The Drunk Logs

by Steven Kuhn

  I pushed myself out of bed, opened the closet, and panicked as I looked to see if everything was still inside. Wallet, money, keys: check. Everything of importance was there. I must have forgotten to lock it because of that idiot, I thought.

  As I looked around, I wondered if I should close the door before I undressed. “Nah, most of the people here in detox are so loaded on drugs they won’t even remember what they saw,” I said to myself. “Hell, for that matter, I don’t even remember what Karen looked like.”

  As I pulled off my sweat pants, I looked up and noticed Victoria standing in the doorway with a large smile. In only my neon yellow underwear, I realized there wasn’t much that I could do now. With a little bit of swagger, I turned back to my closet, grabbed my pants, and tried not to appear embarrassed by the situation.

  “I like the color, Matt,” she said as she walked down the hall.

  Suddenly, a man who I thought was the doctor entered the room. “So Karen, I want you and Molly to check that for me…uh, Matt Hoffman?”

  “Yes?” I said as I pulled up my pants.

  The man was a tall, husky fellow, with a slight hunch in his back, dark brown, curly hair, and deep, sad eyes. I became fixated on the divots in his cheeks, which caused him to become nervous and move back and forth incessantly. His dress was casual, with penny loafers, khakis, and a red, long-sleeve shirt. His street uniform was complete; he blended in with the other employees with his identification badge, clipboard, and a stethoscope around his neck.

  “Hello, I’m Doctor Montgomery Michaels, or you can call me ‘M and M’ for short. Get it?” I stared at him. “Apparently not. Just trying to have some fun, because I know this is not easy for you. So, before we get started, I want to let you know that we need to be honest with each other, okay? I am a recovering alcoholic and drug addict. So if you lie to me when I ask you a question, I will know you are lying. Because I have been there before, and have told the same lies; and to back me up, I have all your blood work results and other information on what’s going on inside. All right?”

  “Yes.”

  I quickly became fond of the doctor. He was a no-nonsense, tell it like it is type of person. A quality I appreciated in an individual.

  “Good, we’re on the same page. Okay, first, how do you feel? Any headaches, nausea, diarrhea, or blurred vision?”

  “No.”

  “How is your appetite?”

  “Uh, I haven’t really eaten anything in the past two days, just, uh, just orange juice,” I said nervously.

  “You’re in here for alcohol, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, loss of appetite is understandable, but your body still needs food even if you don’t feel like it. Even if you eat a banana or just a few bites at each meal, that will get you on the right track. Any drug use?”

  “Yes, about eighteen years ago.”

  “The only reason I’m asking, is that I’m trying to gain a sense of the whole picture here,” he said as he wrote down the information on his clipboard. “All right, now I’m just going to apply some pressure around your abdomen to see if you feel any discomfort.”

  He handed his clipboard to Karen and walked over to me. He placed his left hand on my shoulder and slowly pushed my abdomen with his right hand. Immediately, I winced and took a step back. It felt as if electricity had just shot through my entire body. The doctor took a deep breath, grabbed the clipboard from Karen, and double clicked his pen.

  “You have a slight inflammation on your right side where the fat cells have built up around your liver. It showed up on your blood work, but I just wanted to make sure. If you would have kept drinking you would have gotten cirrhosis and eventually died. But luckily, we caught it in time. The medication that we’ve been giving you should clear it up.”

  My youthful ideas of indestructibility have caught up to me now. The sound of ice rattling in the glass must be put in the past. But even as I turn away, I know my longtime friend won’t say goodbye; he will sit patiently in the shadows waiting for his opportunity to say hello again.

  “Alrighty. Hands out straight,” the doctor commanded.

  The moment I had waited for had come, as I slowly raised my arms and ordered myself not to be nervous. My elbows locked as I stared at the wall above the doctor’s head.

  “Well, apparently, the tremors have gone down from what was documented before,” he said softly as he held my hands in his palm. “Okay, you can let them down.” He looked at his clipboard and flipped through the pages. “But your blood pressure is still fluctuating, so we’re going to keep you in detox for another day.”

  Deflated, I felt like a prisoner denied parole.

  “Now you have to eat something, Matt, it will help with the tremors…and just try to relax, we’re here to help,” he said as he turned and escorted the nurses out.

  “Fuck. I’m stuck in this fucking room for another fucking day,” I grumbled as I looked over to Barry Eugene’s bed. “And to top it all off, it’s with that fucking moron.”

  “Ugh!” Barry Eugene moaned as he limped into the room.

  “Well, speak of the devil,” I said.

  He sat in his bed and flopped back into his pillow; his feet still touched the floor.

  “So where have you been all night, Barry Eugene?” I asked sarcastically.

  “Oh, they had me here and there, be-bopping around, and talkin’ to nurses…sit, stand, walk. But I did find that, uh…druggy buggy. Is what they call it?”

  Silent, I prepared myself for another incoherent ramble.

  “Well, anyway, I went outside and got in it to go home. Well, I must have fallen asleep because the driver woke me up and asked me what I was doing. I told him my name, Barry Eugene, and that is what he should call me, and said to take me home, but he said he didn’t have my name on his schedule. I think he was lying, because the nurse said she would take care of it. I don’t know why they won’t let me leave! They know I’m going home tomorrow.”

  I began to laugh. “Well, keep trying, Barry Eugene.”

  “Okay?”

  “I’m going out for a cigarette, I’ll see you later.”

  Outside, the sun was so bright I squinted my eyes and refocused on the objects before me as I walked up the path. The employee parking lot was half-full, where a few motorcycles looked like they were sun tanning, and the scene on the small hill was abuzz with patients and employees who came out to catch a quick smoke. They blended together in a parade of colors. The only thing that seemed to move was their smoke and conversation toward the roof of the pavilion and the small sparks that escaped from under feet, as cigarettes took their last breath.

  I glanced around for my friends, lit my cigarette, and noticed them as they sat in the middle of the grassy field by the pond on a red picnic table that had been taken from the pavilion. I cut through the employee parking lot, hopped onto the plush grass, and strolled toward them.

  “Hey guys.”

  “What’s up?” said Sam as he looked up from a chessboard.

  Jack Jack and Sam were playing a game that had been going on since the day they arrived. Both were deathly silent, as Bobby and two men I faintly remember whispered to one another as they waited for the next move. In the air, I smelled a sweet perfume and enjoyed the moment until a sharp pain bit me on the behind.

  “Hi, Matt,” Victoria smiled as she passed left of me and sat next to Jack Jack.

  “Damn it, Squirrel, don’t interrupt me,” Jack Jack barked.

  “Jesus Christ, it’s just a game. Sam usually beats you anyhow.”

  The silence quickly took hold again, when I noticed that one of the two men walked toward me, counting a handful of money.

  He was white, middle-aged, and short, approximately 5′2″ with his worn, dirty, tennis shoes. His greasy brown hair matched his complexion and his unwashed, ragged clothes.

  “Hey, Matt, I’m Shorty. Nice to meet you and all that shit. Are you in, if she falls in the pond?”

 
; “Who?”

  “Fie.”

  “Who’s Fie?” I said, getting irritated.

  “Oh, that’s right. You weren’t outside when it happened. Well, she is this detox girl who is totally stoned beyond reason, and yesterday she was walking around the pond with the nurse when she fell in. Well, the nurse had to go rescue her so she wouldn’t drown. You had to see it.”

  He laughed uncontrollably, waving his arms around, while the group sat at the picnic table, smiled, and stared at the game.

  “So we’re taking bets on if she and the nurse go in today…if she comes outside.”

  “How much?” I asked.

  “Five bucks to enter and the pot right now is thirty-five bucks; the winners split it between them.”

  “All right, here’s five,” I said as I pulled out my wallet. “Put me down for in.”

  Shorty smiled, slid the five into the rest of the money and counted it again as he walked back to the edge of the picnic table.

  Bored, we waited for Sam to make his move as the time passed by.

  “Shitmanfuck!” Shorty screamed and pointed to the double doors. “I can’t believe they let her out again? I can’t believe that they let her out!”

  Fie looked like a forty-five-year-old, housewife and mother, with dyed blond hair. Dressed in a pink sweat suit, she stumbled through the grass toward the pond, as if the lady of the lake had called her home. The woman looked awfully familiar, I thought.

  All eyes watched in anticipation as she swooped and looped closer to the pond and passed the bridge as she stumbled; the anticipation became addictive to anyone who watched. Suddenly, she stopped at the edge of the pond and the nurse took a hold of her arm; she fought to keep the woman upright and out of the water’s dizzy spell that wove around her. She stood there for a moment as the nurse waved to everyone who watched, as if the matter was under control, when suddenly, Fie started to tip forward. The nurse struggled with all her strength to keep her back, but the dead weight continued to move forward, heavier and heavier, as the nurse slid in the wet grass.

  Jack Jack spoke like a commentator, starting off in a low whisper with his play by play. The patients were drawn to the edge of their seats as his voice grew and the action built.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, if you are just joining us, you’re in for a treat. We are witnessing one of the greatest moments in human history, the battle of the dreaded addict versus the down and dirty health care worker. They both have trained long and hard for this battle, but as history has shown us, you just can’t help these people and the record has it at 1-0. Let’s go back to the scene where we see the patient has the upper hand, but the health care worker is not giving up the fight. Ooh, look at them battle back and forth, neither of them wanting to give up an inch. The sweat pouring, the muscles straining, I can’t stand the anticipation, when can I start to breathe? I think this could be the end, ladies and gentlemen. The patient seems to be winning the fight. There she goes…there she goes…ring a ding, ding, give the fat lady a belly ring. She. Is. In.”

  An eruption of sound crashed into the air like a tidal wave. The winners at the table began to slap hands and holler, while the losers sat quietly with their eyes closed in despair. But as Shorty started to divide the winnings, Jack Jack ran to the pond with a fishing pole that he had hidden under the picnic table. He watched from the shore as the nurse struggled with Fie to keep her afloat. When the nurse spotted Jack Jack and pleaded for help, to her apparent surprise, he took a few steps back, cast out the fishing line, and yelled back, “Hey Sam, I caught a big one!”

  Laughter and noise ensued, like that of a stadium full of fans cheering the winning touchdown. Sam, who had coughed so hard from laughing, motioned to the people around him to smack him on the back so he could breathe. Eventually, Jack Jack helped them out of the water, but it was too late, as Carl grabbed him by the arm and pulled him toward the building.

  “Unbelievable,” I said to myself. In my own sick way I was drawn into Jack Jack’s insanity and loved it.

  “Uh, oh, little Jack Jack is in trouble. Looks like he’s going to see Dicklicker,” Bobby said.

  “It wouldn’t be the first time,” Sam added as he coughed.

  “Who’s Dicklicker?” I asked.

  “Dicklicker?” Sam said as he spit out his mucus. “Dicklicker, or Dr. Lyedecker, as he is known, um, he is the superintendent here and Jack Jack is his pet project. You see, Jack Jack has been in here about four times and Lyedecker doesn’t like to take repeat customers. But Jack Jack’s father has a lot of money and contributes to this facility, which puts Lyedecker in a position he does not like at all. So all the bullshit that Jack Jack pulls, Lyedecker has to deal with it and continue to smile doing it.”

  “Why doesn’t Jack Jack’s father just stop paying?”

  “Because his father loves the son of a bitch, and he wants his old son back. It’s not too hard to understand, Matt. If you shut up, listen, and do what you’re told, you’ll be able to make a go of it on the outside. It’s pretty simple,” he growled, tilting his head back and spitting into the air. He lit another cigarette and wiped the excess mucus from his lips. “And, obviously, Jack Jack has not figured that part out yet. That’s why he keeps coming back. Either that or he’s going to be institutionalized…I don’t know?”

  I was speechless as the words from Sam began to sink in and I watched the disheveled Fie walk back to the hospital with help from the soaked nurse.

  So far have we all gone, that laughter at another was all we have left. It wasn’t to punish, but to forget for a little while that we were once there before, I thought.

  “Man, did you guys see that crazy shit?” said Shawn as he ran over from the pavilion.

  He was a short man, about 5′6″, white, with a stocky build. His hands were beaten from hard work and fighting, and his wrists were tattooed, I found out later, to hide the many times he’d forgotten about life. His old, torn, white high tops looked like they had seen as many miles as he had. His blue jeans were faded along with his green, short sleeve, button-down shirt. But his face was somewhat of an improvement; it slightly matched his worn hands and long, red hair.

  “Yeah, but it wouldn’t have been that good without Jack Jack’s performance,” Bobby said.

  “That’s true, but you know you got to watch out for a person like Jack Jack,” Shawn said with a southern drawl. “He’ll do whatever it takes to get people to laugh at ya.”

  “Like you never did anything to anyone or played a practical joke just to get a laugh?” Sam asked.

  “No, but I got plenty played on me. Like this one time, I was high on oxycodone, weed, and gin. And there was no way in hell I was going to make it home. So, I drove to my buddy’s trailer park to sleep it off. Well, I pulled into his driveway and fell out the car onto his front lawn. I was in no shape to move and it was a nice night, so I figured I’d just sleep it off in his front yard. Well, he came out that mornin’ to go to work, when he notices that I’m sleeping in his neighbor’s yard. So, he goes and gets a car tire and paints some of that cold tar on the threads, walks over and runs it on my back to make it look like a car drove over me.”

  The group struggled to hold back the laughter the best they could.

  “Well, I’m still passed out and he goes to work. I wake up later, because the neighbor starts cutting his grass and he’s cutting around me, burying me in all that shit. I mean, it was embarrassing, even the kids in the neighborhood stopped their bikes to stare at me.”

  The pressure became unbearable as everyone began to laugh.

  “It’s not funny. I had to go home. My wife and I were taking the kids to the water park. So, I get in my car, put on a shirt and go home, where my wife’s a little mad, ya know. But I told her I was just a little drunk last night and slept in my car at the bar. So we make all nice, nice, and go to the water park. There, we go swimming in the wave pool and stuff and I notice that everyone’s staring at me. So, I’m thinking, am I crazy, do I have s
omething on me…but I don’t see anything. So, I go to my wife that’s laying on one of those benches, tanning, and I tell her to rub some lotion on me so I don’t get burnt. Well, she saw what I had on my back and figured where I was the night before…so.”

  “So, what did she do?” I said as I wiped away my tears.

  “She left and took the kids,” he said with a smile. “Maybe it wasn’t such a bad practical joke after all.”

  “Hey, it’s almost lunch, you guys, we better get going,” Sam said as he stood and giggled.

  As we walked toward the building, I noticed Victoria still sat at the picnic table.

  “Hey, Victoria, aren’t you coming?” I said with a smile.

  “I can’t, the men and women eat separately…do you always ask questions?” she said and returned the smile.

  “I’m sorry…do I?” I teased.

  How stupid that was, I thought. I was acting like a 16-year-old and I was almost 40.

  As we stood in the cafeteria line, I breathed through my mouth, a precaution I believed would help me not to feel ill. But the lunch ladies, who wore food-stained white aprons and hairnets, did not help.

  The menu said hamburger and french-fries. “Good, at least I’ll be able to eat with two hands, so no one will see the shaking,” I whispered to no one.

  I followed Bobby, who loaded up his plate with everything and anything that would fit on his tray. Two hamburgers, extra fries, applesauce, cake square, and then it was off to the salad bar, where he grabbed a plastic bowl and put in a little salad, a mound of shredded cheddar cheese, jalapeno peppers, sliced eggs, cucumbers, cherry tomatoes, and three packets of light vinaigrette. If the smell didn’t make me nauseous, the barrel of food in front of me would have, I thought.

  “Hey, come on. The guys are over here.” Bobby said as he walked over to a table with Jack Jack, Sam, and Father Tom.

  “Where’s your diet coke, Bobby?” Jack Jack joked.