehow he has a steady job but is able to hide this dark side of him.

9:53 - Fuck it, close enough.

***

It's 11 am and the 6 pack is now crushed, empty cans all over my apartment. Hair of the dog is starting to look more like Bender of the dog.

***

"God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; courage to change the things I can; and wisdom to know the difference."

I'm leaving a meeting, not my regular group but when I started ripping my place apart looking for hidden booze, then finding said hidden booze, a micky of Vodka, in the radiator, I knew I needed an emergency meeting.

I've sobered up and the meeting is done. The program leader, Kurt, notices me in a bad way, I'm sure. "Hey Joe, haven't seen you down these parts in a while. How you doing?" Conversations after the meeting tend to be danced around. What topic is safe? Can we ask other people about their personal struggles? What's your drug of choice? Do you like to shoot it up, maybe you snort it, locked in your bathroom while your wife thinks your taking a shit. "Kurt." I nod at him. "Yeah, my regular group meeting isn't until Friday. Had an emergency." I'm looking down into the black that is the instant coffee in my styrofoam cup. We feel enough shame between us that Kurt gives my shoulder a pat and makes his way over to another group of guys. I sneak away before anyone else can approach me with anymore trivial conversation, god forbid someone mentions the weather.

Sitting in my car in the parking lot, I go through my phone. My contacts aren't many. Evan and Bill. Rachel. Few contractors from work and my brother, Louie. My finger hesitates on his number. I haven't spoken to Louie in 6 years. Been 6 years since we fought at his wedding. I got black out drunk before dinner was even served. Rachel had failed to persuade me to leave "Its my little bro's wedding! I'm not fucking leaving. We gotta celebrate!". I had left her at the table then. She had then left the wedding. From what others tell me how the rest of the night went, Dad took me aside, told me to sober up and handed me a coffee. 5 minutes later I picked up a glass of champagne and announced a toast. From here, all I remember is Louie escorting me outside, his bride Heather in tears and many guests staring and whispering. I do recall one thing as he and Dad forced me into the Taxi. What I had shouted. What I had shouted to everyone standing, watching. "Fuck you Heather. You cunt. Louie settled, don't you ever fucking forget it". All caught on video of course too. I didn't even have the luxury to say I don't remember, cause it was sent to me on social media multiple times. Rachel had called my brother, sent flowers to Heather. Out of embarrasment. She was mortified. Completely ashamed to be married to me. That was the event for my first failed attempt at Rehab.

Hey Bro. I'm going through my steps of sobriety. Integrity and Forgivness. I fucked up, all those years back. Multiple times, not just at your wedding. I was a different person then. I've lost everything since. My wife, my home, my reputation and my job. This isn't some phlight to make you pity me, I deserved everything I got and more. But I am working to be better. I am better. I am not perfect but I hope one day we can sit over coffee and I could apologize to you in person. To Heather.

2 minutes later my phone buzzes. Louie has responded and I don't even need to unlock my phone to see it's not good. The first 2 words are enough. "Fuck off"

That's the straw, I think. That's the push I needed.

***

I park outside our house. I'm sitting there, rolling around my 24 hour recovery chip. No hair of the dog today. Rachel has painted the outside, a bright sunshine yellow with white trim. Red and white roses are budding in th front garden and a newly sprouted Apple tree directly in front of the kitchen window. The grass is actually cut. The gutters are cleaned out and the front hedge is trimmed. You would almost think a husband that took pride in his home lived there finally. I sigh. Step out and brace myself for a door in the face.

I wait for almost a minute after I've knocked twice. Her car is here but maybe it's for the better. I came prepared for this. I leave the envelope at the door head back to my car. As I put my car in drive, I take a mental picture of the house. I see how better off Rachel is. How healthy and happy she is. The house has never looked so good. I look down to my lap at my recovery chip and remember how the house looked when I left it for the last time. Moss overgrown on the roof. Leaves and debris spilling out of the gutters, leaving trails of muddy water down the side of the once sky blue exterior. Any garden was dead. Branches and rotted in the dirt. Dug up and shit and pissed in by rodents and wild cats. The grass wasn't even grass anymore but weeds and almost up to your knees when you stood next to it's strands. I look up again. I am not her life anymore, and she still has pictures of us inside. Hanging on to a dream. It's better this way. I'm the only obstacle in her way of true happiness and I am just a shell of a life. A life that use to be fulfilled, until I squandered it away. I put the car in drive and I don't even look back in the rearview mirror for one last look.

***

It's 6am on a Tuesday and Rachel wakes to a pounding at her front door. Her mind immediately goes to Joe. For fucks sake, she thinks, as she puts her robe on and heads down the stairs. If this is about that damn letter, she threw it out without opening it. She's been down these recovery steps with Joe before. Nothing ever changes.

She swings open the door widely and is surprised to see 2 police officers standing at her door. She self conciously pulls her robe tight across her chest. "Hi, sorry to disturb you Ma'am. Is this the residence of Rachel Morris?" The cop that spoke is in uniform, holding his hat by his side. His partner, also hat removed won't meet her eyes. He is younger, she thinks, inexperienced.

"Yes, that's me. What can I do for you Officers?"

She plays through the narrative in her head. Joe was found passed out in a park. He skipped out on a tab and made a run for it. Maybe he even stole from a liquor store.

"Your husband is Joe Morris?"

More nervously, she answers "....Yes. Well, was...we're divorced"

The officer looks at Rachel and somehow, she knew. His eyes into hers seemed to have a power of information. "I'm sorry to say Mrs. Morris but your husband was in an accident this morning, he died at the scene. About 5 hours away in Jenkin Valley"

Rachel shakes her head. Her heart beating so fast, it's all she can hear in her head. She lets herself fall against the ledge of the door. "What do you mean? Did he overdose, was he drunk?"

"Uh...no Ma'am. It would appear he was helping an elderly lady load her groceries in the car when another driver lost control in the parking lot and pinned him between the womens car and the drivers." He pauses here. "I'm so sorry. It would appear your husband was attempting his 12 steps of recovery. Helping others, an act of service, was what he told the woman he was helping that day. Witnesses say he had been there for the past 4 days helping people with the groceries. Sleeping in his car there at night."

Suddenly Rachel remembers the letter she threw away. Oh my god...she leaves the officers on her porch and races to her trash. Flooded with relief when she sees it. She rips it open right there.

To the love of my life,

Rachel, the selfish side of me, the old me, wants you to forgive me. To let me back into your life. To give me a chance. Yet again. The old me would show anger and defiance when you would refuse. Which I know you would, rightfully so. I know you are better without me. We never made that super power couple you see in the movies. I saw a woman out of my league that could maybe be a good influence on me. You saw a broken man, a project to fix. We never did either, did we?

I made 9 days sober Rachel. And I blew it. All it took was running into Evan. Last time when I had made it to 6 days sober, you sent me divorce papers and that made it ok then. I'm not blaming you, or us. Don't be mistaken I know full well it is my fault. Our eventual demise is on me. But I can't keep thinking that I can go through these motions, in this town, and reach sobriety and win you back. I hit the realization that if I continue down this path, I will black out one night and never wake up. I don't want that for me, but mostly, I don't want you to get that news.

So the point of this letter? I'm leaving. I'm heading East to Jenkin Valley. Evan has lined me up a construction gig there. I need a fresh start. No triggers, no set backs. I have to do something, because I can't keep in this cycle, and that's exactly what will happen if I don't make this change. Albert Einstien said Doing something over and over again, expecting a different result is the definition of insanity.

I wish you all the happiness in the world Rachel. I don't think I've ever meant anything so genuinely. I wish I hadn't done this to us. To you.

Love, with all the tubes of my heart,

Joe

PS. 9 days sober, then one day at a time.

***

The newpaper reporting Joe’s death the next day read:

Recovering Alcoholic completing his recovery steps in local grocery store dies tragically and cruelly at the hands of a drunk driver. He would have been 9 days sober.