Read Online Something To Dream On by Diane Rinella - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Diane Rinella
Ads: Link
to Bertha for a lonely ride home. “What triggered it?”
Now that is an odd question. A reasonable one, but an odd one. “Stupidity and thinking that was the way musicians live. I was on the verge of getting help when I saw my brother get hit by a car and die. He had just gotten clean. Instead of that being a wake up call, I let it send an excuse that living clean is pointless, because you just die anyway. Part of me wanted to die so I would never have to worry about watching someone suffer again.”
Paul sets his hand on my shoulder. On the rise of my eyes to meet his, I catch rivers of scars on his arms. The track marks are just about faded to nothing, but I sure see them. “Been there. Done that,” he says. “You got a sponsor?”
Here is where I am going to lose the battle. This will sound crazy to him, but I keep my eyes on his anyway. “As stupid as this may sound to some, I’ve found my best success on my own. For some reason, whenever I get around people, even those with the best intentions, I make excuses. When there is no one to face other than me, I’m stronger. There is also the fact that I lost every good friend I had when I became an addict. The ones I made after that wanted me to stay wasted, so I’m going it alone. I don’t want to risk trusting the wrong people and failing.”
“Well, you’re doing a pretty good job at talking to me now.”
My eyes stay locked, and I don’t even blink when I say, “Maybe it’s because you understand that banishing the scum in your life and then getting and staying sober for yourself is one thing. Once you start meeting good people, it’s even more crucial that you don’t fall from grace. Second chances are important, but I’m not so sure that people deserve a third.”
Paul sucks in his lips, and I can sense the pondering. I may have overstepped, because how many chances did he need? His nod is subtle, but it drives home the point before his words do. “If you need help, you call me. You and I, we’re cool, but if you fuck up, even if my little girl is nowhere around when it happens, you will wish I only ripped your balls off. Got it?”
I make certain to not let the eye contact waver. “Loud and clear.”
“Don’t take too long. You make sure she knows before she gets attached, and you certainly don’t make any moves until she’s got the full story. Agreed?”
“Most definitely.” Shit, my voice didn’t crack, did it? It felt like it cracked that time.
He double pats my back. It seems to be his signature thing. From the neck of the Stratocaster, he grabs a pick, writes on it, and then hands it to me. His eyes square in on mine again, and I nod in acknowledgement of being given my ninety-day sobriety chip. As soon as I do, he heads back to the car like the case is closed and we can move on, but I’m not ready. “Hey, Paul. Thank you. I needed someone to know and to not have him treat me like scum. It helps.”
“I get that, too. Any time, kid.”
Lizetta comes out wearing a Sharks jersey, and as much as Paul says we are cool, I also feel she has saved the day because I am so done with my past and don’t want to think about it for another second. The sparkle in Lizetta’s smile reminds me that she is one of the many reasons why I am staying clean. I have missed out on so much.
“Hey, Paul,” she says. “You’d better hurry. Mom’s standing in front of her jewelry box, so she’s almost ready.”
“That’s my cue! Funny how it takes men about as much time to shower, shave, and throw on a suit as it does women to pick out jewelry. Have fun kids! Catch a puck for me.”
The bed feels unusually comfortable as I slip in. It’s much like I imagine a cloud in heaven would feel.
Tonight I had a date with a guy who opened doors for me, carried my jacket, watched hockey with me, shared garlic fries with me (even if he did fib and say it was only so we could share garlic breath), and who gave me the sweetest kiss goodnight after
Now that is an odd question. A reasonable one, but an odd one. “Stupidity and thinking that was the way musicians live. I was on the verge of getting help when I saw my brother get hit by a car and die. He had just gotten clean. Instead of that being a wake up call, I let it send an excuse that living clean is pointless, because you just die anyway. Part of me wanted to die so I would never have to worry about watching someone suffer again.”
Paul sets his hand on my shoulder. On the rise of my eyes to meet his, I catch rivers of scars on his arms. The track marks are just about faded to nothing, but I sure see them. “Been there. Done that,” he says. “You got a sponsor?”
Here is where I am going to lose the battle. This will sound crazy to him, but I keep my eyes on his anyway. “As stupid as this may sound to some, I’ve found my best success on my own. For some reason, whenever I get around people, even those with the best intentions, I make excuses. When there is no one to face other than me, I’m stronger. There is also the fact that I lost every good friend I had when I became an addict. The ones I made after that wanted me to stay wasted, so I’m going it alone. I don’t want to risk trusting the wrong people and failing.”
“Well, you’re doing a pretty good job at talking to me now.”
My eyes stay locked, and I don’t even blink when I say, “Maybe it’s because you understand that banishing the scum in your life and then getting and staying sober for yourself is one thing. Once you start meeting good people, it’s even more crucial that you don’t fall from grace. Second chances are important, but I’m not so sure that people deserve a third.”
Paul sucks in his lips, and I can sense the pondering. I may have overstepped, because how many chances did he need? His nod is subtle, but it drives home the point before his words do. “If you need help, you call me. You and I, we’re cool, but if you fuck up, even if my little girl is nowhere around when it happens, you will wish I only ripped your balls off. Got it?”
I make certain to not let the eye contact waver. “Loud and clear.”
“Don’t take too long. You make sure she knows before she gets attached, and you certainly don’t make any moves until she’s got the full story. Agreed?”
“Most definitely.” Shit, my voice didn’t crack, did it? It felt like it cracked that time.
He double pats my back. It seems to be his signature thing. From the neck of the Stratocaster, he grabs a pick, writes on it, and then hands it to me. His eyes square in on mine again, and I nod in acknowledgement of being given my ninety-day sobriety chip. As soon as I do, he heads back to the car like the case is closed and we can move on, but I’m not ready. “Hey, Paul. Thank you. I needed someone to know and to not have him treat me like scum. It helps.”
“I get that, too. Any time, kid.”
Lizetta comes out wearing a Sharks jersey, and as much as Paul says we are cool, I also feel she has saved the day because I am so done with my past and don’t want to think about it for another second. The sparkle in Lizetta’s smile reminds me that she is one of the many reasons why I am staying clean. I have missed out on so much.
“Hey, Paul,” she says. “You’d better hurry. Mom’s standing in front of her jewelry box, so she’s almost ready.”
“That’s my cue! Funny how it takes men about as much time to shower, shave, and throw on a suit as it does women to pick out jewelry. Have fun kids! Catch a puck for me.”
The bed feels unusually comfortable as I slip in. It’s much like I imagine a cloud in heaven would feel.
Tonight I had a date with a guy who opened doors for me, carried my jacket, watched hockey with me, shared garlic fries with me (even if he did fib and say it was only so we could share garlic breath), and who gave me the sweetest kiss goodnight after
Similar Books
