My words sounded harsh, but I’d only meant them to be firm.
His eyes shot toward the ceiling and then settled on mine. “She’s engaged, Annie. She’s moved on.”
“She’s trying to move on. But it’s not over yet. All’s fair until they actually say ‘I do’. ”
“You don’t know Vi. When she settles a subject, she dots the i’s and crosses the t’s in permanent marker .” Trip dropped his burger onto his plate as if he’d lost his appetite.
“You mean like when she married you?” I knew I sounded sassy, but he needed a reality check; I happened to be there, so what the hell? “Trip, what if she still loves you and you let her go off and marry someone else without fighting for her? Is that a possibility you’re prepared to live with?”
I watched my words take root and start to germinate. I felt like I was catching a glimpse of the Trip who must have existed before booze destroyed so many of his relationships and brain cells. It was as if my notion lit a pilot light somewhere in his chest, and for a brief instant I prayed I wasn’t wildly off base about Violet and that I hadn’t overstepped my bounds.
“Hell no.” His eyes were downright fierce and his posture declared he was ready for war.
“Well, then,” I replied, as I felt a self-satisfied smile overtake me. “I have an idea.”
The coffee here is shit.
Everything else about the meeting room charmed me, from its musty smell and tattered American flag to the warped hardwood floors. There was even a fantastically kitschy painting of black Jesus on the far wall. I tilted my head to the side and really scrutinized the aggressive brush strokes. Whoever the artist was, he or she wasn’t half bad.
My need to romanticize the details of the room probably wouldn’t have surprised my shrink one bit. After all, this was where I took the first step toward saving my own life – what little there was left to save. But the coffee tasted like motor oil with a side of ass. I made up my mind to anonymously donate a high quality coffee machine and a few cases of the good stuff. Just because we were a bunch of drunks didn’t mean our taste buds deserved punishment.
I watched as several of the usual suspects filed in and each began to claim folding chairs scattered randomly throughout the room. There were a couple of new faces, but for the most part it was the regular diehard contingent of warriors fighting for sobriety. I felt like I knew most of these people better than I knew my own family. And these people most assuredly knew me much better than my family did.
As the meeting chairman shuffled papers around at the podium, I decided that I would not share that day. My mood was all over the place, and my attitude completely sucked. Now that I’d had time to consider Annie’s proposal, I thought the odds of her plan succeeding were less than one percent.
Annie’s entrance into my life had been well timed. I’d just attended my first few meetings and was looking for a reason to swim, not sink. Her exceptional looks captured my attention-I’m a red blooded man, after all-but her exuberant nature helped to lift me from my shadowy prison back into the sun. Annie reminded me a lot of Vi. More accurately, her aura reminded me of Vi’s aura. They shared a ferocious lust for life and meeting Annie was an inspiration when I needed it the most. When I first spotted her in the cemetery that day, I’d been toiling with whether sobriety was worth fighting for, or whether I should just go buy out a liquor store and let the intoxicating undertow drown me. Then she smiled in that playful way that she does, and it was like I’d been sent a guardian angel. Every encounter I had with her made me feel good about me, and that had been an addiction that matched alcoholism shot for shot. Even now that I’d come to my senses about taking up with her, her enthusiasm in regards to me fighting for my family had been virulently infectious. Now with
His eyes shot toward the ceiling and then settled on mine. “She’s engaged, Annie. She’s moved on.”
“She’s trying to move on. But it’s not over yet. All’s fair until they actually say ‘I do’. ”
“You don’t know Vi. When she settles a subject, she dots the i’s and crosses the t’s in permanent marker .” Trip dropped his burger onto his plate as if he’d lost his appetite.
“You mean like when she married you?” I knew I sounded sassy, but he needed a reality check; I happened to be there, so what the hell? “Trip, what if she still loves you and you let her go off and marry someone else without fighting for her? Is that a possibility you’re prepared to live with?”
I watched my words take root and start to germinate. I felt like I was catching a glimpse of the Trip who must have existed before booze destroyed so many of his relationships and brain cells. It was as if my notion lit a pilot light somewhere in his chest, and for a brief instant I prayed I wasn’t wildly off base about Violet and that I hadn’t overstepped my bounds.
“Hell no.” His eyes were downright fierce and his posture declared he was ready for war.
“Well, then,” I replied, as I felt a self-satisfied smile overtake me. “I have an idea.”
The coffee here is shit.
Everything else about the meeting room charmed me, from its musty smell and tattered American flag to the warped hardwood floors. There was even a fantastically kitschy painting of black Jesus on the far wall. I tilted my head to the side and really scrutinized the aggressive brush strokes. Whoever the artist was, he or she wasn’t half bad.
My need to romanticize the details of the room probably wouldn’t have surprised my shrink one bit. After all, this was where I took the first step toward saving my own life – what little there was left to save. But the coffee tasted like motor oil with a side of ass. I made up my mind to anonymously donate a high quality coffee machine and a few cases of the good stuff. Just because we were a bunch of drunks didn’t mean our taste buds deserved punishment.
I watched as several of the usual suspects filed in and each began to claim folding chairs scattered randomly throughout the room. There were a couple of new faces, but for the most part it was the regular diehard contingent of warriors fighting for sobriety. I felt like I knew most of these people better than I knew my own family. And these people most assuredly knew me much better than my family did.
As the meeting chairman shuffled papers around at the podium, I decided that I would not share that day. My mood was all over the place, and my attitude completely sucked. Now that I’d had time to consider Annie’s proposal, I thought the odds of her plan succeeding were less than one percent.
Annie’s entrance into my life had been well timed. I’d just attended my first few meetings and was looking for a reason to swim, not sink. Her exceptional looks captured my attention-I’m a red blooded man, after all-but her exuberant nature helped to lift me from my shadowy prison back into the sun. Annie reminded me a lot of Vi. More accurately, her aura reminded me of Vi’s aura. They shared a ferocious lust for life and meeting Annie was an inspiration when I needed it the most. When I first spotted her in the cemetery that day, I’d been toiling with whether sobriety was worth fighting for, or whether I should just go buy out a liquor store and let the intoxicating undertow drown me. Then she smiled in that playful way that she does, and it was like I’d been sent a guardian angel. Every encounter I had with her made me feel good about me, and that had been an addiction that matched alcoholism shot for shot. Even now that I’d come to my senses about taking up with her, her enthusiasm in regards to me fighting for my family had been virulently infectious. Now with
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