I thought I’d take a break from that absolute garbage that I try to masquerade as story writing.
After #4s last drunken escapade, I made him leave and thought he was in rehab. He wasn’t. He had passed out at the liquor store and the woman who worked there called Loser. He came and got him and took him to the hospital. After #4 sobered up, the doctor told him that his pancreas was dying and if he drank again, he would die.
Loser brought him to my house because #4 wanted to get some of his clothes. That’s how I found out where he had been and who he had been with. He finally seemed to be on the path to recovery, with Losers’ help.
#4 has 6 arrests for public drunk and open container. Four of them are here and two are in other cities. He had court last week and asked me if I would go with him. Fortunately (after many encounters) I know the arresting officer. She told me she would help him as much as she could.
Three of the arrests and the fines (which were substantial) were thrown out at her recommendation. He has another one tomorrow and I don’t know the officer, so I guess we’ll see what happens.
Loser was going to pick him up last Saturday and spend some time with him so that I could have lunch with my friend from high school. #4 was not happy about “leaving my comfortable house and having to stay in a motel for that asshole.” Loser has been putting him up in a hotel, and stays with him almost all day, which is good.
It’s funny. My son had no problem seeing his then married daddy parading around that WTC but he has a problem with divorced me wanting to spend time with a friend.
Friday, #4 was feeling antsy and wanted to do something. I could tell he didn’t like the idea of having to leave and he also didn’t like the idea of another man coming down here to see me. I told him that I would take him to the thrift store that he likes to visit but I was not going to buy him anything because he always lost it.
On the way home, he was acting more and more agitated, so I told him I was going to take him out to eat. “You need some vegetables,” I said. He wanted to come home first but I told him no.
When we got to the restaurant, he was overly chatty and his pupils were completely dilated. He said he was “tired.” We got home and he started acting stranger, like wanting to go out and smoke, when he had just finished smoking. He started saying “alright then” to everything I said.
I made him go to bed at 6 and breathed a sigh of relief. He got back up at 9 and wanted to go smoke. I told him to go ahead. He turned around, said “alright then” and walked back down the hall.
When I got up the next morning, every light was on and there were glasses and cups with water and cigarette butts in them. He couldn’t get out, so he just smoked in the house.
Loser was going to pick him up at 10 and I tried to roust #4. He didn’t budge. I got close enough to see that he was breathing but he didn’t move. I don’t know why but I checked his drug bottles. He has been taking Trazodone to help him sleep. Out of thirty, he should have had 13 left but there were only 7. My natural conclusion was that he had overdosed on Trazodone.
I emailed Loser and told him that #4 was out of it and it was iffy if he would be lucid enough to leave with him and I would cancel my plans. My friend called and I told him to give me a little time and I would get back to him. I decided that it would be better if I drove up there instead of him coming down here.
Loser emailed me and told me he was at McDonald’s. I told him I couldn’t get #4 up so for him to just come over and see if he could.
He pulled into my driveway and got out. I don’t know if I wanted to point and laugh or just be sick. He looked awful. He has this long, gnarly grey and yellow ponytail halfway down his back and his clothes looked like he had slept in them. I do remember thinking “he looks just like that WTC he’s shacking up with.”
He came in and looked around and said “this looks nice.” I didn’t say anything to him. I just led him to the bedroom where #4 was. We went in and he pulled the covers off of #4. He got up and we went outside so they could smoke. We both thought he had taken too many Trazodone and he said his “brain was feeling fuzzy.” He couldn’t form a coherent sentence and I told Loser that he sounded drunk.
Loser took him to the emergency room and emailed me. #4s head and everything was okay (considering the shape of his liver, pancreas and gall bladder.) Loser said he was surprised though because they took blood and his BAC was .263. He believed that the doctor misread it or was reading the one from the last time because he had no idea how #4 could have gotten booze.
It was late when he emailed me so I didn’t respond. The next morning, I felt like I had been hit with a 2 x 4. I remembered that when #3 came up, she asked me to buy some Vodka, which I did. Why, I don’t know. She had a few shots and I put the bottle in the freezer. That was almost a year ago.
When #4 showed up in February, I remembered it and took it out and hid it under my extra sofa cover in the laundry room. It never occurred to me that he would find it. It took an hour before I went in to check.
My heart sank when I saw that it was gone. I searched his room and couldn’t find it. Finally, I looked under the mattress and found the empty bottle. I had to look up how much Vodka it was. It was a half-gallon and he drank it all, minus the two shots #3 had. So, MOM was how #4 got the booze. I felt like I needed to be taken outside and either shot or beaten to death. How could I have been so fucking stupid? What kind of worthless, idiotic mama keeps a bottle of Vodka in her house when she has an alcoholic son?
When #4 came back to my house for his next court date (tomorrow) we talked a bit about what he had done. I have made a concerted effort not to refer to his daddy as Loser or piece of shit, or penis breath scumbag or maggot. My precious #4. He said he thought it (his drinking binge) had happened so that Loser and I could start communicating. I actually think because we can exchange information, it has helped #4. I want Loser and #4 to have as much physical contact as possible. All #4 has ever wanted from Loser was his approval, his attention and his affection. I think, at least for now and even if it is pretentious, which I believe it is, he is finally getting it.
#4 has told me that he absolutely does not want to see that WTC or his drunken grandma. He has told Loser that he won’t go to their houses. That’s why he wants to stay with me instead of going to the hotel. I understand.
It has been good for #4 but it has not been good for me. When Loser drops him off, he is not invited to come in but #4 said he wants me to “wave at him.” I asked why and he said “he wants to make sure everything’s alright.” After everything he and that WTC have done, he’s suddenly concerned that “everything’s alright?” Are you fucking kidding me? Sure. I’m alright as soon as you drive your ass away.
I am a pretty decent thespian when necessary but I finally had to have a chat with him last night. I told him that I felt like I needed to tell him something…and I would say it and then talk about it no more.
I said “the last thing I ever wanted was for your daddy to be back in my life. When he pulls into my driveway, I can’t breathe. It’s not because I’m mourning. My hatred for him is not a dying ember. It is a white-hot blaze.”
“When I look at him, I see a PIMP. A pimp who thought he was entitled to parade his WTC around and treat her like she was his wife, then lie to her and sneak behind her back so that he could treat his wife like she was his whore.”
#4 looked down and said nothing.