by Kristi Ayers
My vice, my personal numbing remedy, helped stave off the demons that consistently let me know I would never have anything equating happiness. Reprieve came after a few drinks; relief came after a few more.
To my ever-faltering acceptance, I’d come to the realization that the cane that helped me walk through the darkness of the past three years would be my downfall, unless I let it go with every string of my being.
And that was what I did by saying goodbye to every individual who had a role in my life and every drop of alcohol that helped me in the destruction of those people.
Even severing the strings of the muse who taught me what being in love felt like…
Because of Holland, I broke into a thousand pieces. Honestly, it was the best thing that could’ve happened to me. It made me vulnerable enough to realize I needed to heal from years of living the worst version of myself.
And to do that, I needed to start brand new.
~*~
Moving completely across the US and entering a sixty-day rehabilitation facility, with the unwavering support of my sponsor and long-time friend from grade school, Denny, was exactly what I needed to be successful.
After intake and evaluation came detox. There was no red carpet welcoming a person into detox. Rather, it was like falling off a cliff and rolling down jagged rocks for days, coupled with a heavy dose of therapy when the last thing you wanted to do was talk to someone.
I hated every minute of it.
The only thing that got me through my darkest hours, through the haze and the sweat and the vomit, was letting my eyes fall to the tattoo on the inside of my right forearm and knowing I was doing this for the best reason possible.
For Holland.
Only, she was never going to learn that she was my driving force. And the ridiculous counselors weren’t either. I effectively told them I was seeking to become sober for myself.
I wasn’t.
What did I care if I spent the last few years in the near-constant company of Crown Royal and vodka? They were the day-time devil and the night-time nymph I chose above anyone else.
But when Holland looked at me as if I’d torn down her entire world, I knew I had to do something. The random girl she caught me hooking up with meant nothing, but the demons that usually came like clockwork broke down my defenses that day. I had no excuses and didn’t bother trying to compose one for Holland. She’d never understand.
I knew I had to redeem myself and the only way to accomplish that was to relinquish everything I owned and start brand new. I gave up my house, which sold within a week on the market. I sold my car because driving it across the US didn’t fit into the preplanned agenda. I gave the van to Max and Douglas. My drums and anything worth saving were shipped to Denny’s house in sunny, happy California.
He moved out there directly after high school, working at a club as a sound engineer. He’d always been into that kind of stuff, even early on. His uncle worked at a radio station back home, so Denny knew he wanted to do something that involved music.
My goal was to become sober, live with Denny until I had both feet on the ground, and then get my own place. I knew I had to take baby steps, or I could potentially relapse into my old ways.
And I couldn’t let that happen. I would rather die than continue hurting people. Even if it meant I needed to stay single. Honestly, I had no desire to be with anyone because they weren’t Holland. She set the bar pretty damn high.
I wanted— no, I needed to let Max follow his heart. He deserved that much. Doing something right had never felt so wrong, but it was because my heart had been involved. Once I removed that factor, doing the right thing actually felt empowering. It didn’t make saying goodbye to them any easier, though.
Next to dealing with my father’s death, saying goodbye to them was the most difficult thing I’d had to do. Aside from detox. That was in its own unique category.
Once I set my mind to the fact that I needed to leave my old life behind in order to get better, I entered a special dimension of hell. I knew I had to cut ties that would not only hurt my best friends and my first real love, but would also hurt me because I had to accept that they were part of my past that needed to stay in the past.
Holland reminded me of every day that I went home after school and my dad told me to help him with this or that chore, and I’d find myself daydreaming about her as I mowed the lawn, changed the oil on the car, built a fence in the backyard, and painted the outside of the house. I imagined I wasn’t the fat guy who couldn’t catch her eyes in Orchestra class. I had an entire storyline for us, one that included all the things we did do in my bed not too long ago. Her memory was tied to when my father was alive. And the fact that all the hours I was stuck in my mind could have been better spent with my dad, had I known I only had so much time left with him.
I had to let Max go, because even though he had been my saving grace when I was at my lowest point and ended up saving me more times than I cared to admit, it felt like I was stuck in the recovery portion of my demise for an endless amount of time. He was my own personal 911. And it was too easy to keep using him as such. Every time he saved me from myself, I felt a little more validated that I was a worthwhile person. It was an unfading delusional cycle that I relied on whenever I felt utterly and completely dispensable.
They both, though, were not at fault for anything whatsoever. My thoughts were entirely my fault. Max and Holland couldn’t help that I carried a darkness in my heart no light could penetrate. I owned everything I had ever said or done, and the coinciding thoughts with each action.
And since I deeply cared about the pair of them, it only seemed logical to bring them together. At least I’d know that they were both with the best of the best. No two people were truly better for each other.
After three minutes, seven hours, and sixty days, Denny picked me up in his Mustang and drove me to his house in an older neighborhood lined with houses that had seen better days. Having been taken directly from airport to rehab, I never got a chance to see where he lived.
“Cool digs, man. Thanks for letting me stay here,” I said after we stepped inside.
“Make yourself at home. What’s mine is yours.” He pulled out a bottle of water from the fridge and handed it over. “I removed all traces of alcohol, so you don’t have to worry about,” he searched for the right word, “urges.”
I swallowed a sip of water. “I appreciate it.”
This was it, my new life. I would be lying if I didn’t admit to feeling an overwhelming amount of trepidation. I apparently had been given all the “tools” to succeed, or so the counselors claimed, but at that moment, I felt empty, out of place, and a little lost.
“Your room is down the hall, second on the right. Your drums are set up in the room directly next to it.”
Surprised and unsure how to accept his generosity, I ran my hand through my hair and said, “Wow, thank you.” For a guy who I hadn’t communicated with much since moving away after my father’s death, Denny had been a life saver.
“No problem at all. I’m happy to help.”
Denny was one of the quiet types in high school. Not because he was shy. He just hated to waste breath on mundane things. He liked to dive deep into subjects that meant something he deemed important, encompassing the reality of the world around him. Without fail, he could give a soap-opera-worthy summary of today’s politics, always with humor, of course, and make one believe in the existence of all things Cryptozoological, his favorite hobby next to watching movies with subtitles.
“So show me what you can do with the drums. It’s been a long time since you were in Orchestra and I’m sure your genre has changed.” He looked at me with optimistic blue eyes.
“God, yes. Sure, let’s go.”
He pulled back his shoulder-length blonde hair into a low ponytail. “My Launchpad is in there too. Maybe we can come up with something cool together.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
I saw his whole computer s
ound system set up neatly on a table, and near it, the welcome sight of my drums. We spent the better part of an hour creating a beat, mixing in different programmed sounds, and basically letting our creative minds flow.
The thought of alcohol did cross my mind because I’d always had something before I played, but being in new surroundings with a person who’d probably have my hide if I drank a drop of the stuff, it was easy to place the thought in a vault.
He tapped away on lighted squares, flowing into the next song seamlessly, and I’d follow along, matching his beat. I found myself watching him in awe, amazed at how he knew which square was what tone. Then he blew me away by setting up two Launchpads and becoming both the “singer” and all the “instruments.”
“Holy shit, dude,” I said when he was done. “Why don’t you go on the road with that?”
“Funny you ask.” He smiled. “I am in an indie band. We just sent out our demo and it got picked up by a small record company.”
“What?” I was stunned. “Why didn’t you tell me this on the plane ride here?”
He looked to the ground, sheepish. “I didn’t want anything to affect your time in rehab, so I kept anything about me quiet.” He noticed my brows pinch together. “I wanted you to only have to worry about getting through the hour that was in front of you.”
I nodded. I got it. He didn’t want me to stress about what I was going to do with my life once I completed my time. It was cool he had the forethought to know what would help me, almost as if he’d helped other addicts. “So when do I get to see your band?”
He chewed on his lip, thinking. “I can have them come over this Thursday.”
“Cool. What are you guys called?”
“Understreet. I started it about two years ago. First, it was just me and Gideon. I met him playing chess in a park right after he’d won against some other guy, so I challenged his ass, because no one plays better than I do, and we instantly became friends the moment he lost. Not long after that, I learned he played the keyboard. We got together and discovered we sounded pretty good. He was classically trained on the piano, so he’ll bust out in Vivaldi on the slightest whim.”
Hearing the reference to classical music made me think of Holland and how beautifully she’d played in Orchestra. Getting over her was nothing short of a miracle. If I was even truly over her.
Denny pulled out his phone. “I’m going to order us a pizza, okay?”
“That actually sounds amazing. But let me pay for it; it’s the least I can do.”
Eating the pizza without a beer to go with it was a challenge, but Denny kept my attention by talking about his band. “We have a singer who has been phenomenal with writing songs. He also plays the guitar. Name’s Luke.”
Of course, my thoughts went to Max. He never wanted to sing, but with his voice, I wasn’t going to let him get out of it. When he was on point, he rocked. He screwed up only when his confidence slipped, which was a lot sometimes. And yes, it pissed me off each time.
“Tomorrow, let’s get you on a phone service here and do all the necessary adulting that needs to be done.”
I set my bottle of water down and looked over at him. “You aren’t busy? Work? School?”
“Nope. I don’t work until the evenings anyway, but I took off.”
To be with me. I didn’t quite know how to take that.
“I’m not doing it to babysit you. It’s for my fun just as much as it will be for yours. I have the entire week free and many plans for you, my friend.”
I laughed. “Do you? This should be interesting.”
“First, adult stuff to get you officially settled. Then, the very definition of California fun.”
He stayed true to his word. We hopped into his Mustang and made pit stops at the bank to open a new account, the phone store where I got a new cell with a new number, a clothing store for a few things, and then the grocery store. The entire time, he pointed out different places, helping me become familiar with the area.
“I’m going to need to buy a car. And find a job.” I had money, but if I wasn’t going to be taking college courses, then I needed to do something with my time. Staying occupied could only help me in my quest to stay sober.
“Don’t worry about a job until after Thursday.”
That seemed oddly specific. “Dude, I have to keep myself busy. Why after Thursday?”
“Are you itching for a paper route? Just embrace this time and relax. I’ll keep you busy, don’t worry.”
I couldn’t shake the feeling he was stalling for something.
His idea of staying busy was so far removed from mine, had he not secretly prepared for this “hobby” of his, I would have vehemently refused. One minute I was messing around on my drums, and the next he was corralling me into his creaky, decrepit truck. The thing had to be twice my age, and it looked like its better days were from another lifetime. It shook alive with a couple of turns of the key, barely.
“What are we doing, Denny? I’m not into working on old vehicles.”
“Oh, it works just fine.”
Not with that start… I looked in the bed of the truck as he backed us out of the driveway. “Is that camping gear?” My nerves shot up a few notches.
“Indeed, it is. And a container full of food to cook over an open fire. Sleeping bags. A tent. Just the basics.”
I could only stare at him. “We’re going camping?” I deadpanned.
“A little more than camping.” He pinched his fingers together to demonstrate little.
I laughed without humor and looked out the window. “I’m being kidnapped to do who the hell knows out in the middle of who the fuck can say. Fantastic.”
Denny gave me an admonishing sideways look. “Don’t knock it until you do it. It may be your new favorite thing.”
I scoffed. “Doubtful. I like my food cooked in a kitchen and a bed to sleep in at night.”
“You’re a bit of a princess.” He smiled and lightheartedly punched my arm. “Just relax. This will be epic. It always is.”
I sat back and put my elbow on the ridge of the window, my fingers pressed against my temple. To say I was irked was putting it lightly. I hated not being in control. How could this possibly help me not want a drink, because I damn sure did.
About an hour and a half later, we pulled into a parking area that seemed rather hidden, in my opinion. Only one other vehicle was parked like a rusted, empty turtle shell, which gave me serial killer vibes instantly. “Denny, do you carry a gun?” He tossed me a devilish smile but didn’t answer my question. Wonderful...
He opened the bed of the truck and put things in two piles on the ground. “My pile. Your pile.” He pointed at each. “We have about an hour’s walk and thirty minutes to set up our camp before it gets dark.”
“What? That’s cutting it pretty close, don’t you think?”
He shrugged. “That’s what flashlights and lanterns are for.”
I looked out into the distance, silently fuming.
“You can either stand there and be pissed, or you can join me and have fun.”
My eyes slid to his. “I’ll buy you a brand fucking new truck if I have any fun at all.”
“You’re on.”
We started our long trek that began as a defined trail twisting through tall trees, but soon veered off into nothing but ferns and denser trees that filtered the sunlight into nothing but shadows. “Um, Denny,” I broached as I glanced at my surroundings and even beyond, “what about bears? Or cougars?”
He glanced over his shoulder at me. “All the food is secured in bear containers.”
Did that even make me feel better? That was a big fat hell no. “Don’t they eat humans? I mean, screw the processed food, human flesh has to be so much more up-scale on a bear menu.” He pitched forward at the hip with laughter. “Happy you’re so amused at this,” I said dryly.
“Sorry.” He put his fist to his mouth, biting back his amusement. “If you only knew what we were really out here to f
ind, you’d think a bear and a cougar were nothing more than kittens.”
I abruptly stopped. It took him a second to notice I wasn’t following behind him. Cryptozoology. He’d brought me out into the middle of nowhere to chase things that might or might not exist. “You dragged me out here to hunt…?”
“Bigfoot, of course. And we aren’t hunting them because that would insinuate killing or capturing one if we found it. We’re studying them.”
I nodded and said wryly, “Super.” This was the weirdest predicament I’d ever found myself in, and I didn’t know whether to scream or laugh. “I’ve never done anything so ridiculous as this.”
“Well, that’s unfortunate. You’re entirely missing out.” He adjusted his backpack. “Come on, it’s just a little further.”
After a bit, he finally stopped at a location he deemed perfect for us to camp. I quietly helped him. Don’t get me wrong, I wanted to air all my grievances about every aspect of this situation, but I held my tongue. It was another gem I learned in therapy: Think before you speak.
Fire fully lit, darkness saturating every corner, we cooked hotdogs and beans, and I couldn’t help myself, so I had to ask. “Do they really like beef jerky? I just have to know if the commercials are true.”
Denny smirked. “Okay, wiseass. Come a little later; you can ask it yourself.”
A few minutes later, when there was a lull in my sarcasm, he sat back against a fallen log and regarded me. I blinked, wondering what was on his mind. “It was a girl,” he commented knowingly.
Oh hell… I didn’t want to go there. “No girl.”
“But there was one.” He tilted his head. “Someone broke your heart.”
“More like I did the breaking— Can you tell me how you postulated this?” I rubbed my temple. It was as if I were wearing a shirt stating all my secrets.
“Intuition.”
“I guess you can read your girlfriend pretty well, then. They love that.”
“I can read my boyfriend pretty well, and he loves it.”