Writing Fiction posted June 18, 2023

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Man fighting for sobriety and family.

Regret

by GWHARGIS

It's just before eight, and the smell of fried chicken lingers in the air. The evening air is cool, humidity has eased back some.

My wife, Carolyn, is on the phone in the kitchen, her voice hushed like she's telling secrets.

"...if you're sure it's no trouble ... of course, I'll tell him, but he doesn't like to leave home." A small humorless laugh escapes her. "He's more like his daddy than I care to admit."

Her words sting. I step into the kitchen, watching as her shoulders stiffen when she realizes she isn't alone.

"Okay. I've got to run. I love you and I'll see you soon."

Carolyn doesn't turn around. She busies herself with the dishes in the sink.

"Who you gonna see soon?" I ask.

"That was Carol Anne."

"She coming for a visit?" I know damn well she isn't. Once she ran off with that marine boyfriend, she never came back. Except once, she came back for Pap's funeral. She can go without seeing her momma and daddy but she had to say goodbye to her Pap.

"I'm going to Richmond. Gonna go see her and Michael and the baby. "

I put my hand on her shoulder and turn her around. I smile at what she said. "You are, are you?" Poor Carolyn, she probably couldn't find her way to the other side of Patterson without help, let alone a city in the next state.

She squares her shoulders, tilts her face to look up at me. "Yes, Marshall, I'm going to see Carol Anne. I'm going to stay with them for a while. Until I can sort things out."

Her bravado makes me grin. It's totally out of character for her, but she sure as hell is sticking to it. I decide to humor her. "Just what do you need to sort out, darlin'?"

She looks away, towards the sink. "It's all right there."

I follow her lead and look past her. Taped to the faucet is a piece of paper. As I reach for it, I see her flinch, and she skirts past me.

"What is this?" I mutter and snatch it free. There's one sentence written on the page: Drinking or me.

I flip it over when I realize something else is attached. Its her wedding band. She hasn't ever taken it off since I slipped it on her finger the day we got married. "What is this?"

"Don't do this, Marshall."

"Do what?"

"Act like I've blindsided you."

I smack the edge of the sink. "You hit me with this at eight o'clock in the damned evening and you don't think that's blindsiding me?"

Carolyn lifts the cup towel off the counter and folds it, carefully pressing the edges until it's straight. "I can't live like this anymore."

"This house may not be much, but we've almost paid it off. You want a bigger place, shit, we can go talk to a realtor this weekend."

I look at her. Her eyes are red, bloodshot from crying.

"What is it, Carolyn? "

She shakes her head as anger replaces her sadness. "I wrote it down. It's right there in big block letters. Are you in such denial that you really don't understand that?"

"I'll cut back."

"No you won't. I've heard that promise before."

I brush past her and throw open the refrigerator door. I grab the half empty Mason jar of moonshine. Holding it out to her, I feel my mouth start to water. "Here, pour it out. It's some of Andy's finest stuff. Go on, pour it out."

Her hands go to her face. "You aren't the man I married," she whispers. "You wouldn't touch the stuff when we first got married. Do you remember that?"

I set the jar on the counter next to the fridge. "Things change."

"Yes, they do," she says softly. She slips by me as she heads for the living room. "I'm leaving in the morning, Marshall."

I walk across the kitchen to the sink. I stare out the window, too stunned and maybe too proud to stop her.

***************

The burger I grabbed after work is sitting like a rock in my belly. The air went out in my truck so I roll my window down and wait.

The Community Center is an ugly building. No architectural interest, just a boring gray building at the edge of Patterson Proper.

Glancing around I realize I'm a bit early. After a few, a car pulls in next to me. A young lady, though I use the term loosely, is in the driver's seat. She looks too young to be here for the same reason as me. Her hair is blacker than the devil's eyes and definitely store bought. She's checking her raccoon makeup in the rear view mirror.

I look away before she catches me watching her. Pretty soon two more, then three cars pull into the lot. I've seen some of these people around town, but I don't know them. Don't know them by name and I don't care to. I'm here for one reason and one reason only. To prove to Carolyn that I can stop drinking.

I think about the look on Andy's face earlier today when I told him I wouldn't be buying a couple of quarts of his peach 'shine. It was priceless.

"Not this week, Andy."

"Bills tight? I can let you pay me later if that'd make things easier."

I rub the back of my neck. "It ain't about the money. It's Carolyn. She's riding my ass, but good. Threatening to leave." I leave out the part that she's already gone.

Andy scratches his thin scraggly hair. "Because of this?"

"Says I'm not the Marshall she married." Even though I'm laughing while telling him the abridged version of things, I feel the ache of the sucker punch she gave me.

A voice brings me back to the moment.

"You here for the meeting?" the old man asks. He's eighty, if he's a day.

"Yes."

"They just unlocked the door. You can come in, if you want."

He doesn't wait for me, just walks on down the sidewalk, leaving me to do my walk of shame alone.

****************

Twelve people are sitting in a semi-circle. A few people sit together but most of them are sitting one chair apart. I look around trying to figure out the easiest place sit that gives me a straight shot to the exit when this is over.

Raccoon girl smiles and pats the seat next to her. Nodding and praying I'm not blushing, I obediently head over to the seat next to her.

"First time?" she asks.

"Yep."

"Charla," she says, offering her hand to me. Her fingernails are painted some unnatural shade of blue.

"Marshall."

"Good to meet you."

I catch a whiff of spearmint. I wonder if she's trying to cover the smell of something else. I look around at a few others.

"It's okay to be nervous. I threw up for an hour before my first meeting." She leans in closer. "We've got a good core group. You'll likely be paired up with Ray or Tim."

"Thanks," I mumble.

Charla taps my arm, then nods at a guy with a crew cut. "That's Shawn. He's pretty messed up. Booze, pills, whatever he can get his hands on. PTSD. Served in the Middle East. Messed him up bad."

I groan. Last thing I want is a run down on every person and a laundry list of their issues. But I sneak a look at the guy, Shawn. He's a good fifteen years younger than me. Hunched over, looking like he's wound tighter than a tick. I frown.

"Don't worry about him. He's a nice guy. Cries a lot. Can't talk about his time over there without crying. Sometimes, Ray and him will go over to the corner during the meeting. Ray was in Vietnam. He understands all the crazy stuff Shawn saw. They're good together like that."

I nod. They're an unlikely pair. The old guy, looking all passive and calm, and the young one, tense and nervous. Both probably bound up by secrets they can't tell except to each other.

Charla taps my arm. "You drink today?"

"No."

"Good. You don't drink every day then, right?"

"No. I have a job and a family."

She smiles, revealing perfectly straight pearly whites behind her dark stained lips. "I have a little girl."

I nod without a word. I don't care. I don't want to know about her or her little girl. I don't care about Tim or Ray or even messed up Shawn.

I don't want to be here.

******************

Shawn looks my way, says nothing more than "hey". He goes back to staring at his shoes.

Charla holds up her hand like a school girl, but instead of waiting to be called on she just starts talking. "This is Marshall."

Jesus, I think, get me out of here, but I don't move.

"Welcome," the older man, Ray, says. I've seen him around but I'm not sure where. Then after a couple of seconds it dawns on me. He was a basketball coach a few years ago. Back when my boy, Dean, used to play. Most people would think that would be a warm and fuzzy memory, but it isn't. I don't have any warm and fuzzy memories with Dean.

Ray seems to be the leader, even though he's soft spoken and a tad dry. When he's speaking, every eye is on him.

"I stayed true this week," he says, a slight smile turns the corner of his mouth. "Every single day, I tried to talk myself into having a drink. And every single day, I talked myself out of it. God willing, the talking myself out won this week."

Charla let's out a hoot and throws her fist in the air.

"I got offered an oxy. But I just pictured my little girl." She takes a deep breath and let's out in a long, slow breath. "I held out."

Her statement is met with cheers. Ray lets his eyes settle on me. "Marshall, would you like to tell us a little about yourself?"

I don't look up. Don't want to face the inquisitive eyes, just hold up my hand like I'm warding off a pushy waitress. "I'm good."

"It's fine if you don't," Ray says.

A tall black man stands. "Next Thursday will mark one hundred days sober."

Again, Charla hoots like she's at the track and her horse is winning. "I'm bringing cupcakes next Thursday," she says.

The black man laughs. "Lord, girl, you're always baking something sweet."

"That's my other addiction."

I check my watch. It's been twenty minutes. The longest twenty minutes of my life. My mind goes to Andy. It's still early maybe I can still meet up with him. But Carolyn pushes his face out of my head, and the damned wedding band sitting on the kitchen counter where I left it.

She can't leave me. Where would she go? She doesn't have a real job. And she'd never leave Dean. If she was serious about leaving me, she would have taken him with her. She's coming back. How many nights will she be satisfied on a couch in a strange city?

I'll go to a few more meetings. Enough to convince her I'm serious this time. And I can stop. I don't need it. I just like what Andy makes. He's a master of his craft. I'll come back to a few more meetings, get back in her good graces. She'll forgive me. She always forgives me. This time will be no different.

I try to pay attention to what everybody is saying. They're just a bunch of losers. Crying over shit that don't mean a damn thing. I bite the inside of my lip, to keep my mouth shut. I can't let those words out that are dancing on the end of my tongue. I don't need this. I'm not like them. I'm not.

I'll do it for you, Carolyn. I can go through the motions for you. But, I'm not the one with the problem.

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Man fighting for sobriety and family.

Regret

by GWHARGIS

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