Crash

                                                           It’s easier to not take the first drink than it is to stop before the second one.

                                                                                                             A life lesson and personal experience.







         Consciousness ripped Johnny from sleep like a fisherman’s hook jerking a fish from water. He laid still, eyes closed as he sorted out the mess of random thoughts pinwheeling in his brain. Where am I? What time is it? What happened last night? He cycled through questions until he landed on the one that always brought him out of this stupor. Where’s my wife? He slid his hand across the mattress expecting his fingertips to crash into Susan’s hips. What he found was the smooth, tidy void of a neatly made bed.

         He fought against the force holding his eyes closed and peeled his eyelids apart. Dim early morning light flowed through partially closed curtains. Dull light seared his pupils and stung his forehead. Beside him outstretched the expanse of Susan’s side of the bed, untouched.

         His first struggle to call out to her was cut short by a noncompliant dry throat. He strained a hard swallow and forced a second attempt. “Suze!” Her name resounded unanswered; the exertion caused another jolt of pain that ran from his temples down to his jaws. Twice more he called out and received no response.

         Red digital numbers on the bed side clock read 6:44. Where the hell is she this early on a Saturday morning. Not knowing where she was frustrated him, always had. She knew how he felt about her disappearing, especially when he was sleeping. He guessed it was her way of protesting him having a little fun last night. He had a couple of drinks and now she felt the need to throw a damned tantrum. Well, being petty is a two-player game darling. That little family trip to the zoo—well, they'd just have to see about that. He'd carry on with his morning without mentioning it, by 9:30 she would have already made several innuendos about getting ready and would be directly asking him to hurry up and get dressed. Before they finished the hour and a half trip they would’ve forgiven and forgotten, just another bump in the road.

         After a long hot shower, the idea of spending the day outside didn’t seem as bad. The sun would be a bitch for the first couple hours, but he’d manage. Time with his son, Colby, had been strained and almost nonexistent lately. He’d used a few excuses and canceled plans here and there with the boy. Today would be a good chance to make up for some lost time.

         He thought it strange Susan hadn’t made any noise yet. There’s no way she was still gone. Now would be a great time to find her and act like they’d just bumped into each other so he could start the cold-shoulder routine. She’d begin rushing everyone to get moving and be forced into breaking the silence.





         Outside of the bedroom the house was the same as the night before. Pieces of a busted coffee mug were scattered across the kitchen and dining room. A family portrait laid face down atop broken glass. He had no recollection of how the cup and picture had been broken, but he knew. A note on the dining room table confirmed his fear. The Susan he’d known didn’t write notes. In her mind leaving a note was a cheap trick to get out of an uncomfortable talk. Whatever was written in the note would be anything but a cheap trick. He read it:



                                                 You promised you would never do that again, you lied!

                                                 This time you had one of your drunk outbursts in front

                                                 of Colby. You terrified him. I won't have my son raised

                                                 In a home with an out of control drunk. I’m taking a

                                                 few days from work and we’re staying in Florida. I

                                                  want you out of this house when I get back. I mean

                                                 It this time.



         Johnny slid down the dining room wall and sat on the floor. Defeated. The house was empty. Not just in the sense that he was alone, a presence had left, happiness. He leaned against the wall, now a shell of the home Susan and he planned to retire and grow old in. They’d joked about seeing Colby off to college and rushing inside to make love. A joke that deep down he believed they both wanted. Two old fogies starting a new adventure. Now the plans had changed. She was probably in Florida by now and he had a few short days to be out. He sat for an eternity staring at the broken shards of the mug.









         On a sunny July morning two months after Johnny moved into a small house on the outskirts of town, his phone buzzed on the end table beside him. It was a text from Susan. “Colby said today will be fine. He will understand if you can't make it.” Her words were direct and to the point. In the kitchen, resting in the freezer and firmly tucked in the back of his brain was a bottle of cheap vodka. He had managed to go a week and a half without touching it.

         Sitting on the sofa, phone in hand and the bottle whirring in his mind, a thought came to him. Life had been a never-ending string of choices and repercussions. The problem is no one really does a good job explaining just how harshly a person is graded on those choices. If you’re bad at making them, you get pretty damned good at telling yourself everything will be okay. His daddy had a saying when Johnny was coming up. A hard head makes a soft ass. In Johnny’s experience it made a sore ass because life had absolutely no qualms about planting a boot in it whenever he screwed up. Maybe it’s less about the choice and more about understanding the consequence, he thought.

         He broke the seal on the vodka bottle and turned it up. Bubbles raced through the liquid as the liquor poured from the mouth of the bottle and fell in the sink. He watched numb and unaffected as it swirled down the drain. One sound decision of many more he would have to make.

         An arching toss hurled the empty bottle through the air, rebounding it off the wall and into the trash can. Game point. The door closed behind him. Johnny took his son to the zoo.


Approx. 1065 words