Hello friend, and welcome to Chapter Eight of The Journey.
As in much of the other chapters of the Journey, let me give a content warning for addiction, depression and racism.
~~ Springfield, Virginia, January ~~
"My name's Viv, and I'm an alcoholic. It's been thirty-one days since my last drink." My voice caught in my throat, and I paused to take a deep breath through my nose.
The scent of the church basement near my halfway house was a source of comfort for me now. The smell of old wood, old hymnals and burnt coffee filled me with a sense of belonging. Of safety. Early Saturday morning was my favorite time to come to a meeting. Fewer people, less pressure. And hopefully the chance to get my mind right to make it through another weekend sober.
"There's a woman, my ex-girlfriend... I'd... pushed her away, before I went to rehab. Didn't push her away so much as fucked her over, really. So, yeah, we broke up. When I got out of rehab, to my halfway house, I tried to wait. My sponsor said I should wait. But I couldn't. I went to her house to apologize to her. For fucking her over. You know, step eight."
My sponsor thought I needed to work on myself more before I did step eight, but I hadn't been able to wait. I'd been beating myself up non-stop about what I'd done.
"I hadn't thought... hadn't let myself hope... that she would forgive me, but I hoped that by apologizing to her I could... maybe forgive myself... So, I went to her. Apologized. Said my piece. And she didn't really... forgive me. At least, she didn't say the actual words. But we ended up going for coffee. Talking for a while. It was... nice. Unexpected."
Jane had let me monopolize the conversation, and I'd spent an hour spilling my guts, telling her not only everything about my twenty-eight days in Pinewood rehab, but also everything I'd admitted to or found out about myself in therapy. Coming to terms with the fact that I was an alcoholic. What had happened when I'd come out to Abuela. Exactly what had gone down at the bar with Mindy. My shame and guilt when I woke up in the hospital. I'd been like an exposed nerve, and Jane, bless her, had just listened, with surprisingly little judgment.
"We stayed in touch, afterwards. A few friendly texts, nothing serious, then a week later she asked if I wanted to meet her again sometime. And I said no."
That had surprised me more than it had her, I think.
"I told her that I did want to see her again, but I had to wait. Needed to wait. I relapsed about a week after I got out of rehab and I told her that. Told her I wanted to wait until I got my thirty-day chip back. That was three weeks ago."
I dug into my pocket, holding up the plastic disc I'd gotten the day before between two fingers, showing it to the room.
"Yesterday I texted her and told her I'd made it to thirty days again and now we're having lunch in—" I glanced at the clock on the wall, "Three hours. And I'm nervous as fuck."
I drew in a deep, shaky breath as I pocketed my chip.
"I barely slept last night. I wanted to drink so bad. It felt like pressure on my head from every direction, like I was sitting on the bottom of a swimming pool. My brain kept swinging back and forth all night from excitement that I'm going to see her again to anxiety that it'll go terribly. Or that it'll just be a friendly lunch, that I'll find out she's seeing someone. And a corner of my brain kept saying 'a few shots of tequila would put you right to sleep', then I wouldn't have to wait through a sleepless night to see what happens."
I looked down at my left hand, the nails chewed down to the quick. A nasty habit I'd acquired since I'd quit drinking.
"But I texted my sponsor, and my phone rang less than thirty seconds later."
I briefly closed my eyes, remembering the relief I'd felt. That there'd been someone there for me when I was feeling weak.
"He talked me off the ledge. I didn't sneak out, didn't break curfew to go to one of the four liquor stores within a half-mile of me. Instead I watched bad movies on my laptop, and finally fell asleep about four in the morning."
I looked around. I'd gotten to the meat of it.
"But I'm worried... I'm trying not to have any expectations of how things will go. I can't afford expectations. If I get my hopes up and nothing comes from it... it could make me spiral. When we were together, it was the best time of my life. She was the best thing that ever happened to me, and still my self-doubt caused me to spiral so badly that I got drunk and crashed my grandmother's car, almost lost my job and ended up in rehab. We're just going to lunch. It probably doesn't mean anything. And still, it's made me want to drink. I don't know what that means for me. Either with Jane or any relationship I'll ever have again."
I looked down. Scuffed the toe of my work boot across the wooden floorboards.
"I guess time will tell."
Two hours and forty minutes later, I showed up at the restaurant. Jane had been considerate enough to look up a lunch place not too far from my halfway house for us to meet, so I wouldn't have to spend a ton of time on public transit. It was less than a mile from where I was living. I'd shown up twenty minutes early. I'd been too nervous, too keyed up, and I'd power walked to the place, rationalizing that getting there early I could get us a good table. One where I wouldn't worry about someone listening in on our conversation.
When I walked in the door, I was disappointed that the table by the window in the back was occupied, but disappointment turned instantly to pleasure when I realized that the person occupying it was Jane. Her hazel eyes were looking out the window, one hand playing with the handle of a steaming mug of something in front of her.
I paused in the entryway, taking a moment to savor the vision of her. She was wearing a teal colored cowl neck sweater, her favorite leather jacket draped over the back of her chair. Her headwrap matched her sweater, as always. I remembered the time I'd commented how it seemed she had a head wrap for every outfit she owned and she'd shown me two drawers in her walk-in closet full of them, organized by color. A rainbow of her trademark look.
She turned, saw me standing there, and a smile graced her perfect lips.
She was so beautiful.
Chill the fuck out, Esparza,
I told myself,
no expectations, remember?
As I threaded my way through the tables towards her, I saw hesitation on her face and guessed that she was torn over whether to stand or not. Whether to greet me with a hug or handshake or play it cool. I saved her from having to make the decision, quickly pulling out the chair opposite her and sitting down.
"Hey, nice to see you again," I said, "You're early. I was sure I was going to beat you here."
"Well, I didn't feel like cleaning my house a third time this morning, so here I am."
She cleans when she's nervous. What does that mean?
"How've you been?" Jane asked me as she waved at the waiter, who held up his finger in the universal be-right-there signal and went into the kitchen.
"I'm doing okay. You already know I got my thirty-day chip back, so I'm definitely doing better than the last time we saw each other."
"You've lost so much weight since... since before. When you came to my house, my first thought was that you'd been sick or something."
"It's amazing how that can happen when you aren't drinking all the time," I said with a rueful chuckle.
I knew that I looked different now, what with my change in diet, not drinking every day and all the walking I did. I was almost gaunt in comparison to two months ago. My face wasn't nearly as round as it had been, my cheekbones more angular. I'd lost nearly twenty-five pounds since we'd broken up.
"I'm walking a lot more, my halfway house isn't on a bus line. Also, we had a nutritionist at the rehab to try and get us to change our eating habits, so I was eating a lot less junk for a while."
