Some Are Sicker Than Others

by Andrew Seaward

  No, Dave thought. She wasn’t a rotten apple. She just got fucked over by people she was supposed to be able to trust. Poor woman. Why was Dexter making her do this? It was obvious she didn’t want to be up there telling this story. As if it wasn’t bad enough being locked up in this hellhole—you also had to feel like shit in front of a room full of people you didn’t even know? What was the point? To make you feel lousy? Dave didn’t get it. It seemed counterintuitive. Why would you want to be powerless over something you could otherwise control?

  Dexter got up and grabbed a box of tissues and handed them to Angie as he studied his clipboard. “Take your time, Angie,” he said, as he returned to his folding chair and crossed his legs like the big shot counselor he probably thought he was.

  Angie nodded and took out a tissue. She blew her nose then set the box behind her on the floor. “I was there at St. Catherine’s Reform School for a whole year. They finally sent me home when my mom decided she didn’t want to pay the tuition anymore. So, I went back to my old high school and started my senior year. And that’s when I met Bill.” All of a sudden, Angie’s demeanor completely shifted. Her face lit up like one of those Oriental ball lamps.

  “Bill was the most gorgeous man I’d ever laid eyes on. Starting quarterback and president of the student council, he wasn’t only a real man’s man, but he was intelligent too. And he had the hots for me, big time. I could tell by the way he was always smiling at me in P.E. But, being the bad girl I was, all of his buddies said he should stay away from me. Thank God he didn’t listen to them and asked me out on a date. I’ll never forget it. We went and saw Footloose at the Star Stadium theatre. Bill was a big fan of Kevin Bacon back then. After the movie, he took me to the top of Lookout Mountain and made love to me until the sun came up. It was like something out of a dream. Almost overnight, I went from crazy Angie to Cinderella…from the Hunchback of Notre Dame to the Belle of the Ball. Bill was my Prince Charming…my knight in shining armor. With him, I didn’t feel the need to get high or wasted. For the first time in my life, I was just fine with who I was.”

  Angie closed her eyes as if she was trying to savor the memory. When she opened them back up, she seemed peaceful and pleasant, like someone who had just devoured a bar of Godiva dark chocolate.

  “We fell deeply in love right after Homecoming and by the time graduation rolled around, I was pregnant with my first son, Jonathon.” She returned to her poster and pointed to a clipping of the Gerber baby that she’d obviously gotten from a magazine advertisement. “After the wedding, Bill got a job at his uncle’s construction company in Boulder, so we packed up everything and moved out to Colorado.”

  She lived in Boulder? Well hell, he probably did know her. Maybe he’d met her ex-husband. Maybe he’d worked with him before.

  “We bought a little house in Broomfield—we couldn’t afford a house in Boulder—and Bill went to work while I stayed at home with little Jonathon. Everything was going pretty good. We had two more babies, Joshua and Sarah.” She pointed to two more pictures of cutout babies—one was from a Charmin toilet paper advertisement and the other was from an ad for the Kid’s Gap outlet. “I have a real picture to show you. It’s in my day bag. I didn’t want to glue it to the poster, ‘cause I was afraid I might tear it when I tried to get it off.” She shuffled back to her chair and knelt beside a red leather handbag then carefully pulled out a photo and took it back with her up to the front of the circle. “They’re such beautiful children,” she said, as she proudly held up the photo, “especially my youngest, Sarah. She’s such a smart young lady and a great athlete too.”

  Dave strained his eyes and leaned as far as he could forward, narrowing in on the girl who was sandwiched between her two older brothers. She had straight, blonde hair, just like her mother’s, with a long, swan-like neck and skin as milky and smooth as freshly churned butter. The white dress she wore was sleeveless, such that you could see her shoulders, which were almost as defined as either of her brothers’. Suddenly, it hit Dave, like someone had just slapped him in the forehead. Wait a minute, he knew this girl. It was Sarah, Sarah Mallard—the captain of his volleyball team, his best middle blocker. That’s how he knew this woman. That’s why she looked so familiar. She was Sarah’s mother—same blond hair, same muscular shoulders, same sexy, long legs, and same juicy, double D melons. Holy shit. He couldn’t believe it. What were the odds of running into Sarah’s mother? And in a rehab of all places? Maybe it was a sign, like a message or something. Maybe the universe was trying to tell him something.

  He sniggered to himself as he sank back against his folding chair. Yeah right. What was the message? That he was stuck in rehab with his middle blocker’s mother? So what? What good did that do him? How was that gonna help him get out of here? He was still trapped in this shit hole.

  As he watched Angie carefully place the photo back in her handbag, something hit him—something roused his senses like being doused with a bucket of freezing cold ice water. If only for a moment, it was as if he had perfect clarity, as if everything in front of him was aligning in perfect harmony. He thought back to what his lawyer, Weinstein, had said—that the cops couldn’t just arrest him without probable cause—that they had to witness him doing something suspicious first in order to have reasonable suspicion to pull him over. Meaning, he had to be swerving, or speeding, or driving erratically, but since he wasn’t doing any of those things, they could prove the cops didn’t have reasonable suspicion and the case could be dismissed and he could get the fuck out of here. All he had to do was prove that he wasn’t speeding or swerving, and who better to prove that than this girl Sarah? She was there. She saw what happened. She saw them choke him with the billy club. She saw them shoot Larry with a fucking Taser. Holy shit. This was it. This was the break he’d been waiting for. All he had to do was get Angie to get Sarah to testify for him.

  Dave could barely sit still for the rest of the meeting. He was so antsy that chomping on his fingernails was the only way he could keep from digging out his own eyeballs. He couldn’t even listen to the rest of Angie’s story, because he was too busy congratulating himself on what a genius he was. She said something about a divorce, a settlement, and a guy named Rick with a dingy trailer. He didn’t really pay close attention. He was too busy plotting out what he was gonna say to her. He knew he couldn’t just run up to this woman and spring the idea on her. She seemed like the kind of gal who might scare away pretty easily. He had to take it slow, nice and easy, use his powers of seduction, finesse her a little.

  First, he’d introduce himself and tell her what a great job she did with her First Step story, tell her it inspired him and made him feel uplifted. Then, he’d tell her who he was and establish the connection, tell her he was Sarah’s volleyball coach and talk about what an outstanding player Sarah was. That oughta give her some kind of reassurance. What mother wouldn’t like hearing wonderful things about their daughter?

  Once the meeting was over, the patients got up and went out for a smoke break on the back porch patio, except for Dave who hung back a bit and waited for the right opportunity to talk to Angie. Unfortunately, Dexter and a few other patients had her surrounded. They were congratulating her on what a great job she did and basically kissing up to her.

  Come on people, Dave thought. Get the fuck out of here. Couldn’t they see he needed to talk to this woman? She was his only ticket out of here.

  After a few minutes, Dave finally gave up and retreated to the kitchen for a fresh cup of coffee. He poured in his standard two packets of Sweet ‘n Low and two cartons of half & half Mini-Moos. He stirred it up, tossed back a gulp, then limped down the steps into the meeting hall, and wouldn’t you know it? Angie was gone. The bitch had vanished. Fuck. He was only gone for a minute. Where the hell did she go? Who was she, Houdini or something?

  He cursed to himself as he limped across the meeting hall then slid open the sliding glass doors and stepped out onto the backyard patio. Most of patients had re-assembled
back behind their stacks of multi-colored, paper money. They were all huddled together with wool blankets pulled up around their shoulders like prisoners in a concentration camp waiting for the guards to come gas them.

  He took a quick look at the table, but didn’t see Angie, and so he squinted his eyes and began to scan the backyard’s perimeter. Ah-ha—there she was, out by the garden, sitting on a concrete bench, having a cigarette. And she was alone, thank God. This was his opportunity. There was no one around. It was now or never.

  He spit on his hand then parted his hair down the middle, took a deep breath and made his way out across the winter wonderland. The snow was about three inches deep, all soft and squishy. It seemed to squirm out from underneath his feet like a tangle of garden snakes. Great, now his favorite running shoes were gonna get ruined. How could Cheryl not think to pack any boots for him? What was she, fucking stupid?

  As he approached the bench, Angie’s face came clearer into focus. She was sipping on coffee and sucking down a cigarette. “Hey,” Dave said, smiling down at her, his eyes bouncing between her face and the perfect little triangle that formed between her legs where the crotch met the pelvis. “What are you doing out here? Aren’t you freezing?”

  Angie looked up, surprised and uncertain. She laughed anxiously then nodded her head. “Yeah, a little, but I don’t mind it. I grew up in the mountains, so I’m kind of used to it.”

  “Yeah, me too.”

  Dave smiled and the woman smiled with him, revealing those two rows of shiny braces. Somehow, the braces made her look twenty years younger, like she was just a girl in high school waiting for her boyfriend. “I’m Dave, by the way,” he said, as he extended his hand outward.

  Angie smiled and fumbled with her cigarette, switching it to her left hand so she could offer her right. “Nice to meet you, Dave. I’m Angie.” Dave held her hand for a few seconds longer than what was probably acceptable. But he didn’t care. Her touch felt good to him.

  “Nice to meet you, Angie,” he said. “You mind if I sit down?”

  “No, go ahead.” Angie scooted down the bench and made room for Dave and his two cups of coffee. Lucky for him, she’d warmed the spot for him. For a split second, he thought how great it would be to be this bench for just one minute and feel the warmth of this woman’s ass on top of his lips and across his forehead.

  He shook off the fantasy as he pulled out his cigarette, flipped it in between his lips then lit the end. “So,” he said, trying to think of something clever, something that would get this conversation rolling along nicely, “how long have you been here?”

  “Oh…about a week.”

  “Really? That’s it?”

  “Yeah. Why so surprised?”

  “Well, you just looked like such a pro up there.”

  “Thanks.” She smiled then took a quick puff of her cigarette. The smoke drifted off into the vanilla-colored sky. “It was an interesting experience. Kind of weird telling that stuff to a room full of strangers. Could you tell I was nervous?”

  “No, not at all. You did a good job. Very natural.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate that.”

  She smiled and returned to her cigarette, lifted it to her lips and took another deep drag. “So what about you?” she said, as she flicked away the ashes, which drifted like charred leaves to the rich, creamy ground. “How long have you been here?”

  “Oh, about three days.”

  “Really? So, you’re pretty new here?”

  “Yep.”

  “What’s the one that did it?”

  “Excuse me?” Dave said.

  “Your drug of choice.”

  Dave laughed and looked at the end of his cigarette. “Why the hell does everyone keep asking me that?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. They all asked me the same thing when I first got here. I think it’s how people introduce themselves around here.”

  Dave nodded and took another sip of coffee. Stupid way to introduce yourself, he thought.

  As he looked down at the bench, he noticed that Angie’s hands were shaking, and she had little red lesions, like the ones on her forehead, covering the backs of her knuckles. “You alright?” he asked.

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “Your hands—they’re shaking. Are you cold?”

  “No, I’m fine.”

  Yeah right. Dave knew she was lying. He could tell by the way she quickly pulled her hands away and wedged them underneath her thighs. “You sure you’re alright?” he said, as sincere as possible, trying to sound like he actually gave a damn.

  “Well,” she said, as she tilted her chin upright and pushed her bangs back away from her eyes, “according to Dexter, I’m an addict…but here’s the thing.” She whipped her head around abruptly, wielding her cigarette like she was waving a gun. “I never had any problems until I started taking that Dexedrine crap.”

  “Dexe-what?” Dave said, leaning away from her so the cigarette didn’t accidentally wind up in his eyeball.

  “Oh, it’s this stupid stuff my doctor put me on. He said it was supposed to help with my ADHD, but all it did was screw with my head and make me bloated.”

  “So, is that what you’re here for? Dexedrine?”

  “No, not really. I guess I’m what you’d call a meth head.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, that’s surprising.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Well, I never would’ve pegged you for a meth head.”

  “No?”

  “Hell no. A pretty lady like yourself? Shit. Alcoholic, maybe, but definitely not a meth head.”

  Angie smiled and sniffled. Her face turned a shade of red that helped to camouflage her pimples. “Thanks, I think.”

  “Don’t mention it.”

  “Well, what about you?”

  “What about me?”

  “Are you an alcoholic?”

  Dave laughed then shook his head. “Who me? Hell no.”

  “Then what?”

  Yes. Here it was. This was his opportunity to tell her what a bitch Cheryl was. “Well,” he said then took a quick puff of his cigarette and turned to Angie with a sly, sarcastic smile, “if you must know, Angie, I’m here because my lying, cheating, two-faced bitch of a wife turned me into the cops.”

  Angie gasped, covering her mouth. “You’re kidding me?”

  “Nope.”

  “What happened?”

  Dave paused for a moment to add dramatic tension then lowered his eyes and took a long, labored breath inward. “It’s a long story,” he said, as pathetically as possible, hoping that Angie would take pity on him. “All I can say is she’s trying to get rid of me, probably so she can get custody of the kids and run off with her little lawyer boyfriend.”

  Angie gasped again, only this time louder. Everything seemed to be working. He was reeling her in. “Wait—she’s cheating on you too?”

  “Yep. I mean, at least I think she’s cheating. I can’t really think of any other reason why she’d be doing this to me.” Dave clenched his fist and looked down at his knuckles, staring at the little wrinkled, red grooves imprinted in the skin. He tried to force some tears, but couldn’t get them going, so he just dropped his head and let out another woe is me kind of sigh. “She’s probably with the son of a bitch right now, filling out the divorce papers, just laughing it up, and humping away in my bed.”

  “Oh, you poor thing.” Angie scooted close to him and put her hand on his kneecap, stroking it like she was stroking a cat.

  Yes, it was working. Everything was moving along nicely. He was gaining her confidence. He was establishing a relationship.

  “I’m so sorry,” Angie said, moving her hand across his knuckles, the soft touch of her fingers sending goose bumps up and down his vertebrae. “That’s just awful. I can’t believe your wife would do that to you.”

  “Well, she’s the devil. Satan dressed in a pants suit and stilettos.”

  Angie nodded like she
understood him, like this was a story she knew all too well. “It sounds like you and I have a lot in common. My husband—well, ex-husband. He was the same way. I swear all that man ever cared about was what other people thought of him. He didn’t give a shit about me. I was nothing to him, nobody, just a lousy trophy to wear around his arm.” As Angie turned away, her lips started to quiver and her hands started shaking so bad it looked like she had Parkinson’s. “That bastard. I can’t believe he did this to me. It’s all his fault, you know? None of this would’ve happened if he could’ve just kept his dick in his pants. We’d still be together. We’d still be happy and I’d still get to be a mother to my children.”

  Dave scooted down the bench a little closer and placed his hand gently on her left shoulder. “Well, if it’s any consolation,” he said in a delicate whisper, “I think your husband’s crazy. I think you’re absolutely gorgeous.”

  Angie smiled, revealing those cute braces, which sparkled like a row of quarters sitting on the tracks of a train trestle. “Thank you,” she said, rubbing his knuckles. “You’re sweet for saying that.”

  They held each other’s stare for a little longer. Dave could feel the blood beginning to rush to his penis. He had to move his hand over his crotch to keep his dick from pressing up against the zipper. He crossed his left leg over his right then started counting back from twenty. By the time he got to three, the erection had deflated enough that he could uncross his legs and place his hand next to hers on the bench. Alright, this was it. This was his opportunity…time to tell her about Sarah…time to lay it all out there. “Well, you’re probably not gonna believe this,” he said, as he adjusted his posture, then cleared his throat and took a deep breath inward, “but I actually know your daughter.”