Ashes to Ashes

by Jason Banks

  Melanie found a spot on the side of the bed to sit, dangling her legs off the edge. “Ohhh, got a bit of a headache do ya?”

  Max sighed, which converted into stifling a yawn instead. “What happened?” He asked. “I mean I know what happened and yes I feel so bad about it. But I fuckin lost it, Mel. I lost everything,” the tears returned and he planted his face back into the palms of his hands.

  “So you remember trashing the room, breaking the window, wishing Durango,” she held out her fingers for air quotes—“a merry fuckin Christmas.”

  “Oh dear god, you know about the whole thing,” Max winced, not only feeling the sorrow for completely throwing away ten years of sobriety, but making an entire fool out of himself over something he should have been more even keeled about. And now Melanie knew every detail, at least what happened at the resort, he supposed.

  Melanie reached her hand out to console Max with her finger against the sides of his eyes. “I’m disappointed, yes,” she paused. “But this isn’t anything which can’t be repaired.”

  Max looked plainly into his twin sisters concerned eyes. “Even my dead husband’s broken heart?” He cried out, realizing just how ridiculous that sounded. After all, it was an oxymoron, even if it was the absolute truth.

  “Yeah,” she replied, lowering her head in agreement. “I know about that, too,” she affirmed, “but I’m willing to bet it’s not broken.”

  Max sat up in horror at the retelling of what happened. Listened to her explain how worried she was about him when Durango’s brother arrived to pick up Gage, completely unaware anything at all was wrong up until that very moment. How lucky it was that she’d already gotten the kids to sleep, so Lily didn’t have to witness a single bit of it. Especially since she didn’t hear her and John step into the room, so he could kneel down and scoop his somnolent little nephew into his arms. Melanie told him that for the next four hours after, how she kept trying to reach him on the phone and text message, worried that her brother flew off the rails and did something irrational, or worse—wasn’t going to be returning home at all. Then, when a matter of a few more minutes passed by, she jumped at the front gate alarm which jolted her from a half-slumber. And when she replied through the speaker, the rush of relief she instantly felt when a confused and seemingly irritated cab driver attempted to buzz through, hoping he’d gotten the correct address after driving around town picking up on his broken speech and clues.

  “Technically Max, he told me, he wasn’t even supposed to take you home, because you were so trashed, it posed a liability on their company.”

  His eyes widened at the thought of his twin sister—a full figured woman with shorter arms—attempting to carry her inebriated brother, halfway up the stairs before her back gave out. Hearing this was not only a punch to the gut, out of absolute disgust he’d been three sheets to the wind to the point he couldn’t even walk straight, it made him feel incredibly guilty that she had to deal with that sort of scenario to begin with.

  “So,” she added. “This will all get worked out, I’m confident, boo.”

  “How can you be so sure, Mel? I fucked it up. I have no idea how this could be repaired.”

  She reached out her arms, reeling Maxwell in for a tight hug. “Heyyy, we’ll get through all this. All is not lost. I promise,” she assured him, rubbing his back gently with her left hand.

  “I don’t know, sis. I just don’t.”

  Melanie pulled back slightly and made eye contact with him. “Look, why don’t you get a shower? Mom’s flight is gonna be here in less than an hour.”

  As Max sent Melanie off to pick up their mom from the airport, he asked her to drop by the drugstore to bring him some Pepto and electrolytes in the form of some beverage like Gatorade or Pedialyte.

  “I’m also gonna bring ‘Lil so you can take a shower and get your bearings,” she offered, stepping toward to the hallway. “I love you, Max. It’ll be okay, you’ll see.”

  Max stretched his entire achy body once his feet met the coolness of the hardwood floor. “One day at a time,” he replied, closing his eyes in disgust—or dread. “All the fuck over again.”

  His sister left the room and he wasted no time pacing into the bathroom to take a hot shower. He realized he had a lot of thinking to do, and while it was a very minute possibility, he wondered if indeed Melanie was right. Perhaps this was repairable. As Max glanced into the large bathroom mirror, he saw two emotions. The first was dismal and scraggly. The second however, was the determination he saw in his reflection ten years ago, years before Lily was even conceived. It was time he started making some changes and working on himself in the process. And through the entire shitstorm, Max realized he hadn’t technically finished working through the grieving process for himself. Certainly, that was going to be paramount in the revolution he’d finally, in this moment, convinced himself he was ready to jump feet first in.

  Dear Brogan,

  I’m sorry. I can’t say anything else besides how sorry I am for how I acted the past couple days. Not only how I treated Brogan, but for falling off the wagon. I’d imagined if I were to break my sobriety it was going to be a lot sooner this year, after you left. Not the same night I realized that you’ve still been in my life this whole time, having not hardly died at all.

  Though, all this goes without saying that I have realized I need to make some changes with myself, in order to have a healthier future. With Durango, Lily and Gage on each of our sides. I want to fight like hell to get a good life back. I don’t know what I could possibly say to him, to make him give me another chance. But don’t you think we owe it to ourselves? It’s not a coincidence that Durango was in that god forsaken hospital the same night I sent you off with tears, and an unread text message about how foolish I acted in the restaurant because our date-night plans were interrupted. I’m not the most faithful person in the world, but I believe with every ounce of my being, you did this for a reason. And I want to make it all better, I want to fix this. I just ask you for the guidance to give me the right words and help Durango Walters graciously accept my apology. I can’t lose out on him. Not now, but especially not ever.

  I promise to start working on my anger and if that means going to therapy and working on anger management, consider me already there. And also, I’m gonna finish getting dressed right now, and march into a meeting to start getting back everything I tossed away so foolishly, so trivially.

  Merry Christmas wherever you are right now.

  I Love You, Maxwell

  Max sat up in the folding chair uncomfortably, inside the basement of the Westcoast First Assembly of God church listening to fellow mates in the program speak about the difficulties they were facing with holiday time and their alcoholism. Many were collecting their milestone chips for three and seven years, one woman who had been in the program successfully for twenty solid years. As the group shares reached Max’s turn, he became speechless. He didn’t know what to say for himself. It was like he was one of the only people who was back to the beginning. Though he was ashamed to consider himself a newcomer, who for all intents-and-purposes, he was in this particular group of folks, he’d been so busy settling into his new homestead—this would be only the second time speaking to the Washingtonians in recovery. However, Maxwell stood up and bit his cheek. He knew he had to be honest, and with that, he spoke the truth.

  “Hi everyone,” he began. “I’m Max, and I’m an alcoholic.”

  The group greeted him in unison.

  He held out his hands. “You see, I know what most all you are feeling. And as I look around, I am so proud of you guys for the tremendous achievements you’ve made. Unfortunately, I can’t say the same for myself,” he paused, took in a couple breaths of air. As he started back, he noticed a guy enter the back door quietly and find a seat in the back row. It took every ounce of him to not make a public spectacle, because the man was Trevan Donoghue. The Trevan Donoghue who he’d went to bed with several months prior. Who was straight, but acting
gay. Or maybe was gay, but hadn’t been out of the closet. The same guy who he promised if he saw in the same room ever in the future, he’d knock him into the next Sunday. All Max’s feelings toward the guy rushed back to him as he continued explaining his woes of losing control and throwing away exactly three thousand-six hundred-forty-seven days of sobriety. Out of all the meetings held daily in the Seattle area, it just had to be this very one he shows up to. But he let the hostile thoughts wash away.

  “So now, to sum up, I have so much to be grateful for. And after this, I’m gonna try getting back the man whom destiny brought my way,” Max finished, stepping down from the podium.

  Roberta, the woman who’d been abstinent for twenty years, stood up to bring the group to a close. “Does any other last speakers want to share, before we wrap up?”

  Trevan stood up from the back row, raising his hand first. “Hi, I’m Trevan. I’m an alcoholic…”

  “Sorry I was late, I just wanted to do a check-in before I got my holiday festivities started.”

  As the group concluded in the serenity prayer, which honestly Max didn’t really like from the first time he was considered a newcomer. So Max used this opportunity to make his exit through the back door into the hallway. Meanwhile, Trevan trailed behind him and caught the door before it slammed back shut.

  Maxwell turned around to spot Trevan shivering in what appeared to be real fear.

  “Look, Trevan,” Max said, pointing his index finger straight at the guy, not realizing that he looked fearful because of the last words he swore to him as he left that hotel room at the Seattle Hyatt on Pike Place.

  “Oh, sorry,” Max apologized, putting his hand in his pocket. “I’m not gonna hurt you, I promise,” he assured. “I just wanted to tell you that I’m sorry for what happened the last time we saw each other. Or when we met, whatever the hell that was,” Max rolled his eyes, realizing he was rambling by this point. “What I’m saying is, my life has changed so much since then and I have an amazing guy who I need to go make things right with,” he replied with assurance.

  Trevan loosened his stance. “Oh, so you’re not gonna knock me out?”

  Max clicked his tongue. “God no,” he replied. “I wish you all the best in your life, and you find the happiness you deserve, if it is your sexuality you’re dealing with. Having kids and a wife before realizing who you really are as a man,” he paused, taking in a breath while placing his flattened palm on the guys shoulder. “That’s gotta be tough. But,” Max paused again. “You deserve whatever you wish. And I hope you find it.”

  “Something like that, yeah,” Trevan replied, shrugging.

  Max lowered his hand and held it out to shake the man’s hand. “Truce?”

  Trevan smiled amiably, affixing to Maxwell’s grip. “Absolutely.”

  ***

  After the long saunter to his car, Maxwell felt the butterfly sensations start fluttering around his stomach, as if he felt confident that his plan was going to work out. But perhaps there was a certain level of doubt and things might not pan out how he hoped. Maybe Durango was so mad at him, that he would refuse to talk to him. Or the worst feelings which only in the moment entered his head. Is he even okay? What if he was in so much pain, Durango had been sent to a hospital somewhere because of actual heart-break—with Brogan’s heart he was trying to get back in the first place?

  Traffic at Christmas-time in a big city like Seattle left more to be desired. As soon as a traffic jam would seem to break up, within a matter of a couple minutes, it returned to the dreaded bumper-to-bumper for what would seem to last for miles. Maxwell decided he’d just head straight over to Durango’s house. He wanted to make everything up. He hoped against hope itself that he’d hear him out and be willing accept his apology, but most of all—listen to his plans for changing things around with his own self. How he needed to stop being so angry about everything and learn to be twenty degrees cooler under pressure. But as it seemed, this was a commonality among alcoholics. Even those in recovery.

  Surely since Durango was a very keen guy in the world of psychology, he would not only accept his initiative, but be proud of the great progress he was going to be making for himself. Or he thought, progress has already been made with understanding the steps he needs to take in order to be the cool as a cucumber dad to not just one, but hopefully two truly amazing kids on the spectrum. These were all things he kept trying to remind himself on the evening commute of Christmas Eve.

  Maxwell rounded the corner of Durango’s subdivision. As his Porsche Cayenne pulled up to the curb in front of Durango’s house, he noticed Durango’s vehicle parked in the driveway. He spared no time, leaping from the driver’s seat. Max leapt up the driveway and onto the front porch. He questioned inserting his copy of the housekey or ringing the doorbell. If there was the sliver of doubt that he wouldn’t easily forgive Max, he seemed the former would be along the same lines of breaking and entering—even with a key. On the other hand, it certainly seemed to be the prudent thing to do and ring the doorbell. Once he arrived at the very thought, his right index finger pressed the button an extra few times. Just for good measure in case nobody heard it the first time. Of course, this also was just a sign of his nerves too. Those damn butterflies, and the doubt, had not left his body since leaving the AA meeting.

  Without even a jacket, Max remained on the front step for what seemed like a good five minutes. He was worried that indeed his latter emotions were real, and Durango didn’t want to speak with him. As he stepped down the driveway on the trail back to his car, an uneasy feeling and modicum of sorrow washed him over. Climbing back behind the steering wheel, he wiped a tear from his left eye before switching the ignition to drive back home. Max felt the intensity of loneliness begin to surmount and he wasn’t entirely sure if he’d be able to shake this off. And the fact he had to be strong in front of his mother, Mel, and Lily, just rocked him to the core with sadness.

  The commute from Durango’s neck of the woods seemed shorter than the trip towards it from his earlier meeting. But this was only for the fact, Max didn’t have to utilize the major expressway. And also, the L.V. Murrow bridge was a straight shot across Puget Sound. He turned on his radio to see if some music would put him in a bit more chipper mood. He shuffled the stations until he came across a channel not currently on a commercial. Though by this point though, Max was a mere three minutes away from reaching home. Where he wondered if he had to immediately cake a smile on his face for the fact his mom would be waiting to hug him and never let go, and Lily would attack him with her excitement that Santa was getting closer.

  Maxwell lowered his window, punched in the gate code where his opposing hand bumped the channel switch in the upper part of his steering wheel. The radio station immediately switched back to the beginning of the tuner, in the middle of an all too familiar song—the most inappropriate of any which could play in that current moment, drowned his eardrums as the murky waters in his sea of sorrow rose to the top of his emotions.

  “Cuz we’re living in a world of fools. Breaking us down. When they all should let us be. We belong to you and me. I believe in you…”

  The exact moment his heart began thrashing against his ribs, Max glanced up the winding driveway to spot Durango—standing on the front step donning a burgundy oxford shirt, brandishing a bouget of Tiger Lilies at his chest, looking off into the setting sun over Seattle.

  Maxwell engaged his parking brake, not even intent on lifting the garage door. He leapt from the car with a smile, stepping around the backside where Durango met him halfway on the corner of the walkway.

  Durango reached his arms around Max and let out a sigh. Small salty rivers poured from Maxwell’s eyes as he stood there under the sunset, feeling the same back rubbing half patting maneuver which Brogan would use all the time. He hadn’t felt that in several months, but it was a sensation he never did ever forget.

  “I’m so sorry, Durango.”

  Durango pushed Max slightly forward to look h
im in the eyes. “Shhh, I know you are. I already forgive you.”

  Max shook his head. “Not without hearing what I have to say.”

  “I already know what you’re going to say, babe. And I support you the entire way.”

  “Wait, what?” Max asked, with a pure look of confusion. “How do you know? What do you mean?”

  Durango held the Tiger Lilies between both their chests as Max looked down into the bouquet of Brogan’s favorite flower. Maxwell’s memory flashed back to the first moment when he met Brogan in the food court at the Denver mall where he bumped into him, spilling Pepsi into his burgundy oxford shirt. From his and Brogan’s wedding song playing minutes ago, to the flowers, to the colors Durango was currently wearing—it all seemed to be straight from a dream. Max swore it had to, because that would’ve been too many coincidences in a row. Especially when he didn’t truly believe in coincidences. To him, things just happened as they did. There wasn’t typically any questioning why.

  Maxwell met Durango’s gaze as the man looked him straight in the face. “Because I took a nap earlier, and Brogan,” he paused. “Your Brogan came to me in my dream and told me what to do. He told me you were sorry, and exactly how you planned to make everything right,” he added, tears now streaming from his eyes. “And I already forgive you, but…” Durango paused again, wiping away the emotional display while bending down to one knee. “…but you have to promise to spend the rest of your life with me.”