by L. J. Stock
"You need a hobby, mate. Take your mind off it," Scott said when I tried to describe it to him and Dean one night. As helpful as they both were, there was a part of me that was on a constant loop, reminding me that they had no idea and would never understand the tenacity of the emotions or the cravings that continued to rip strips off my arse daily.
"That or shag it outta ya sen," Dean added helpfully over a couple beers as we played video games at Scott's place. I was still looking for somewhere to live, but he didn't seem eager to get rid of me. I was contributing to the bills. He'd managed to get me a part time job where he worked, so I didn't have to dig into my stash. For that point in time it was a win-win situation.
"Now there's an idea." Scott laughed before grabbing his bottle with his teeth to defend against Dean's attack on the game. His next words were garbled but sadly understandable. "Sex would definitely help."
I rolled my eyes. It had been two months since I'd had sex of any kind. I would never have told them the reason why, but having my dick and blood tested for every known disease in the rehab center hadn't been a pleasant experience. I'd come back clean as a whistle, thank God, but it was still a huge leap to go from that back into the fire.
"Sex. Right. Where? You fuckers won't let me out of your sight. I can see that going down well, and I ain't sharing a hole with my brother and best friend. That would just be fucked up."
I swear Dean went green.
"Okay, maybe the girls thing can be held off for a while. So a hobby then."
Dean grumbled, flicking the joystick on the controller. It seemed he was all for going to the pub and picking up a few birds, even if the sharing the hole thing had freaked him out a bit.
"I appreciate the help, lads, but I've already figured something out. I need a distraction, right?" They both nodded. "I'm gonna go to night school. Try and get a degree in business or some shit."
"Really?" Scott asked.
"Really. Why is that so much of a fucking surprise?"
"It's not. Not really... I just never knew you had any interest in business. You've never talked about it before."
"I didn't think about it before. When Mum was alive, I always thought I'd have time to figure shit out. Then the drugs… Well, that wasn't exactly incentive to make conscious life decisions, was it? It's just the past couple of weeks that I've truly thought about it."
"What sorta business?" Dean questioned.
"I don't know, mate. I guess I just want to see what my options are. It's gonna be hard work, but it'll be worth it. I went to the local night school and did some digging."
"I'm all for it mate. More power to you." Scott grinned, pausing the game and lifting his beer.
He made a toast to progress. It was amazing how they saw progress where I simply saw desperation. I was desperate to move on. Desperate for a distraction. Desperate to get past the worst of the cravings, so I could do something without all thoughts leading back to drugs.
Within a week, I was officially enrolled in night school. Five nights a week, I was expected to be at class and have the coursework done. It felt weird to be back in a school environment, but it was nice, too. It gave me something to focus on. So Monday through Friday nights were covered. That meant I was out using girls to forget the cravings on my nights off, something my conscience was okay with as they didn't complain.
To my surprise, it turned out I actually had an affinity for business.
Who the fuck knew?
I wasn't sure why it came so easily, but it just made sense to me. It was about data and numbers, two things I could do with my eyes closed. I didn't have to think about it; I just did it. The good marks started rolling in until I was doing double the work.
In six months, I’d finished the first of the two years of coursework and had already started the second part. I’d also started dabbling in the stock market, with some instruction from a good friend and teacher, and actually made some decent money. Cynicism and past experience told me the roller coaster of risk wasn't going to keep me safe and warm, or give me a nest egg, but it was a great start.
Six months of living through cravings wasn’t easy. I spent time in groups, talking to people who’d been through the same and survived. I stayed away from the places that haunted me the most. I tried to visit Jessica’s grave several times but couldn’t bring myself to do it. All of the memories of the times I'd been high and the results of my decisions just made the emotions surface until the itch got almost painful.
As much as I’d love to say that I didn’t so much as think about doing drugs again, it would be an out and out lie. There were nights I’d find myself leaving class and wandering around, only to look up when I heard the drum and bass and saw one of the clubs I’d frequented with Daggs and Tommy. A club they were still at.
I wasn’t crazy or ignorant enough to have not received their message loud and clear. I was no longer an asset, I was a problem, I knew it had been a death sentence that night. I also understood that if they looked in my direction, there was a chance they’d try to kill me again. So I never showed myself, but there was one night that I caught sight of Daggs and Tommy, and attached to Daggs’ side was Blondie’s friend, Paris. She looked like shit- hollowed cheeks, hooded eyes, and a pallor that could give a vampire a run for his money. She was a bag of bones tied together by leather and lace and the dick who clutched her to him like a starving man. Her lank hair hung over her face, and her hollow smile was followed by a hollower laugh and a tick that had me turning my back on her.
I repeated one of my mantras from an N.A. meeting I’d been to… You can’t save everyone, E. It was true, I couldn’t, but I hoped that one day she’d ask for help from someone, and, if it was me, that I’d be a big enough man to be there - to help her any way I could, because I’d been there, too.
Dean and Scott worried less with every month that passed. I got my own place - approved by my two mother hens - and started drawing myself up a business plan for when I got my degree. I had finally decided what the hell I wanted from my life and was working toward it with the fury of a banshee.
I didn't leave myself a free minute. I couldn't. I'd put so much time and effort into distracting myself that when I sat down, my body started that quiet itch deep in the pit of my stomach. It taunted me daily, and I knew at some point I would have to deal with it, find a way to just work around it, but it was still too soon. So I'd go out, find a piece of arse and practice safe and emotionally stunted sex with a complete stranger.
Maybe I was painting a picture for the outside world, because people gradually started to worry less and focused on the things I was doing rather than the mistakes I'd made. So I kept doing what I was doing and hoped that things would eventually get easier for me.
I got my certification and degree in May 2004. I regarded myself as at least employable after the disaster of the year before. Yet, I didn't want to work for anybody. I had this crazy idea from some hazy memory, and I wasn't sure it would even work. So I threw myself into research, immersing myself in demographics and statistics until I came up with an answer. I just had to make the money, which ended up coming from the most unexpected of places.
My mum.
I received a call from a lawyer on my twenty-first birthday, inviting me to his office. After a reassurance that I wasn't being sued, I dressed in the only suit I owned, hauled my arse over there, and sat in the waiting room, tapping my foot.
"Mr. Walker, sorry to keep you waiting." The round man with a smiling face said as he approached. He held out his hand and squeezed gently when I accepted it. "I'm William Beatty, your mother's solicitor."
I froze in my seat, my heart pounding in my chest. No one had so much as mentioned her to me since I came out of rehab, and hearing that this complete stranger had even a small connection to her had a biting surge of need soaring through my body.
"Good to meet you, Mr. Beatty." I responded as politely as I could, though I knew I was as white as a sheet by that point.
"I k
now you weren't expecting this. Your mother made sure no one knew about it. Come into my office and I'll try and explain as best I can."
I followed without saying a word. My eyes were on my feet as I trailed behind him into his modest office. There were paneled walls and bookshelves filled with law books. A wig sat in the corner, next to black robes that seemed to be there more for decoration than use. At least that was a comforting thought.
"Ethan," he said, sitting down and gesturing to the chair opposite him. "Your mum, Julia, was a lovely lady, and I was terribly sad to hear of your loss. She came to me almost ten years ago and asked me to do this for you and your brother."
He shuffled papers around and pulled out a thick file. He placed it on the desk in front of him and linked his fingers, resting them over the last connection I had with my mum.
"Please, don't take offence at this. She loved your father, but didn't necessarily trust him with the financial side of her estate. She wanted to make sure if anything happened to her, you and Dean would be looked after. She took out a life insurance policy and made some other requests, as well as writing you each a letter."
He opened the file and pulled an envelope from it. Setting it on the rich mahogany of the desk, he slid it across to me with a sad smile. For the longest time, I just stared at it. My heart was pounding in my chest like it was trying to escape. The black void I'd fought for so long started to grow in my stomach and sent frozen fingers of fear up my spine. The need for chemical escape rang in my ears until it was deafening, yet all I could do was stare.
"Ethan?"
"She thought she was going to die?"
"No," Mr. Beatty said, his voice filled with sympathy. "Julia came in here a day after one of her students lost their mum to cancer. She'd been trying to help the father and little girl get through it and make funeral arrangements, and it tore her up. She told me life was delicate, and you have but a few breaths to make your mark. She just wanted to make sure that if something did happen, you and your brother would always know how much she loved you, and that she would look after you in any way she could."
It was typical Mum. I remember the lass she was talking about. I'd only been eleven, and she brought home one of the girls, who just sat on our sofa and stared into space. She didn't talk. She didn't smile. She just stared, an occasional tear slipping from her eyes. It had broken Mum’s heart to see that. I remember hearing her and Dad talking in the kitchen about it after the girl had gone home.
My arm felt like lead as I lifted it to retrieve the letter. The paper was cool in between my finger and thumb as I turned it over and over again, seeing my name in her neat cursive scrolled across the front. I was trying so fucking hard not to cry.
"How about I leave you alone for ten minutes?" Mr. Beatty offered awkwardly, rising from his chair, the file held against his chest. "If you need me sooner, I'll just be in the board room next door."
I nodded in response, unable to find my voice due to the huge lump residing in my throat. After almost two years, I was finally going to get a goodbye.
The envelope shook in my hands as I stared at it, willing myself to break the seal and look inside. I wasn't even sure I wanted to read the words. I was barely dealing with her death as it was. What if there was something that pushed me over the edge?
But how could I not read it?
It didn't leave me with many options. I had to read it, but I was terrified of being alone afterward in case the need to get high became drastic. This left me with one other choice. Setting the envelope on the desk, I pulled out my phone and sent a message to the only person I knew would listen. Scott. I couldn't go to Dean, as much as I wanted to, because I wasn't sure how he himself would take it. Scott would let me crash on his couch and keep me out of trouble, and he would listen.
As I sat waiting for the response to my request, I stared at Mum's handwriting again. So many memories filled my head, including her voice and her laughter. I was so lost in my memories, that I jumped when my phone pinged and my safety net gave me the thumbs up.
This was it. My last goodbye.
Picking up the envelope, I slid my finger under the flap and broke the seal, my fingers trembling as I pulled the letter from its confines, and opened it slowly.
My sweet Ethan,
I never thought it would be so hard to write a letter that you may never get, but as a teacher, I've seen kids suffer the death of their parents, and they're lost. As an adult, having lost my own parents, I know it doesn't get any easier. So I wanted to make sure you and Dean would have a chance at a future if something ever happened to me.
Believe me, I, more than anyone, hope you never have to read this letter. It will be null when you hit thirty-five, but I had to be sure.
You, my little heart, have always had a strength in you that I couldn't identify with, but you also have this amazing ability to love. The woman who is lucky enough to catch your heart will complement you in every way. She'll be kind and loving - a safe place for you and your hidden but tender heart. You need a challenge in your life, and I know she'll be that for you. When you find her, never let her go.
I thought long and hard about how to give you both my blessing if I’m not there to give it in person. I want a piece of me to be a part of this huge, significant moment of your life, and there was only one way I could think to do it. One way I could be a part of it all and show my blessing. For you, and this woman who will hold the essence of you, I'm leaving my engagement ring. We never talked much about it in the past. I thought I’d have more time, but there’s a lot of what ifs in this letter. What you need to know is this: it’s important, it’s old, and it’s a part of us. It's been passed down from your father’s grandmother, and now, my little heart, I'm giving it to you.
Now onto the money.
Your dad never knew about this life insurance. At twenty-one, I’m pretty certain that you understand. I made this decision for several reasons. I'm certain you're more than aware of the problems he has with finances. The two of you have always been at odds, and that's never been your fault, Ethan. Just know he does love you in his own way. He just doesn't know how to show it a lot of the time. That being said, I need to know that you and Dean will have something to help you, something to get you through college or your weddings, or even just to bring something good into your lives. It's not going to be much, but it will help, and at least this way I feel like I'm still looking out for my boys.
I know teenage boys don’t always think that their old mum has a very good grasp on them, but I know you. I know you better than I think you know yourself some days. Your fortitude and tenacity are always the sides of you that you’ve given to the rest of the world. You don’t want them to see the softer side because you’re afraid it will make you feel vulnerable. I wouldn’t change a thing about you, son, not a hair on your head or the way you project yourself. All I ask is this: if I die before you’ve shown the world who you really are, understand that you are a beautiful soul, and that doesn’t make you weak. Just because you feel it doesn’t mean you’ve set yourself up for failure. The people you choose to surround yourself with when you finally find the right path will know this. Your wife and children will love this part of you and will cherish it.
Your father, he has a beautiful side to him. He buried his so deep that you and Dean never got to see that side of him, and you may never see it at all, but it was a large part of the man I fell in love with. Don’t hide that side of yourself from the people you love the most.
I love you, Ethan. Promise me that you will look after Dean if something happens to me. He’s so young, I worry about him. He wants to have your strength, but I worry that he hides behind the image of it. He looks up to you more than he will ever let on. You’re his big brother, his idol, his hero, and he will need you and that infallible strength of yours.
Goodbye, my sweet boy.
Love you always and forever,
Mummy
There was no stopping the tears that ran down my che
eks. They fell in a stream, every painful beat of my heart pushing them from my eyes. I’d never let myself think about how much I missed her until that one profound moment, when she’d finally said her goodbye.
She loved us with everything she was, and where I thought she'd been naive and entirely too forgiving, she hadn't been at all. She'd known what Dad was like, and she hadn't trusted him with any of this because she knew. She knew he would never live up to her expectations and be the father we needed him to be.
I felt like I was four again, being sent to school and seeing the big wide world with fresh, new eyes. Mum had been my hero when she finally showed up to pick me up. It had all been overwhelming, and her words of encouragement had eased me then.
Now, just when the world was beginning to get overwhelming, there she was again, picking up the pieces and reassuring me that I was more than capable of taking on the world and looking after the people I loved with the strength she’d given me.
"Ethan?"
Taking a second to scrub my face with my hands, I gave Mr. Beatty the all clear nod and folded the letter up, easing it back into the envelope. He went through paperwork, had me sign half a dozen times, then handed me a small lock box.
It was the ring.
It may never be used, but it was Mum's so it was precious to me. It would be with me through every step of life. The woman she wrote about didn't exist, and if she did, I wasn't lucky enough to deserve her. I was a waste of space, an ex addict still trying to get his shit together.
I left the office and crawled into my car, heading straight to Scott's just to talk things out. He listened, just like he always did, and I got through it, batting the cravings back until I was stronger than them.
Even if it was only for one night.
Or at least… one night at a time.
I barely made it in the door when I felt a shove on my back and stumbled forward. The beers lodged under my arms rattled together and echoed through the space, reverberating from the barren walls as I elbowed the fucker behind me with consternation.