“Hello. Can I please speak with Sean Mason?” I can hear the worry in my voice and I wonder if the employee can hear it, too.
“Sean’s not here, he works the night shift usually. Can I help you with something?”
“Yes, this is Janny. I’m Sean’s girlfriend. He hasn’t come home yet from working this morning and I can’t reach him on his cell. Do you know what time he left today?”
“Yeah, he stayed late to help me unload a delayed truck, then took off about 7:30-ish.”
“Did he mention needing to go anywhere after work?” Just then my phone beeps, and Sean is calling on the other line.
“Never mind, I think he is calling me now. Sorry to bother you. Thanks. Bye.”
A wave of relief shivers through my body. I need to stop getting myself so worked up over stupid things. I’m literally sitting here thinking that the absolute worst has happened and freaking myself out for nothing. I answer his call.
“Hey babe! I just called your work. Where are you?”
“Janny, it’s Georgia.”
My stomach immediately turns. Why is Sean’s mom calling me from his cell phone? Something is wrong. I can hear it in her words. She is scared. Her voice scratches when she says my name, she’s been crying. My heart pounds quicker.
“Georgia, what is it? Is Sean okay?”
I want to hear her say yes, everything is okay. I want her to assure me that I’m freaking out for nothing. I want her to be amused that I concocted this whole thing up within my anxiety-ridden head. Everything is not okay, though. It’s far from okay. I hear her speak. I comprehend her words. My body moves and does what it is supposed to do, but my mind is static.
“Janny, there’s been an accident.”
Substances
Man-made, future grade.
Understanding the need is beyond your ability.
Clouding to pleasure is how it controls.
But how does it control when it’s not even alive?
Who drives?
Who gave it the map?
Or do you just go, no direction in sight?
Take what you can get.
The getting is good, or so it intends.
The want grows, little by little.
Until it’s so large, there’s no hiding.
You can’t stop, you will never know how.
You’re brainwashed by time and desire.
Getting in is easy, getting out, not so much.
Who plans to leave? Not me, not you.
There is no other home I’ve known like this.
Wait. Enjoy our moment.
In the back you know it won’t last.
You’re not capable of knowing any other.
Attempt to rise against but dealt a fail.
What’s your pill?
Mark
I open my eyes to the sun shining throughout the room. I instantly feel a rush of throbbing pain in my head. I look around and notice some familiarity around me. After a few seconds, I grasp that I’m in Lana’s apartment. She is sound asleep next to me, as stunning as ever. I carefully slip out of her bed and begin searching for my clothes. I notice the condom wrappers on the bedside stand and one on the floor. Images from the night before flood back to me. I look down and realize I still have one of the condoms on myself. I head to her shower to clean up. I hate it when that happens. I must have fallen asleep after we finished.
I get a wave of nausea that hits me hard. My stomach becomes warm and I feel my esophagus becoming full. I throw my face into the toilet bowl and release the hatred from my body. Only liquid comes up, but I sure do feel better afterward.
I search the medicine cabinet for a pain reliever. I find some baby aspirin and take two. I notice two medicine bottles with the name Lance Ryder. Who is Lance Ryder? Is my mystery woman in a relationship with someone else? Am I cheating with a married woman?
The truth is, I really don’t know the important things about Lana. I like not knowing things about her. So, why do I find it necessary to look through her medicine cabinet? I notice the prescriptions are for Estradiol and Spironolactone. Never heard of them. I close the cabinet and call a taxi. I might make it to my lesson on time if I’m lucky.
Today I introduce trigonometry to the class. We begin with the basics of sine, cosine, and tangent equations. By the end of the period, the students look disinterested and confused. I give them the evening to review their notes with the hint of a surprise quiz next week. I head to my office and check my stash. Today my good friend Jeffery has left me an unusual gift, pills. I take a few swigs of the Admiral and place the bottle back in its drawer. I open Google and find a pill identifier online.
Round.
Green.
Scored.
The imprint is A 214.
One result found. Oxycodone 15 mg is used for chronic pain and is also a schedule II controlled substance. Could this work for a splitting headache? Let’s find out. I chuck two tablets into my mouth and dry swallow. I open my phone to see I have a missed call from Lana and a new voicemail.
“Hey hun, I missed you this morning. We were pretty messed up last night, huh? I had fun with you. Talk soon.”
The image of her in the yellow silk nighty pulled under her breasts comes back to me and I can feel the pulsations going right to my thighs. I remind myself this is not the best place to be having these thoughts—although I’m tempted to pull it out and finish what my mind has already started. I decide to try and hold off on my impulses.
The next two days seem to carry on. Sleep, eat, and work is all I do, in a revolving circle. I have decided to lay off the juice for a while. After a couple rough nights, I figured I might give my body a break. It is difficult not going to the bar whenever I’m bored. The oxy pills help keep my mind occupied most of the time. I will admit that they make me feel like shit, though.
Today I’ve been mostly camped out on the couch, watching reruns of Seinfeld. My body hurts in a way I’ve never felt before. I figured the oxycodone would make me pain-free, but that doesn’t seem to be the case today. I cannot get myself comfortable enough to relax. My brain feels like it’s in a uncertain agitated state. All I want to do is sleep, but my body won’t relax. Just this morning, I noticed my fingers were numb. I’m beginning to worry that something is seriously wrong with me. This is worse than the flu times 10. I call a cab to haul my ass to the emergency room. I have a family history of heart issues so I should be evaluated for my own peace of mind.
I’m sitting in the waiting room. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.
The noise level is beyond comprehension. There is a high-pitched static noise that is stuck within my ears. I stand from my seat and pace around the room, but the noise follows me. I glance around the waiting area to see if anyone else is bothered by the noise. No one seems to notice. After a long two-hour wait, they call me to a room. I feel like I’m to the point of insanity. My whole body feels like tiny needles are stabbing my skin. I touch my left hand to my face and the stabbing stops for a moment before beginning again.
“Okay, Marcus. What brings you in today?” The male nurse asks hurriedly.
I begin to tell him my symptoms. Before I can get more than a couple sentences out, I open my mouth and barf down the front of my shirt. He hands me a warm washcloth to wash up the mess.
“We will add vomiting to the list.” He thinks he’s a funny guy with his comment, and it makes me want to punch that smirk off his ugly fucking face.
“When did the symptoms start?”
“A couple days ago.”
“Has anything changed in your life lately? Or have you traveled recently?”
“No.” I decide not to mention the oxy pills. I don’t believe they have anything to do with this.
“The doctor will be in shortly to see you.” He leaves me behind to die in this room.
A while later a short Indian man, in his long white jacket, enters the room. He takes one look at me and asks when my last drink was. I’m honest with him. He wants to
know approximately how many drinks I have every day and what type of alcohol I consume. He explains to me that my symptoms are concurrent with alcohol withdrawal. He strongly emphasizes that I need to be closely monitored throughout the detox process.
I feel stupid for not seeing it.
Of course, I know people can withdrawal when they quit drinking alcohol. I know people can die. I didn’t think I was one of those people. I didn’t think I drank enough for my body to go through withdrawal. Yet here I am, lying in a hospital bed hooked up to an IV bag, pumping me full of yellow fluid. Was Barbie right all along? Do I have a problem? Should I have gotten help when she told me to? Am I salvageable?
I am transferred to a detox floor for close monitoring. I lie in my bed and rub the needles on my skin. I watch the fluid drip from the bag into the tubing that’s connected to my hand.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
I ask the nurse why the fluid is yellow. She kindly explains to me that the IV bag is packed with vitamins and minerals that turn the fluid yellow. She tells me that the long-term use of alcohol has depleted my body of much needed nutrients. This fluid will replenish my body to a healthy state. She brings me a fresh gown to change into. I hadn’t noticed that my skin is heavily perspiring. This is a normal part of the process, according to her.
She delicately administers a syringe of medication into a port in the IV tube. Almost instantly I feel a burst of heaviness sweep through my veins. The needles in my skin get better, and I manage to snooze for a bit. Every hour she comes into my room and asks me the same questions: Are you nauseous? Are you seeing things that aren’t real? Are you hearing things that aren’t there? Are you having pain? Do you feel anything abnormal on your skin? Then she makes me hold out my hands after she checks my blood pressure and pulse. Twice now she has mentioned that my pulse is elevated. Each time, she gives me more of that sweet goodness into my IV.
For a while, I am in and out of consciousness. I vaguely remember getting out of bed to go to the bathroom. I’ve completely lost track of time. I remember a young nurse waking me from my slumber, wanting me to sit up and eat something. I wasn’t very nice to her on more than one occasion. Another time I awoke to bright lights shining in my eyes. I can hear voices all around me but they are fuzzy and unclear. I wish they would stop so I can sleep for a while longer. I’m so tired.
My mind is more tired than it’s ever been. I cannot function, only sleep.
Minute after minute.
Hour after hour.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Gone.
I begin to awaken from my cloudiness feeling like I’m starving. I sit myself up in bed and request something for a headache. The nurse comes in with Tylenol and a glass of water.
“Hello, Mr. Hutchins. This is the most awake I’ve seen you in a while.”
“How long have I been here?” My throat is almost too dry to take the pills.
“This is day four of detox. What are you feeling right now?”
“I’ve got a nasty headache and I’m starving. Other than that, I feel okay.” That’s a lie. I feel lousy and my vision in my left eye is fuzzy.
The nurse leaves the room after taking my massive food order. A tall, young doctor enters the room. He introduces himself as the neurologist that has been working on my case. He sits across the room and explains how the past four days have played out. Turns out I was in severe alcohol withdrawal when I entered the facility. The evening I was admitted, I had six seizures within a 30-minute period. He points to the padding that is secured to the inside of my bed rails.
“We were able to treat you with a course of anticonvulsants and sedatives during your detox to prevent further seizure activity. It does not appear that you have any permanent damage from the seizures. At this point, I am going to start weaning you off the medication as I am confident the worst is over for you.”
I am appalled at what he is telling me. Worst yet, I did this to myself. How did I let myself get to this point? I am so embarrassed by what has happened. I don’t remember any of what he is telling me. It’s all black in my memories.
I eat the food the nurse brings me, then lay down to take a short nap. After I wake up, I remove my IV and put on my clothes. I quickly pace past the main desk and out of sight into the fresh crisp air.
I check my cell phone and notice some missed calls and a message from Cynde and Lana.
Lana has been out of town for a week for business. I send her a naughty text message so she knows I’m thinking of her. I never would have thought I would be a man who gets excited about sexting. I will admit I’m very fond of it. I feel like I’ve been slightly lonelier since she has been out of town, which worries me. I don’t want to have to rely on a woman again for my happiness. I’m still technically married to Barbie. It still feels slightly wrong being with another woman. When I’m with Lana, it feels better than anything.
I’m not going to tell Lana about my little stint in the hospital. I spend the afternoon relaxing and skimming through my finances. I conclude very quickly that I’m almost broke. Between the lawyers, mediation, the Admiral, and living on my own again, I have managed to sift through much of my personal savings. Plus, now I’m going to have a massive hospital bill to pay for, too.
Although I know I will be getting some funds once the house is sold, I feel it’s time to start thinking about my financial future. If I’m going to be a bachelor again, then I need to prepare. Otherwise, I will have no future.
I head to the bank with the intention of opening a personal savings account. I’m directed to one of many cubicles and given a packet to start filling out until a representative can help me. I glance up from the desk and see Barbie across the room. She is standing in line at the teller window. She looks so beautiful with that dark hair of hers. She is wearing a gray skirt suit. She appears to have lost some weight. She looks thin, but in a good way. I can’t help but notice how the slit in her skirt almost reaches her ass cheeks. Her presence distracts me as I sit and watch her inch up the line.
She is having an intense conversation with someone next to her. They laugh as his hand reaches behind her and sets on her lower back. They are there together. Their bodies suggest they are not strangers to each other. My heart sinks. Barbie has moved on from me already? This man that is flirting with her is much younger than me. He appears to be her age, maybe 30? Barbie always told me she loved that I was 10 years older; she preferred being with an experienced lover and never wanted it any other way. Was that the truth or did she only say those things to bolster my pride?
I need a drink. I get up from the desk and take the papers with me. I leave the bank without her even knowing I was there. I head to the bar near my house where I know my favorite bartender is working tonight. He knows what I want before I sit down.
“Two whisky doubles dry, coming up.”
This guy knows a little too much about me due to the verbal vomit I sporadically have when I’ve surpassed my drink limit. He doesn’t judge me, though. I pause for a brief second and wonder if I should drink these drinks. After a few minutes I get a refill. I feel my phone pulsating in my pocket and check the caller ID.
“Hello Cynde, my favorite lawyer.” I splutter into the mobile.
“Hello, Marcus. Don’t sound so delighted to hear from me.” She’s annoyed.
“It’s never a delight for me but that doesn’t matter. What can I help you with today?” I probably shouldn’t have answered this call after three double shots.
“Marcus, are you okay? You sound inebriated.” The concern in her voice doesn’t register.
“Y-yeah, I’m just blowing off some steam. It’s Friday and I’m allowed to do that.”
“Okay, well I have some news. I just spoke with Barbara’s attorney and we have received certified documents that your divorce has been processed and finalized. You are now permanently divorced from Barbara. You can stop by my office on Monday and pick up the
documents, unless you would like me to mail them directly to you.”
“Already? I thought you said it would take two to four months for finalization. I thought I had more time to prepare.” I feel the blood rushing to my face.
“Barbara apparently wanted this thing rushed, and her lawyer was able to make that happen. I’m sorry, Marcus. I had no idea or I would have prepared you sooner.” She sounds genuinely empathetic.
“Okay, then it’s f-final. No more Barbie. No more me and Barbie.” I shut my phone and stare at the floor.
“Another double,” I say to the bartender. He obliges my request.
Why did she insist on rushing it? What was her hurry? Am I that repulsive that she felt like she had to make our divorce final this fast? I thought I had more time to prepare and win her back. I could still try to change her mind. Even if we are divorced, it doesn’t mean I can’t get her to fall in love with me again. I think about seeing her earlier today at the bank. Is she planning on marrying that guy she was with? Am I the baggage holding her back? Does he even know about me, the ex-husband? Does he know about Jake and what we went through? He couldn’t possibly comprehend. My phone rings again—it’s Lana.
“H-hey,” I say feeling sorry for myself.
“Hey. I want to see you. Come over tonight,” she says. Her voice sounds soft and suggestive. This is exactly what I want to hear right now.
“When did you get back? It feels like I haven’t seen you in months.”
“It’s only been a week, and I flew in early this afternoon.” I can hear the hunger in her voice.
“I’ll be there in an hour.”
Law
Created for an honest purpose.
To keep the peace within society.
So many orders, so many commands.
We hire to dictate.
We are taught that the rules are meant to be broken.
Tomorrow Page 8