by Theresa Alan
I woke up the next morning with an excruciating hangover. How did I get from promising not to have anything to drink to waking to a blinding hangover?
When I got to work, this e-mail was the first thing I saw:
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Favor
Take this test, for me. Please?
She sent me a link to a Web page. I had an idea what it was about, so I didn’t click on it right away. I decided to wait until Avery went to work out. She and Les had been going to this Bikram yoga class deal three days a week. Les wasn’t talking to her anymore, but she still went to the class alone. It started at 11:00 and went till 12:30, but with showering and driving back from the gym, she didn’t get back until 1:00. It was really strange for her to take two-hour lunches. I think maybe she was mad at the company about something, maybe about working so hard for so long for slave wages or something like that.
When Avery left for class, I opened up Rette’s e-mail and clicked through to the page, which was titled, “Am I an alcoholic?” It contained the Michigan Alcoholism Screening Test.
1. Do you feel you are a normal drinker? (By “normal,” we mean you drink less than or as much as most other people.) (No, 2 points.) Yes.
2. Have you ever awakened the morning after some drinking the night before and found that you could not remember a part of the evening? (Yes, 2 points) Well, duh, yes, everyone had. But I took a piece of paper and marked down 2 anyway.
3. Does your wife, husband, parent, or other near relative ever worry or complain about your drinking? (Yes, 1 point) Yes, my stupid sister did, which was why I was taking this stupid test. 1
4. Can you stop drinking without a struggle after one or two drinks? (No, 2 points) I thought about last night at the Mountain Sun. Maybe not. 2
5. Do you ever feel guilty about your drinking? (Yes, 1 point) I’ve felt guilty about things I’ve done while drinking—like Les—but not about drinking itself. I didn’t mark anything down.
6. Do friends or relatives think you are a normal drinker? (No, 2 points) Well, Rette didn’t, but she’s only one person, and a total lunatic clearly. I marked down just 1. This was definitely not as much fun as taking the “Is he hot for you?” or “Will it last forever?” tests in Glamour or Cosmopolitan, that was for damn sure.
7. Are you able to stop drinking when you want to? (No, 2 points) This was totally cheating—they asked this same thing in question 4! Whatever. 2
8. Have you ever attended a meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous? (Yes, 5 points) No.
9. Have you ever gotten into physical fights when drinking? (Yes, 1 point) No.
10. Has drinking ever created problems between you and your wife, husband, parent, or other near relative? (Yes, 2 points) No—wait, what about all those fights Dave and I had when we’d been drinking? But we fought all the time. And we drank all the time. Who knows which led to the other? I marked down 1, ’cuz that seemed like the fairest answer.
11. Has your wife, husband, parent, or other near relative ever gone to anyone for help about your drinking? (Yes, 2 points) Not that I knew of.
12. Have you ever lost friends, girlfriends, or boyfriends because of your drinking? (Yes, 2 points) No. Well, there was the Christmas party, and Tom hadn’t spoken to me since my drunken confession . . . I gave myself 1 out of 2 again.
13. Have you ever gotten into trouble at work because of your drinking? (Yes, 2 points) If holiday parties count, which they shouldn’t, since everyone gets wasted there, then yes. 2
14. Have you ever lost a job because of drinking? (Yes, 2 points) No.
15. Have you ever neglected your obligations, your family, or your work for two or more days in a row because you were drinking? (Yes, 2 points) No.
16. Do you drink before noon fairly often? (Yes, 1 point) No.
17. Have you ever been told you have liver trouble? Cirrhosis? (Yes, 2 points) No.
18. After heavy drinking, have your ever had delirium tremens (DTs) or severe shaking or heard voices or seen things that weren’t really there? (Yes, 2 points) No. Woo-hoo, I’m totally going to ace this thing! Take that, Rette!
19. Have you ever gone to anyone for help about your drinking? (Yes, 2 points) No.
20. Have you ever been in a hospital because of drinking? (Yes, 5 points) No.
21. Have you ever been a patient in a psychiatric hospital or on a psychiatric ward of a general hospital where drinking was part of the problem that resulted in hospitalization? (Yes, 2 points) No.
22. Have you ever been at a psychiatric or mental health clinic or gone to any doctor, social worker, or clergy for help with any emotional problem, where drinking was part of the problem? (Yes, 2 points) No.
23. Have you ever been arrested for drunken driving, driving while intoxicated, or driving under the influence of alcoholic beverages? (Yes, 2 points) No.
24. Have you ever been arrested, even for a few hours because of other drunken behavior? (Yes, 2 points) No.
I added up my points—12—and clicked the NEXT button on the screen to get to the part where they told me what it all meant. I guessed it would probably tell me that I’d been drinking a wee bit much lately, but I was totally fine, and one day soon I’d get a husband and have kids and stop my—totally normal for my age and marital status—partying ways.
“Scoring: Add up the points from your answers. A total score of 0-3 points indicates no alcoholism; 4 points is suggestive of alcoholism; and 5 points or more indicates alcoholism.”
What the hell! That’s the harshest grading ever! This is worse than high school. Where’s the curve? Where’s the extra credit opportunities?
I went back through my answers, and marked off all the ones that I so generously awarded 1 out of 2 points to. I was still at 9, which, according to this totally biased and bullshit test, still put me well into the category of flaming alcoholic, but it was all total crap. I didn’t buy it for a second.
On the way home from work that night, I stopped off at the liquor store to buy a bottle of wine to prove that I could easily have just one glass of wine with dinner like anybody. A glass or two of red wine was supposed to be good for you; it cleared your heart out or something like that.
At home, I poured myself a glass of wine and tried to figure out what I wanted to eat. I had no food in the house except some frozen broccoli and a can of tomato soup. That did not sound like a yummy dinner. I decided I’d fill up on one more glass of wine—one or two glasses were totally fine.
I sat on the couch, flicked the TV on, and changed the channels until I got to some show that didn’t look totally horrible. I felt restless, anxious. Why was I not experiencing that relaxed feeling I normally felt after a couple of glasses of wine?
I probably hadn’t poured enough in the glasses, I probably hadn’t really had two full servings yet. I’d pour just a little bit more, just to get me to the standard two-glass size.
I filled up my glass halfway and returned to the couch. It was Friday night, and I was home alone watching TV. How could I possibly be home all alone on a Friday night? I wished I were still in Minnesota, where all my girlfriends from high school and college still were. I could be out with them right now if I hadn’t followed stupid Dave out here to Colorado.
Although maybe that wasn’t exactly true. Would things really be different if I were still in Minnesota? Jill and Wendy were married. Traci was engaged. Laurie and Deb lived with guys, and even Liz was dating someone seriously. None of them would be free to go out; they’d all be with their men. At best all I could do would be to elbow my way into their plans for the evening as some pathetic third wheel. I was the only twenty-five-year-old on the entire planet who didn’t have a significant other.
Why didn’t I feel relaxed? If anything, I felt more wound up. My heart was racing. It was probably because I’d only had two glasses of wine. Wasn’t that why it’s called a “pick me up”? The first couple glasses actually make you feel mo
re awake. I just needed one more glass, and then I’d feel relaxed. I poured myself one more glass, and suddenly somehow the bottle was empty. That was weird, weren’t there normally like five glasses per bottle? It must have been smaller than usual. I stole a glance at the clock. I’d been home for an hour.
Houston, We Have a Problem
I slept fitfully, on and off through the night. In those horrible moments when I was sort of awake, I wanted to die. My head felt like someone has drilled thick steel bolts through either temple.
I got out of bed and staggered to the kitchen, clutching my head with both hands. I poured myself an enormous glass of water and noticed the empty bottle of wine. Wait, I thought I was just going to have a glass or two, how did it get empty? Whatever, I’ll worry about it later; right now, I need more sleep.
I stayed in bed, sleeping on and off, until three o’clock in the afternoon. Yeah, this was exactly how I wanted to spend my Saturday. I’d wanted to get groceries and do laundry and clean the house. I wanted to spend hours working out at the gym and looking adorable until some great guy asked me out.
Was it possible that maybe I did have a teensy problem? There was probably some medication that a doctor could prescribe, some herbal treatment or something to help. Take three vitamin C, do an Indian rain dance, and call me in the morning—you’ll never drink too much again.
I called Rette. “Hey, if I did have a problem with alcohol, which I don’t, how is it treated? Is there medication for it?”
“No.”
“What do you mean no?”
“I mean there’s Antabuse, which makes you throw up if you drink alcohol, but doesn’t change the fundamental problem. The only treatment is to stop drinking.”
“What do you mean to ‘stop drinking’? You mean like totally stop?”
“Totally stop. Forever.”
“Fuck that.”
“AA can help.”
“Triple fuck that. I’m not going to any AA meeting.”
“It’s not like you have anything to be ashamed of. Robert Downing Jr., Ben Affleck, Grace Slick—and I mean like a million of some of the greatest writers of our time have struggled with alcohol.”
“I’m not struggling. I mean I’m struggling but not with drinking. My life just hasn’t been going the way it’s supposed to lately.”
“Can I come over?”
“No.”
“I’m going to come over anyway okay?”
“Whatever.”
I hung up the phone. No more drinking ever? Was she kidding me? No more margaritas at Rios? No more beers after work at the Oasis? No more wine with dinner? I loved wine with dinner! No more cosmopolitans or martinis or sex on the beach? No more White Russians or Bloody Marys or Mimosas? What kind of life would that even be?
What would this do to my social life? What guy would ever date me if he knew I had a drinking problem? What guy would marry me?
I had been drinking too much, but I could stop. Right? Then again, when was the last day I’d gone without drinking? I drank to celebrate when I had a good day; I drank to console myself when I had a bad day; I drank when I had a day, any day. I drank to relax after work with friends or by myself; I drank when I went out with my friends; I drank when I wanted a romantic evening; I drank when I was home alone and bored and had nothing else to do.
But that was normal. Everyone drank, why did Rette think there was something wrong with me? Never drink again. Rette was full of shit.
The buzzer went off. I managed to make it to the intercom and buzz her in. I opened the front door for her and stumbled back to bed.
“Jen?” I heard her close the door behind her. I couldn’t call out to her or my head would explode. It was a small place; she’d find me.
“Jen? Are you okay?”
“No, I don’t know. Physically I’ll be fine.” Out of nowhere, tears filled my eyes. I blinked and they rolled down my cheeks. “I don’t want to not drink for the rest of my life. I really like drinking. No, I didn’t mean it like that . . .”
“I know.”
“I don’t think that this never drinking again business sounds very fair at all.”
“Alcoholism is like diabetes—it has to be treated carefully for the rest of your life.”
“At least diabetics get to eat something. I’ll just have to be stricter with myself. I’ll manage it better.”
“I have no doubt that you can go for years drinking as you are Jen, but . . .”
“Well, good, then I will.”
“But if you keep drinking like this, do you ever think you’re going to fall in love, have a good, healthy relationship with a healthy guy? Or is it just going to be years and years of more Daves and Toms?”
“I loved Dave.”
“Did you really? You and Dave . . . you guys were drinking so much when you were together and the alcohol created all this drama. I mean, do you think it’s possible that you mistook that drama for passion? Alcoholics tend to choose to be with other alcoholics. You and Dave never thought your drinking was excessive because both of you and all your friends drank like crazy.”
That last thing she said sort of struck a chord. It was true that Avery, Rette, the people from work, Mike, none of them drank nearly as much as Dave and I did or the couples Dave and I hung out with when we were still together. Even Tom—he drank a lot, but compared to Dave he was a lightweight.
“How do you know all this?”
“I wrote a paper on this, I told you. It was a sixty-page paper. I got an A on it.”
“Of course you did.” I rolled my eyes.
“Here’s the thing. You can spend the next thirty years of your life half awake in a fog of alcohol and hangovers like Mom does . . . although actually, Jen, I think your problem has already gone way past Mom’s. She spends every night tipsy, but I don’t know that I’ve ever seen her drunk. The way you drink Jen, I wouldn’t be surprised if you died in a few years from a drunk-driving accident or I don’t know, Senator George McGovern’s daughter, she battled with alcohol all her life and when she was forty-five or so, she wandered out into the winter cold drunk and died of exposure.”
“I don’t want to die when I’m forty-five,” I said. “But I don’t want to not be able to drink either. Rette, I’m the fun one. I’m the party animal. Who am I going to be if I’m not Jen the Party Girl? Who am I going to be? I’m always the first person invited to every party. They can always count on me to make things fun.”
“Jen, you’re totally insane when you’re sober. You have nothing to worry about there. You’ve been the life of the party since you were three. I remember at some Christmas party Mom and Dad had, you were two or three at the time, and you were in the center of the room screaming, ‘jingle bell, jingle bell, jingle bell rock’ into your thumb, like your thumb was a microphone. You looked so adorable and everyone was smiling and oh-how-cute-ing, and I just hid in the corner feeling like a lump.”
“You were always getting the good grades and being little Ms. Perfect.”
“Yeah, but Mom didn’t care, she always liked you more.”
“She always liked you more.” At this, we both cracked up. Then I started crying again and Rette started crying, too, and in about eleven seconds it was a great big snot and tears festival.
“How come you’re not an alcoholic?” I sniffed.
“I don’t know; it’s possible that I may be. It hits people at different times. Some people don’t show any signs until they turn sixty, and then they drink themselves into the grave within a couple of years. Alcoholism is genetic, but it doesn’t mean everyone in a family will be an alcoholic. I have eczema and irritable bowels and tension headaches, and you don’t have any of that.”
“Thank god.”
Neither of us said anything for a minute. I still felt like shit, even after about a zillion gallons of water and Advil and two multivitamins.
“Rette, I’m really tired, would you mind leaving me alone so I can take a nap?”
“Sur
e. But Jen I . . . I went online and printed off some meeting times to AA meetings nearby. You . . .”
“I’m not going to any goddamn AA meeting!”
“Okay, that’s fine. Just hang on to these, please? Just in case.”
RETTE
Christmas. Ugh.
Mom and Dad arrived the day before Christmas. Jen used a personal day to get off work, but I didn’t get fancy benefits like that for another month. It was hard to believe I had only worked there for two months. I’d enjoyed the job for about two weeks before becoming bitter and disenchanted. It seemed as if I’d been there an eternity. But I didn’t mind having to work that day. For one thing, I got out of making the long drive to the airport to pick up Mom and Dad, and for another thing, Eleanore had taken the day off, so work was like a vacation.
I’d finally finished Christmas shopping the night before; then I’d wrapped gifts and cleaned the house until one in the morning, so I was exhausted by the time I got home from work, and I had dark circles under my eyes that would not go unnoticed by Mom, no matter how much makeup I used to conceal them. I was strung out on caffeine, and the looming parental visit did nothing to calm my jittery nerves.
When I got home from work, Greg was making dinner. Mom stood beside Greg with a nearly empty martini in hand. Dad was sitting at the kitchen table reading the newspaper. Jen was across from him, staring into her martini glass, looking bored.