My fingers tightened on the steering wheel as I stared, and I imagined what it would feel like to drown in a bottle until I couldn’t feel anything anymore. That’s what I was after. Escape, relief from this pain. But at the end of that bottle were too many possibilities, and none of them were pretty. Pussy, a fight, a drunk driving accident, who knew.
I finally managed to get the key back in the ignition, start the truck, and drive away. This time I ended up in the parking lot of Shady Oaks. There were only a few cars there—likely the ones belonging to the night staff. I couldn’t go in. I knew that. Not until normal visiting hours at eight o’clock, but I wasn’t certain why I was there anyway, so I’m not sure it really mattered.
Instead, I stared at the building, imagining my old man tucked into a hospital bed, his brain a mis-wired mess of synapsis. It sure would have been nice if this stroke had miraculously turned him kind. Maybe that’s all it was really. A wire threaded into the wrong nerve center. It was nothing more than a birth defect. Maybe somewhere in there was a father who knew how to love his son, wanted to love his son even.
When I looked at the dashboard clock again, it was nearly two in the morning. I grabbed my cell phone, dialed Helene, and hit send. She would either not answer because she was sound asleep and I’d leave what would likely prove to be a very poorly advised message, or she would answer and I would do… What would I do? I started to panic.
But then it was too late.
“What do you want?” Her words sounded slurred, but it wasn’t sleep. She was intoxicated.
“Are you drunk?” I knew she was. I remembered drunk-Helene-voice from high school. She didn’t sound stupid drunk, but there was no mistaking it.
“You needn’t worry about my drinking habits. They don’t concern you.” She stumbled through her words. “What do you want?” she repeated.
“I just need to tell you something.” But then I couldn’t figure out what to say. My heart continued to pound.
“That you’re a selfish prick who thought more about fucking me than you did the emotional fallout? Is that what it was? Huh? You just needed to fuck me on your own terms? Get it out of your system before you moved on? Huh?” Her voice was angry and loud.
“No,” I mumbled.
“Then what?” She practically yelled the question.
“I needed to fall in love with you!” I snapped back just as loudly. “I…” But then the words were gone again. “I don’t want to hurt you, Helene.”
She laughed, but it was all cruelty and anger. “This isn’t about hurting me. Remember? It’s about hurting you. And I’m your best weapon, aren’t I? Our past, our present, my feelings, your own even, it all makes for one hell of a Molotov cocktail, doesn’t it—flirting with disaster as the fuse burns down.” Her voice was oddly calm as she slurred slowly through her words—all of them just as poignant as if she were sober. Her brain could do amazing things even intoxicated. “You’re contemplating it now aren’t you? How to hurt yourself with me. What you can do to feel the most pain, the most disappointment, the most shame.” She was silent for a moment. “I wanted to be enough for you.” And then her voice cracked, and the pain the alcohol had likely been masking quite effectively showed through.
“You are everything to me,” I said emphatically.
“Sometimes nothing is enough—not even everything.”
It was silent for a while, neither of us saying anything.
“Were you going to tell me? Or were you just going to sneak off in the middle of the night like last time?”
My lips trembled, and I pressed on the middle of my forehead. “I…” I sighed. “I was still trying to decide if I could stay here. I wanted to—”
“Right,” she muttered angrily. “Let me guess. It was my job to talk you out of leaving again.”
“No,” I said quietly.
“Why am I not enough?” Her voice broke again. She was falling apart. “I wasn’t eleven years ago, and I’m not now. What does it take to be enough for you?”
“This isn’t about you,” I shook my head. “I mean…” I sighed. “It isn’t about wanting to leave you. I never wanted to. I never will want to. It’s about…” My lips felt tight, and they kept trembling as I tried to get the words to form.
But I couldn’t.