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Now here I am laughing with my sibling, telling off my so-called wife, and befriending a stranger. There is nothing about my life at this moment that is predictable. Or uneventful. And it sure as fuck isn’t safe. Not with thoughts like this roaming around in my head.
I force a half-smile to give them all an excuse to leave me alone, much as I’ve done in the past. “Yeah, I’m good.”
“Maybe we should eat,” Ma suggests, and I’m grateful for the distraction, even if the idea of food makes me want to hurl.
The conversation around the table doesn’t differ from any other time we’ve sat here. Vic talks endlessly about her on-again, off-again boyfriend. Grady and Ma bicker about the latest baseball scores. I sit there listening, rarely engaging, pushing my food around my plate. I get a few confused, sideways looks from Grady, Vic mostly ignores me, and Ma repeatedly offers me more spaghetti even though a full pile still remains on my plate. We are all sadly awkward with one another, just as we always have been. Only now I see it, the truth of who we really are. I believe it, but I just wish I understood it.
I’d like to be closer to my siblings and my only remaining parent. Having never known the father who died when I was young, I should have a very close relationship with my mother. But like me, she survives being walled off and silently protecting her heart. Like me, she chooses to remain alone. Lonely.
Fuck, is that what this is? Am I so damn lonely I’m willing to pick apart my life as if it were pieces of a puzzle? Am I so willing to see the bad in it all, and to see this odd friendship I have with Merrick as some type of saving grace? Obviously, sobriety is fucking with my head. Maybe if I start drinking again my damn brain will finally shut off and shut down for good.
Rising, I move across the tiny kitchen, reaching above the fridge into the cabinet. I keep a fresh stash of vodka just for moments like this, and thankfully Ma has never questioned my need to drink. She hasn’t questioned much of anything. Ever. Neither have my siblings. It’s just not something we do.
Juice glass in hand, I pour a few good shots into it and toss it back. The relief is sadly disappointing and I fear that even if I drank the entire bottle all these heavy thoughts in my head would still be there. Despite that, I pour another few fingers and drink those to, ignoring the curious looks from my family and grateful they remain silent. I pray that the numbness will quickly take hold and I can stop fixating on all these rampant and painful thoughts in my head.
Life was certainly easier when I didn’t care about anything except existing.
