Regularity

A set standard of living needs only complacency and acceptance.

            Wonderful… another morning still drunk.  I check my phone, seeing that I may actually make it to this gig on time, I pull myself to the edge of the bed and perform the most intensive tricks I’m prepared to handle anymore.  I put my feet on the ground and hope I’ve sobered up enough to regain some semblance of stability.  I don’t collapse.  Better than hoped.  They’ll get me to where I need to go after some coffee. 

            The thing about blacking out is that it’s a total crap shoot.  I never know how far I go once I’m in it.  Do I hit the ground like a ton of bricks or does the mania set in and I parade around like a f*****g crack head until someone puts me down or I drink myself to immobility?  I pray for the short-lived nights.  It’s better said that I pray being told my nights are short-lived, I suppose.

            I don’t burden the bars anymore.  It’s not their job to keep an eye on me.  It isn’t anyone’s, not anymore.  They know the damage is done and the only harm I’m doing is to myself.  That doesn’t change the fact I’m not welcome and it’s better for everyone if I just kept to myself.

            “Get moving,” I tell myself, watching the minutes slide off the clock.

            Shuffling my way through my more-than-humble abode, I make it out the door with coffee just strong enough to hide the smell the booze mixed in.  I could have given myself more time to get my wits about me, but any day I can catch the bus before the high schoolers do is worth it.  They’re at the golden age where they know what a hangover is and that a drunk won’t fight back.  I try not to hold it against them; they’re just learning their place in the world.  Some days I almost believe that’s all it is.

I nearly collapse into my seat, taking care to avoid the side exposed to the morning sun.  Letting my head do a controlled fall against the cold window, I welcome the cool sensation meeting my throbbing skull.  I don’t even realize my eyes shut as I skate around falling asleep.  I numbly listen to the sounds of the engine and brakes and let myself slip away after another sip of what’s keeping me grounded.

            “Dude, is that him?” The rot gut sets in when I realize I should have mixed my coffee a bit stronger.

            “No way,” another young, shaky voice came back with.  “It can’t be him.  He doesn’t show up until after dark.  He’s like a drunk vampire!”

            “No, dude… no.  THAT’S him and YOU’RE a dipshit.”

            I’m too drunk.  The bus is too empty.  They’re too eager.  The driver recognized me too.  Whatever subtle hope I had of riding this morning out quickly became a fleeting one.  I pull my knees into my chest and cradle my mug like an animal mother shielding her young against predators.

            I stumble off the bus, not because of the alcohol now.  The driver stares ahead.  His face isn’t completely expressionless, but sympathy wouldn’t be the right word.  He doesn’t know me, but he knows my face.  They all do. 

            I think to check my phone for the first time in a while.  Still on time and a text from the new boss making sure I’m on my way in.  She’s doing a favor for one of the few people that remember who I used to be, but I know she’s still not entirely comfortable with it.  Our mutual friend, I feel bad for him.  He’s a good enough guy, especially for trying to get me to hold onto how my life used to be, but like every other rich kid that grew up without a care in the world, he thinks he knows the path to success.  Good intentioned, but thinks he’s got a grasp on how the world turns.

            My new boss though, she’s spun the globe a few times.  That much I can tell.  The first time I walked into her office was a sobering experience.  At least, as much as it could be.  I was never much of a people person, but eye contact is much more painful nowadays.  The drink can numb what you’ve got inside, but it doesn’t hide it.  She had a hard stare.

            “It’s not hard work.  Come in, do the job, pick up your check, and that’s it,” she said.  “He said to give you a chance and you wouldn’t f**k me on this and I’m trusting that.”  I always make the coffee strong, but I must have waited too long to nod my head or given her some other tell. 

            “Listen, I know what I got when I hired you, just stay clear headed enough to not make me regret this,” it was the soft, cool voice that made me feel like she considered me human; it was something that made me try.

            I knew it didn’t matter what it was that I did, I just needed to do SOMETHING.  Anything to keep myself from thinking.  I imagine that’s really the only thing that kept me going after everything.  I tried to keep that in mind before I would crack that first bottle at night.  Sometimes it even helped a little.

            It certainly took the edge off when sobriety would creep up on me.  It didn’t bring me happiness or any sense of self-gratification, but at least there was a little peace.  For that alone, I was thankful to the only two naïve enough to give me a chance. 

            Peace only did so much though.  Five o’clock always came ahead of schedule.  Gratitude didn’t change the fact that I’ve always found the next morning’s memories of the night before empty and vague.

            “If I said it was last call, would you take the hint?” she asked.  “the next shift needs to get in.”

            “Last call is first call,” I think to myself.  It used to be a joke I told myself when it was just a habit.

            Sobering up for a drunk is a lot harder than some think.  You shake, you get anxious, you get confused.  You make mistakes, especially.  I’ve taken buses on the wrong route, hoping to get home so I can refill my cup as soon as possible.  Those were the nights I DIDN’T make it home.  I wait to cross the street for the bus and I think about those nights.  I think about starting it all again tomorrow.  I think about my feet touching the floor, the confusion, the teenagers, the bus driver, the fleeting peace.  I think about all of that… and I don’t cross.  I put my mug down and I take the wrong bus.