This is the follow on story to CW – Hello Walls. Most readers were up on arms about the way I left the hero, Alan, in a world of crap. This is the completion of that story.
It has been only a few months since Alan had taken up that apartment in Seattle and the previous story "Hello Walls" occurred.
Alan sat at the small corner table in the shabby, dimly lit bar. Taking a sip of his bourbon on the rocks, he almost spat it out. "Christ," he thought, "I can't even afford a decent drink, I got to buy this rot gut rail bourbon."
Alan had continued to crash and burn. He was working as a junior technician in the local hospital's medical testing lab. He was qualified for a much better job, but his continuing drinking problem had cost him three such jobs in the last ten months. He was lucky to have this job at the moment, since he had reported to work late three of the last five days.
His immediate supervisor was a 'Friend of Bill W.' and was working with Alan on addressing his drinking problem. But even this understanding man was about at the end of his toleration. He had told Alan that if he was late just one more in the next thirty days, he was out of another job.
Alan was listening to the old fashion jukebox playing a song by Skeeter Davis. He was listening to the words and comparing his own miserable life to that of the song.
Why does the sun go on shining?
Why does the sea rush to shore?
Don't they know it's the end of the world,
'Cause you don't love me any more?
Alan was just raising his hand to take another drink when a hand came over his shoulder and grabbed his wrist. A voice said, "Put it down you dumb shit. You don't need that."
Alan shot a glance over his shoulder and saw his supervisor standing there.
Alan pulled his arm loose and said, "Don't bother me. I'm off duty. As long as I show up on time for work tomorrow, you have nothing to say to me."
His supervisor sighed, "Alan, believe it or not I do have something to say to you. I'm a drunk just like you are. It's been three years, four months and three days since I last took a drink. I know what you are going through trying to give it up."
Alan smirked, "Give it up. Hell, I don't want to give it up. Getting drunk let's me forget how badly I have been screwed over. At least it let's me forget for a while."
With that he tipped the glass and drained the remaining amber liquid. He got the bartender's attention and held his glass up indicating he wanted another.
His supervisor looked at the bartender and shook his head. The bartender nodded and went back to wiping glasses.
Alan caught the exchange between his supervisor and the bartender and stood up, wheeled to face his supervisor and screamed, "Get out of my business. Just leave me alone!" He pushed his supervisor toward the door and then he turned to the bar and yelled, "You, bartender, damn you, make me another drink right now!"
The bartender stopped wiping the glass and sat it down on the counter. He looked at Alan and growled, "Buddy, I don't have to fix you shit! You're drunk again. Pay up and get out. I don't need any trouble from you tonight."
Alan was in an intoxicated fog. All he knew was these men were not allowing him to drink his memories away tonight. He was pissed about that. He stumbled to the bar and tried to grab the bartender by his shirt.
That was a bad move on his part. The bartender was an ex-NFL lineman who had blown out his knee in his rookie year. He dispatched Alan with little problem and called the police.
The cops who responded to the call took Alan to the station. He slept it off in the holding tank. They may have cut him a break, but he took a swing at the first blue suit he saw and they were forced to arrest him. They did cut him a small break by only arresting him for drunk and disorderly. They could have gotten him for taking a swing at a cop.
His supervisor was forced to fire him for not showing up at work the next morning.
One week later he had his day in court. He had been arrested for public intoxication over half a dozen times and the judge finally got fed up with his repeat offenses. He was sentenced to three months in the sheriff's rehab facility.
Alan accepted the regimentation placed on him by the rehabilitation team. He never complained or caused trouble, but he also never seemed to be interested in his surroundings. He went to the group and individual sessions as ordered by the court. He just didn't participate. He had been in the center for one month as we take up the story.
Alan's caseworker, Samuel Jenkins, was starring at him as he sat across the desk in one of the rehab center's private counseling rooms. "Alan, why are you being so stubborn? Just go with the flow and start actively participating in your sessions. You are a model inmate except for this stubborn attitude toward those folks trying to help you."
Alan thinly smiled and replied, "Mr. Jenkins, I try to do what I am told and not be a pain in the ass to any of the guards or workers here. But I just don't have the energy or desire to participate. Granted that I'm thinking clearer now than I was when I came into this place, and I feel the steady diet of healthy food has been good for me, but, you see, I just don't give a shit about my future. After all that has happened in my life, it's a wonder I just don't end this misery."
Sam Jenkins sat up sharply and looked at his charge in the eye. "Are you telling me you are contemplating suicide?"
Alan thought for a second and replied, "No, no, I'm not that crazy. Yet! I'm just saying that my use of alcohol is to deaden my memories of prior events in my life. I really don't even like booze, but booze helps me forget."
Sam studied Alan's face for a minute or more and then said, "Will you tell me about it? What has got you so depressed? Nothing can be that bad!"
