The hotel room

Lighter. Pipe. Wallet. Cell phone. Cigarettes. And an undoubtably clear view of where the night was going.

I had been awake for 5 days. I hadn’t eaten in 4. Don’t get me wrong I work, and I work damn hard too. But I got a call at the end of my shift that day to meet up with an old friend in a new town. Fresh hotel sheets, a hot shower, a fancy meal, oh hell a warm body to hold, of course I was going. I had been homeless all through the winter, it was nearly may and I could still feel the bitter cold in my fingers.

But he didn’t know... we hadn’t spoken in 4 years. That’s my fault too but that’s a different story. I didn’t know who he was anymore and I hoped he won’t turn me away even though I was clearly strung out. I had half a script left, just enough to get me through the weekend. It was a two and a half hour drive to Monticello from my job.

The drive I don’t remember, it’s a common occurrence honestly. After the third day of a bender time begins to stand still and my memory becomes spotty at best. He walked up to my car and opened my door. I could smell a familiar smell, his beautiful brown and blue eyes looking at me like it hadn’t been a lifetime since I said goodbye.

He knew. It wasn’t hard to tell. But I knew too, he’s eyes were dilated and his muscles were tense.

I wrapped my arms around him. The creature before me stood over a foot taller than me. I was dwarfed instantly beside him. His embrace was warm and lonely is a way. He picked me up just like he had when we were younger. A giggle and hug and we both felt like we were home again.

We walked in silence both skeptical of this reunion. Afraid of the others intentions. Inside the hotel room with the most ornate details, the 90s rave music blaring, the heat turned up to thaw frozen bones, and the steam from the shower fogging the widows, this is where the story begins.

It only took a brief conversation to remember where we had left off. A briefer conversation to admit that neither one of us were sober. We recounted our past year by year. And by dawn neither of us had slept.

He had a past most of which I knew but it seemed so strange that 4 years could cause so much pain. I had a past too, one neither of us were proud of but I had managed to survive. There were secrets there, unspoken words, thoughts left in mid air. It wasn’t pitty between us but understanding. An understanding that this life would break us. An understanding that long ago we had agreed to live so long as the other did too. An understanding that we had kept our promises to the other even though we didn’t know why.

A couple lines and way too many cigarettes, we made our way to the cafe down stairs for breakfast. It was 8am and the man was drinking whiskey. Completely unphased by the fact he was the only one in my life that now knew I was using. He was unphased because he was saint either. But that didn’t bother either one of us. We were doing our best at the time to deal with the fact we believed we had nothing to live for.

He went to work and I crashed hard, the king size bed we had shared the night before was my grave for almost 8 hours till my phone rang. His strong voice boomed out of the speaker making my head ache. He was on his way back, just 15 minutes away.

“I need caffeine, please.” I mumbled. I rushed to get up and tidy the room as we hung up the phone. I was amazed he was choosing to return. Amazed the boy I knew so long ago was the same man I was just meeting. Amazed by the fact that all my sins didn’t phase him. Amazed he felt the same pull of fait I had.

I’m leaving out details because I need you to know who we both were before I tell you anymore. Neither one of us had come from love or care or money or trust. We grew up in pain and with our lives in danger. As kids we remember bandaging each others wounds. We remember sneaking out just to cry in the others arms. We remember the other wishing for death while we sat under the bridge. We had already known the other at their lowest. So it didn’t really matter now. Neither one of us sober, neither one of us had permanent shelter, neither one of us had any more will to care. We had grown in 4 years but we had grown more bitter, we had grown more cold, we had grown in ways we still haven’t disclosed.

And that first night, all my scars were shown and all his habits were made clear. That first night together after 4 fucking years. It was like a fire being lit in the middle of the winter. Like the sunrise the day after a storm. Like a blooming rose through concrete streets. It was hope.

Since then it hasn’t been as easy as that first night. We’ve fought our fights sure but it’s been almost a year now. We’re more sober and steady and we share a home. I’ve been in love a million times but I’ve never been in hope. When you know someone at their lowest, when you understand their pain, when you see their scars and accept them all the same. When you can share both dreams and nightmares, and neither one scares you. When you can be better together and feel it for the first time in years. When the drinks and drugs and all the adrenaline in the world can’t add up to what you feel. You find hope not in the other person but in a life lived together.