Anita said she could pinpoint the moment she became an alcoholic. She said she was in her early twenties working as a performance artist in Los Angeles and, one night, she went to a job and was raped. She returned to the Midwest and began drinking with a vengeance.
“I married a really nice guy, albeit a fellow alcoholic, and we had a son,” she said. “We had many good years together, but then I got sober and ended up having an affair with a guy in the program. The affair was serious. I told my husband about it and asked him for a divorce. My husband didn’t want a divorce but he eventually gave me one. One year later, he killed himself.”
Anita fidgeted with her hands. She pursed her lips together and tried not to cry. She sat in silence for many moments before saying, “It’s very hard to live with that. He was a good man. My son and I have a very strained relationship because of it. My son barely talks to me.” Anita swiped at tears, didn’t speak for a moment, and switched gears. “I’m an egomaniac with an inferiority complex,” she said.
Anita’s random last comment hit me like a ton of bricks. I, too, am an egomaniac with an inferiority complex.
[Tuesday, August 5]
I went to a meeting and bitched about my dad. It elicited some big laughs. I think I’m done being pissed off at him for now.
[Wednesday, August 6]
Charlie is going to a conference in Budapest. We have enough frequent-flier miles for me to go, too. Max will stay at Liv and Reed’s house so he can go to school. Van is going to my parents’ house. My mother said she would come to our house and watch both boys if my father didn’t mind, but my father minded. Big surprise.
Charlie and I will leave for Budapest on September fifteenth. I checked out several Hungarian travel books at the library and when I got home, I opened one and turned to the wine section. I never planned on staying sober while I traveled. Charlie flies to Europe a lot for work. I usually pick a destination and go with him once a year. Last year we went to Sweden and Finland and took Max along. The year before, Charlie and I went to Cannes, Provence, and Paris. I still think about the delicious wine we drank there. As I skimmed the section on wine, a part of me hoped Budapest would have horrid wine, and according to the guidebook, much of Hungarian wine is swill. However, the wine that is good is considered to be some of the best in the world. Maybe it’s time for a wine break.
[Thursday, August 7]
Charlie had hernia surgery today. We got up early this morning, piled into the Jeep, and I dropped Van at Hope’s house for the day so he could hang out with Robin. Charlie, Max, and I proceeded to the hospital, and we checked Charlie into a stark little hospital room. He put on a gown and sat on the bed looking nervous.
“Boy, I bet you’re hungry,” I teased. “I bet you wish you could get pancakes with Max and me.”
Charlie, always ravenous, hadn’t been able to eat anything for twelve hours. “You got that right,” he said.
I looked at my watch. “When the heck are they going to wheel you out of here so Max and I can go eat?”
“Mom!” Max said.
“You can go,” Charlie said.
“I’m joking,” I laughed. I looked at Max and loudly whispered, “I’m trying to keep Dad from worrying. Look how nervous he is.”
“You do look nervous, Dad,” Max said.
“Well, I am a little.”
“Don’t worry. You’ll be back at home in a few hours,” I said. “You want me to get you an apple pancake from Walker Brothers?”
“No, they’re too sweet.”
There was a knock at the door and two orderlies wheeled a gurney into the room.
“Well, you’re going to the show,” I told Charlie.
Charlie chuckled but looked like he wanted to throw up. I kissed him. “You’re going to be just fine,” I said. They began wheeling him away. “I love you,” I yelled after him.
“Love you guys, too,” he said shakily.
Max and I had breakfast at Walker Brothers and I took Max to the park before returning to the hospital. When we got to the room, Charlie was already lying in bed. He looked at us but didn’t see us. He muttered something and Max looked at me, worried.
“Anesthesia,” I said. “Dad’s fine. We’ve just got to wait for the anesthesia to wear off. He’s all drugged up.”
Charlie mumbled again.
“What did he say?” Max giggled.
“I don’t know. What did you say Charlie?”
“Yeah, good, do mumble, mumble, mumble.”
“What if anesthesia is a truth serum?” I asked Max. “Should we ask him some questions?”
“Yeah.”
“Charlie, do you secretly want to take belly dancing lessons?” I asked.
“Airplane, mumble, mumble.”
Max doubled up laughing.
“Dad, do you have stinky feet?” Max asked.
“Here, okay, mumble, mumble,” Charlie muttered.
“We should probably let him rest,” I told Max. “Let’s go to the gift shop.”
When the drugs wore off, Charlie got a pep talk on wound care and we left. I drove to Hope’s and picked up Van.
“Thanks for having Van,” I said. “It was a big help.”
“Van and Robin had a great time,” Hope said.
Van was sitting in the kitchen eating a bowl of Lucky Charms. Robin was nowhere to be seen.
“Robin, Robin,” Hope called. “Say good-bye to your friend. Van’s leaving.”
Robin never appeared. Van and I left.
[Saturday, August 9]
I chaired the meeting again, and this time Kiki gave the lead. Kiki is cute, petite, and articulate, but there’s a screw loose. Her facial expressions are manic. She has those too-wide-open eyes. She stands too close to me when she talks and studies me like she’s trying to read my mind. We both have ten-year-old boys, and she often says, “We should get them together. When’s good for you?”
“Yesterday,” I think.
Today, Kiki’s lead was about how no one in her family thinks she’s an alcoholic.
“I am an alcoholic,” she said. “Like Brenda, I just hid my alcoholism well, too well, so now my family thinks I’m crazy. They think I claim to be an alcoholic so I can hang out with you people. Well they’re right about that. I want to hang out with you people because you’re my true family. You understand me. I belong here. I am an alcoholic.”
When she finished, I scooted my chair an inch further away from her and said, “Because this is a big meeting, let’s keep an eye on the clock and keep our comments short. We have until five o’clock.”
The first woman to comment droned on and on. When the first person speaks forever, the people who follow usually talk forever, too. Five o’clock came and went. People actually began their comments by saying, “I know we’re running late but,” and gave long-winded monologues anyway. I squirmed in my chair until it finally ended at five thirty, which is when this meeting usually ends. The more I attend this meeting, the more I hate it.
I had a wicked headache by the time I got home. I went to the bathroom to take something for it. Charlie’s Vicodin was there. I looked at the bottle, opened it, and popped one. I could have taken an ibuprofen, but to hell with it. I’m seriously considering ditching this recovery program and the whackos in it.
[Sunday, August 10]
I took Max to his swimming lesson this morning and when we got back home, I looked at Charlie’s stitches.
“I feel great,” he said, “like nothing happened. I think I’ll take Max and Seth to the skate park this afternoon.”
“Why don’t you take Van, too,” I said. “You can play with him at the park while Max and Seth skate.”
Charlie made a face. “I’m not supposed to pick him up.”
“You don’t have to pick him up. He can walk. Just bring a stroller.”
“You know he’ll want me to pick him up.”
“Don’t. He walks for me all the time. Van will feel left out if you don’t take him.”
Charlie grimaced. “Okay, fine,” he grumbled, throwing up his hands and walking away.
I was lying in the sun and reading when I heard the Jeep pull up. The boys were back.
“How was it?” I asked, shading my eyes and watching them walk through the gate into the yard. Charlie was holding his abdomen and limping.
“I think I did too much,” he said. “I carried Van. I’m gonna take some Vicodin and lay down.” He limped away.
I looked down at my tan stomach and legs. I felt guilty, then angry. Moron, I thought. Why did the idiot lift Van? He probably injured himself on purpose so he could say, “See, I told you this would happen.” What an asshole. I hate martyrs.
[Tuesday, August 12]
Darcy and I attended a Mozart concert at Ravinia. I brought two reclining beach chairs, a candle lantern, and a picnic basket packed with brie, olive hummus, a baguette, plates, cutlery, glasses, two bottles of sparkling water, and lemon wedges. Darcy was supposed to bring fruit and vegetables. She brought a bag of Subway sandwiches and individual snack packs of celery sticks with peanut butter. It irritated me.
A couple sitting on a blanket in front of us appeared to be on their first date. The guy put his arm around the woman, whispered in her ear, kissed her cheek, pecked at her mouth. The woman sat ramrod straight, staring straight ahead. She flinched periodically. They got up during intermission and walked past Darcy and me. The woman looked at our baguette, brie, and hummus.
“Yum,” she said. “You guys want some sub sandwiches? He brought a bunch of sub sandwiches that we’re not eating.” Turning to her date she said, “You should have brought stuff like theirs.” Turning back to us, the woman made a sweeping gesture with her hand and sarcastically asked, “Will you watch our crème brulee while we go to the bathroom?”
“Sure,” I said.
“I don’t know how much more of this I can take—him all over her like that,” Darcy said.
When the couple returned, Darcy jealously watched the guy nuzzle his iceberg of a date. I couldn’t help but feel sorry for the woman. I’d been stuck on many dates with guys I didn’t like. She stiffened as her date glided his fingertips up and down her back and pecked at her mouth. My skin crawled for her.
As Darcy and I slowly drove out of the busy parking lot, she said, “I wish I wasn’t affected like that, but when I see people all over each other, it bothers me because I don’t have that.”
“I felt sorry for the woman,” I said, and explained how I saw it.
“Yeah, yeah, you’re right,” Darcy said gleefully. “I didn’t see it but you’re right. The way she complained about the food and made that snotty comment about the crème brulee. I totally see it now. Thanks for pointing that out.”
It’s interesting how our baggage influences our vision. I wonder how often we see things for what they really are.
“I sort of have a boyfriend,” Darcy said suddenly. “But I think it might be over. He said something insensitive about my unemployment situation. (Darcy has been unemployed since February and is getting more depressed about it.) I told Dave his comment was insensitive, he told me I was too sensitive and, well, you get the idea. I dated him two years ago for five months back when I was still drinking. I blew him off. Two months ago, he called because he got a DUI. I think it was an excuse to give us another try.” After a long pause, Darcy said, “He’s been a perfect gentleman. He puts his arm around me in movies, holds my hand, kisses my cheek when he walks me to my door.”
“He hasn’t tried anything in two months?” I asked.
“No,” she said. “But it’s not like we don’t make out. We’ll be at my house or at his house lying on the couch kissing a lot.”
“And he doesn’t try to take it further?”
“No.”
“Don’t you think that’s odd? I mean, you’re an attractive woman. I think it’s weird he hasn’t tried more.”
“We had sex when we dated two years ago,” Darcy said. “We did it twice toward the end. I think he just wants to take it slow this time.”
“He waited five months before you guys had sex the first time? You guys have already done it and he still hasn’t tried anything?”
“He’s very spiritual. He’s a born-again Christian.”
“A born-again with a DUI.”
“He did tell me he loses interest in women as soon as they have sex with him.”
“That’s a problem.”
Darcy nodded sadly and pulled up in front of my house.
“Thanks for driving,” I said. “I had fun.”
“Yeah, me too,” Darcy said, smiling faintly.
[Wednesday, August 13]
The boys and I drove to Milwaukee, Wisconsin, with Hope and her boys to take a tour of Miller Park. I’d called the ballpark a week ago to make sure they were giving tours today, but when we got there the place was deserted. We walked through the empty parking lot and empty building and finally bumped into an employee.
“There’s a terrorism drill going on,” the woman said. “No one knew about it. So no tours today, sorry.”
The kids began complaining that they were hungry so I suggested going to Mader’s, a Milwaukee institution that’s decorated with expensive beer steins, suits of armor, and autographed celebrity photos. The heavy German food is served by a lot of stout middle-aged waitresses who’ve worked there for years. But today we got a skinny twerp in his early twenties. Our waiter took our order, brought us drinks, and we waited and waited for almost half an hour before he came back. The kids began squirming in their seats. Max tipped his chair over and fell on the floor. The other kids laughed, so Max hung a spoon from his nose, put a napkin on his head, and gargled with his water.
“Stop it!” I hissed. Fellow diners who all had their food were glaring at us.
Van grabbed the salt and pepper shakers and began sprinkling seasoning into his water. He grabbed his water glass, took a gulp, and let it cascade out of his mouth and down the front of his shirt. “You baby night-night ba-ba,” he screeched, pointing his finger at patrons. People were really glaring now.
“Let’s get out of here,” Hope said. “I don’t blame the kids for acting like this.”
We got up to leave and the waiter brought our food.
“If I wasn’t so hungry, I’d leave,” Hope said and sat back down.
We scarfed down our food and left our waiter a lousy tip.
[Thursday, August 14]
Liv invited the Wendts and us over for cocktails to meet her parents who are in town from Arizona. Reed doesn’t like Liv’s parents and gives her a hard time when her family visits. He’s the first one to admit it. Reed reminds me a lot of my cousin Mike, who enjoys being contrary and saying outrageous things to screw with people. I figured Reed would be in rare form tonight and I was right. He started up by telling his liberal mother-in-law that he supported the Iraq invasion.
“What about the American casualties?” Liv’s mother asked, appalled. “What about the kids who are being sent home in body bags?”
“Who cares about them?” Reed asked. “Those guys had nothing going for them in the first place. They had to join the armed services to get a life.”
Liv’s mother’s jaw dropped.
“He doesn’t really think that,” Liv laughed, shaking her head and giving Reed an incredulous, semi-pissed look. “He just has to say something.”
Liv’s mother changed the subject and started talking about the great clothes she just bought on sale.
“I don’t buy anything on sale,” Reed said. “If it’s on sale, it means no one else wanted it.”
I started laughing and said, “That’s what Max said when he was four.” Everyone laughed except Reed. “Max and I were in a children’s store looking at flannel shirts. One rack was full price, the other was half price. Max said he liked the shirts and I grabbed two off the half-price rack. I a
sked the saleswoman, ‘Why are these cheaper than the other shirts?’ She said, ‘They’re from last fall. They have slightly different colors and patterns.’ I bought the two sale shirts and the next day, when I tried to get Max to wear one, he refused to put it on. ‘You liked this shirt yesterday,’ I said. ‘Why won’t you wear it?’ ‘Because it’s ugly,’ Max said. ‘No one else wanted it.’”
“Max had it right,” Reed said, leaning back in his chair and stroking his chin. Everyone laughed. Reed shifted uneasily and looked uncomfortable. I felt sorry for Reed and regretted sharing my story. I could tell Liv’s parents liked Reed as much as he liked them, and I didn’t want to help them gang up on him.
[Friday, August 15]
Today was gorgeous, hot, and sunny. Hope and I took the kids to a new water park, and as soon as we paid the entrance fee, Max and Sid took off for the big slides. Hope and Robin ran into the shallow water toward the water sprayers, and I helped Van slide down the tongue of a small whale. Time after time I sat Van at the top of the whale’s red tongue and caught him as he splashed into the water. My mind began to wander. I started thinking about Kelly and how it was Kelly who’d invited Max and me into playgroup when we moved to the suburbs. It was Kelly who’d helped me plant a lovely shade garden in our front yard. And it has been Kelly who’s been pursuing our friendship since I got sober. I stopped calling her, and she’s been the one reaching out and trying to stay in touch. If the tables were turned, if Kelly had been the one to quit drinking, I don’t think I’d be pursuing our friendship.
The last time Reed was at her house, he said Kelly answered the door looking like a wreck. He’d gone over to ride motorcycles with Joel, and when they left, Joel told Reed, “Kelly’s been crying her eyes out. This thing with Brenda and Liv has got her really upset.”
Diary of an Alcoholic Housewife Page 19