Burnt Orange

by Melody Carlson

  Then Simi and I go back in my room and she tells me there are certain conditions. “You only get this second chance,” she begins, “if you quit this stupidity right now. Lena and I discussed it, and we think it’s fair. And we mean it, Amber. You have to get your life back on track.”

  “What if I can’t?”

  “Then we’re going to rat on you.”

  “Is this some kind of blackmail?”

  She shrugs. “No. Just consider it another form of peer pressure.” Then she puts her hand on my arm. “Seriously, Amber, we just want you to be healthy, to quit this moronic drinking and partying and stuff—and to get your heart right with the Lord. That’s all.”

  I’m crying now. “That’s what I want too.”

  “Really?”

  I nod. And this is the truth. I do want it. I’m just not sure how to get it. “I just don’t know if I can really do it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean I’m worried that something’s wrong with me, Simi.” I look straight into her face. “It’s like I’m such a wimp, or maybe I’m flawed, or—” I choke on a sob. “Maybe I’m really an alcoholic.”

  She looks unconvinced. “I don’t think you can become an alcoholic in just a few weeks, Amber.”

  “How do you know?”

  She shrugs. “I guess I don’t.”

  “Well, I read something online. It was written by a girl who started drinking when she was my age, and she said that she knew she was an alcoholic when she took her first drink. She didn’t get over it until she was about thirty.” I’m crying hard now. “And it really—really wrecked her life and she was so—so messed up and—what—what if that’s me?”

  Simi hugs me now. “We won’t let that be you, Amber. You’ve got friends and family—people who love you and who want to help. We won’t let you end up like that.”

  “But—but—from everything I’ve read—I know that only the alcoholic can change herself. Other people can’t do it for her.”

  “But we can stand by you, Amber. Hey, I’d even go to an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting with you if it would help.”

  I sit up straighter now. “You think I need to go to an AA meeting?”

  “I don’t know. Whatever it takes.”

  I feel like someone has just poured a bucket of ice water over my head. “I don’t need to go to AA,” I say in a firm voice. “I’m not an alcoholic.”

  “You’re the one who said that—”

  “Well, I was just talking,” I say.

  “Then why did you do all that research?” she challenges.

  “I was worried about Claire.”

  Simi nods. “You should be. I honestly think she is an alcoholic.”

  I don’t say anything.

  “And maybe you’re not, Amber. Maybe you’ve just been making some stupid choices.”

  I nod. “Yeah. Really stupid.”

  “Do you think you can quit drinking?”

  I nod again. “Yeah. I’m sure I can.”

  “So, do you promise you won’t drink again?”

  I consider this. Despite how much I’ve blown it lately, I’m a person who takes a promise seriously. I don’t like making any that I can’t keep.

  “We need your word on this, Amber.”

  “I want to promise,” I begin, “but I’m not sure.”

  “So you really think you’re not done with this thing?”

  “Can I be really honest with you, Simi?”

  “That’s the goal here.”

  “Okay. The truth is, I don’t want to drink again—really, I hate the feeling of losing control. I hate getting sick, and it scares me to death when I realize that I’ve driven under the influence.”

  “You’ve done that?”

  I swallow and look down at my lap. “Yeah, and trust me, I’m not proud of it.”

  “You could kill someone, Amber.”

  “I know.”

  “But I don’t get it.”

  I look back at her. “What?”

  “If it’s so awful, like you just said, then why do you keep doing it? It doesn’t make sense.”

  “I know. It doesn’t make sense to me either. The only thing I can tell you is that I like how it makes me feel—at the beginning anyway. Having a drink or two just loosens me up and I start to act more normal. I mean, you don’t know how hard it is for me. You’re so comfortable with yourself, but I always have to push myself to act normal, to talk to people, to get out of my little shell.”

  “What makes you think I’m not doing the same thing?” she challenges me.

  “Because you’re naturally outgoing.”

  “Not as much as you think. I have to push myself too, Amber. Everyone is a little insecure about something, but getting drunk isn’t going to fix that.”

  “No, I guess not.”

  “But you’re still not convinced?”

  I shrug and look away.

  “Okay, let me ask you this, Amber. Remember a week or so ago when your dad preached about how we know if something is sin or not?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Yeah, you probably had a hangover that day.”

  Even though it’s probably true, I act offended.

  “Anyway, he said we should ask ourselves something.”

  “That would be?”

  “We should ask ourselves if the questionable activity makes us feel closer to God. Does drinking alcohol make you feel closer to God?”

  I consider this but don’t answer.

  “Well, does it?”

  I shake my head. “If anything, it’s made me feel further and further away from God.”

  “So you’d have to agree that it’s sin.”

  “Yeah.”

  “So why would you keep doing it?”

  “Because I’m weak. I’m a loser. I’m hopeless, pathetic—you name it.”

  “That’s not true,” she tells me. “I’ve known you for years, and you were never any of those things—well, not until you started drinking. Then you turned into someone else.”

  I sigh. “I’m tired of being that person.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I think I am. But I’m just trying to be honest. I’m still worried that I’ll fall back into it, like I told you about tonight. I had no intention of—”

  “Well, you should probably stay away from Claire. I mean, have you ever done anything with her that didn’t involve alcohol?”

  “Yeah—well, at least on my part. I think she pretty much drinks all the time.”

  “See, she’s not a good influence.”

  “No. But I think she needs a good influence.”

  “And you think you’ve been one?”

  “Not really.”

  “Well, if you want to spend any time with Claire, maybe you should have someone like me along.”

  That reminds me of the prom plans, so I tell her.

  “That’s a good start. But I’ll only agree to go with you guys if you can keep it together this week. You think you can do that?”

  “I’ll try.”

  “And I expect you to be honest with me, Amber.”

  “I will.”

  Then she asks me to try on my prom dress for her to see, and I do, and after that we act like our old normal selves. We talk about boys and clothes, and she tries putting my hair up in a style she thinks would look good on prom night. And I’m thinking, Yeah, this is what it’s supposed to be like.

  We go to church together the next morning, but I have to slip out early to get to work. Simi gives me a look that says, “Remember your promise.” And I nod.

  The week goes pretty smoothly, and when Claire asks me to go to lunch at Merenda’s on Wednesday, I tell her that I’ve already promised to have lunch with Simi.

  “Well, bring her along,” says Claire. “My treat.”

  So I invite Simi and am totally shocked when she agrees to come. When I question her about breaking the rules of closed campus, she just tells me to lighten up. “Even
Jesus broke the rules sometimes,” she says. “Remember how the priests called him a Sabbath breaker?”

  Then I warn Simi about Claire’s need to imbibe at lunch, but she acts like it’s no big deal.

  “So you won’t like freak or anything?” I question.

  “I just want to get to know her better,” she says.

  And so the three of us are walking to Merenda’s together. We’re talking about the prom, and Simi describes her dress, and Claire seems to approve.

  “I’ll bet you look really striking in red,” says Claire as we reach the deli counter. “It just completely washes me out.”

  Now, I haven’t told Claire about my confiscated ID yet. But true to tradition, she orders wine. And since the woman at the register has seen us before, she doesn’t even ask for ID.

  “What’s up with that?” asks Simi as she and I head for a table. “She didn’t even card her.”

  I quickly explain, and then Claire joins us.

  “Is it going to bother you that I’m having wine?” asks Claire with the most innocent-looking blue eyes.

  Simi shrugs. “I don’t think it’s a good idea personally, but I guess it’s your choice.”

  Claire nods.

  Then Simi leans forward and looks directly at Claire. “But I have to ask you something, if you don’t mind.”

  “Ask away.”

  “Well, I’m just curious as to why you need to drink. Do you know why you do it?”

  “Because I want to.”

  “What would happen if you didn’t drink?”

  “I’d feel lousy.”

  “How do you feel when you drink?”

  Claire seems to consider this. “To be honest, I don’t feel anything at all.”

  “And that’s good?”

  “It’s good for me.”

  “So you’re trying to escape your feelings?”

  Claire frowns. “What are you, like some kind of shrink?”

  “Sorry,” says Simi.

  Then the conversation pauses as the woman sets our order on the table. Claire goes straight for her wine, taking a long drink before she turns back to Simi.

  “So why are you so interested in my drinking habits, Simi?”

  “I’m just curious. It just seems like you’re throwing a lot away.”

  “And that would be?”

  “Your life. I mean, if you spend all your time getting drunk just to escape your feelings, well, you can’t be having much of a life.”

  Claire is silent as she downs the rest of her wine.

  “And you seem like an interesting person,” continues Simi. “But it’s like you’re just throwing it all away.”

  “That’s your perspective.” Claire is glancing over to the counter, and I can tell she’s hoping that someone will come over and see if we need something, since I suspect she’s wanting another glass of wine. But no one comes.

  “And do you know what I think?” says Simi as she sets down her fork.

  “No, but I’m sure I’m going to hear about it anyway.”

  Simi smiles. “Just this last thing, and then I’ll stop, okay?”

  “Deal.”

  “I think you’re running from your emotions because they make you feel weak and helpless. But the reason you feel weak and helpless is because deep down you know you need God in your life.”

  Claire’s eyes are wide, and it almost looks like she’s about to start crying. Instead, she waves to the woman behind the counter and, pointing to her empty glass, says, “I’ll have another.”

  So that’s pretty much the end of Simi’s little outreach session, but I have to admit that I’m impressed. Claire doesn’t say much after that. But Simi and I manage to make enough small talk to keep things from feeling too heavy.

  Later on that day, when Simi and I are both at work, I ask her about her questions to Claire.

  “How did you know to ask those things?” I ask.

  “I don’t know. It’s like it was a God thing.” She shakes her head. “I mean, it just came to me, but it felt so right.”

  “I’ve never seen Claire get so uncomfortable about anything before. It’s like you were really getting to her.”

  “Cool.”

  “I guess.”

  “I hope she doesn’t decide that she doesn’t want Andrew and me to go to the prom with you guys now.”

  “I don’t think that’ll happen.” I rearrange the drink cups. “If anything, I think she really wants to get to know you better now. She called my cell when I was on the way over here and asked me some things about you.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. But I can tell she wants to get to know you better.” I kind of laugh. “Maybe you can take my place with her.”

  “Well, except for the drinking.” She gives me an elbow.

  And I can take her teasing today. I mean, so far this week has gone really well for me. I haven’t had one drink and I haven’t even been tempted. Even so, I’m not sure that I’m done with it yet. And I have to admit that prom night is looming before me like a huge test that I’m afraid I’ll fail—and not only will I fail but I’ll fail right in front of Simi. And then what?

  I know I should take Simi’s advice and get my heart right before God, but it’s like I don’t want to do it until after the prom. Now, how lame is that? But it’s the truth.

  nineteen

  SO JUST WHEN I’M THINKING MAYBE I HAVE CONTROL OVER THIS THING, I totally mess up. It’s Friday, just one day before prom night, and to be honest, I’m feeling a little uptight. In fact, I even admitted this much to Slater on the phone this afternoon. (I’d called him from work to see how his track meet had gone—not well, unfortunately.)

  “I know what you mean,” he told me after I confessed to feeling on edge about the prom. “It’s like everyone’s acting like it’s such a big freaking deal. I don’t get it. It’s just a stupid dance.”

  “I know,” I said.

  “How about I stop by for your dinner break tonight?” he asks. “Maybe I can help you loosen up.” “Sure,” I tell him. “That’d be cool.”

  So Slater shows up at six, and I tell Simi that I’ll be back in half an hour so she can take her break. But what I don’t know is that Slater has brought a libation to pour into our sodas. “Just something to loosen you up,” he teases as he sneaks some rum into my Dr Pepper.

  I know it’s wrong, and I feel totally horrible and guilty and foolish, but I give in and drink it anyway. The whole time I’m telling myself that I’m an idiot.

  “It’s not like we’re getting wasted,” Slater assures me. “And I’m not going to give you any more. It’s just to loosen up, you know, to relax and have fun.”

  Well, we get so relaxed that we start acting pretty goofy, and before I know it, it’s after seven. “Oh, no,” I tell him. “I’m really late. I gotta go.”

  So he walks me back to The Caramel Corn Shoppe and kisses me goodbye. Then I have to go and explain to Simi.

  “It’s okay,” she says.

  “But I’m so sorry,” I tell her, almost crying. “I didn’t mean to stay so long. I’m so stupid. I wasn’t—”

  “Amber?” She’s holding on to my shoulders now and looking right into my eyes. “Have you been drinking?”

  I do start crying now, but determined to continue my stupidity, I deny it. “No,” I tell her. “I just had a Dr Pepper with my dinner.” But I know she’s not buying it.

  “Don’t lie, Amber.”

  I glance around the shop, wishing a customer would come in and interrupt us, but it’s just not happening. “I just had one little tiny drink,” I finally tell her. “Slater put it in my soda. I didn’t mean to—”

  “You broke your promise.”

  “But I—”

  “You broke your promise.”

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “Let me ask you something, Amber,” she interrupts me, “and give me an honest answer, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Do y
ou control your drinking, or does your drinking control you?”

  To my relief, customers come now—a whole herd of them. It’s a couple of moms and about six kids between the two of them, and I somehow get myself together enough to be useful. After what seems like about twenty minutes, they are finally gone.

  “Why don’t you take your dinner break now,” I suggest, avoiding Simi’s eyes and hoping to escape her previous question.

  She takes off her apron, hangs it up, and walks out without saying a word. Okay, that makes me feel worse than anything, but I tell myself it’s no big deal. I mean, Simi’s a Christian. She has to forgive me, right?

  I hear a ringing sound from underneath the counter and realize it’s my cell. When I answer it, it’s Claire, and she’s upset.

  “It’s my moronic stepdad,” she says in a hysterical voice. “He’s making me crazy.”

  “Calm down,” I tell her. “What’s wrong?”

  “He says I’m grounded, that I can’t go to the prom. And I’m so—so—” And then she starts sobbing.

  “Take it easy,” I say. “Take a deep breath.”

  So she talks some more and begs me to meet her somewhere.

  “As long as it’s not a bar,” I warn her. “How about Starbucks over by the mall where I work?”

  So it’s agreed that we’ll meet after I get off.

  Simi comes back in exactly thirty minutes, almost as if to rub it in. But she’s still not saying anything. We continue on like that for the next hour, and finally it’s closing time and we go through the paces like two robots. No words, no visible emotions—just mechanical motions. Then it’s all locked up and we’re walking across the parking lot toward our cars and I just can’t take it anymore.

  “Okay!” I yell at Simi. “I’m a loser. I know it. I’m a total failure. I’m hopeless. But I told you this last week. I told you that I think I have a problem.”

  She turns and looks at me. “Are you an alcoholic?”

  “No,” I say quickly. “I just have a problem.”

  “Oh.”

  “But I won’t do it again, Simi,” I tell her. “Honestly, I don’t want to be like this, and I don’t want us to be like this. I’m going to quit—really.”