Second Best Fantasy (17 page)

I said nothing.

“I’ve watched you be sober and not sober, alive and enjoying life and in the blackest depressions. You have thrived and you have struggled, but you have always known who you are and where you stand, at least, until now. I know you better than anyone, even Janine.”

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Agreed.

“Maggie, how on earth can you expect her to give up her favorite drug when you refuse to give up yours?”

In that instant, I had a moment of clarity unlike any other.

It was so simple, but I had run from the truth for so long it was unrecognizable to me until it was laid on the table in plain sight.

Oh, how I wished I could take back the last year, even the last month. To have done things differently, to stop blaming others and take some responsibility.

Since I had managed to become a “controlled drinker” I thought my problem was solved. But it wasn’t, not even close.

The truth was I spent most of my time planning and thinking about and anticipating the next drink, all day, all night, all the time. I denied those 12 step people because they insisted I admit my powerlessness, and I could not. Until now.

And then there was Janine. My beautiful, sweet, tortured Janine, who I had claimed to love more than anyone, or anything. But that wasn’t entirely true if I would never choose her over liquor, was it?

I had been staring into the bottom of a glass for so long, trying to drown out my fear of losing her to heroin, when in reality every drink I took pushed her closer into its comforting arms, just as every fix she had pushed me back in the bottle. At one time we only wanted to run towards each other, but somewhere along the line our addictions and habits had won out over love.

I wasn’t sure when they had become more important to us than each other but clearly they had. Alcohol and heroin had been building a wall between us, and as the walls of our own lives crumbled, that structure had become bigger and more solid, like invisible demons had been picking up the debris on the outside and carrying it into the middle of what we were, or, at least, what we could have been. With absolute certainty, the kind you feel way down even into your bones, I knew what I had to do. And I also knew it might very well be the end of us, that if I changed, there was no guarantee Janine would too.

“Maggie?”

Through a veil of tears I saw Cindy, a living testament to 117

the kind of woman I had always wanted to be.

“Take me to a meeting.”

* * * *

“Janine, are you listening to me?”

“Yeah. I am. Believe me, I am.”

Dean and Sheila had been sitting with her for nearly two hours. When she arrived at the house, she was just coming down from her last fix, so the first hour had been dedicated to alternately vomiting and having Sheila mop her brow with a wet cloth. But the shakes had now passed, and the shame and guilt had returned. Janine sat there and thought, how did it come to this? Maggie, my darling Maggie. We were so in love once, so happy. I’m so, so sorry.

“Dean, do you think if I get clean she will stop drinking?”

“I don’t know, honey. I really don’t. But that can’t be what makes your decision for you.”

“I know. I have said for years now I can’t imagine my life without her, but the truth is she hasn’t been in it for a long time now, not really. Not fully present. Neither of us has. I love her so much.”

“We know you do,” Sheila said. “But this isn’t about the two of you anymore; it’s about you and your life, your choices.

With or without Maggie.”

Janine recalled all her snapshot memories. Seeing Maggie for the first time at Avenue A Records. How it killed her to leave Maggie when the tour brought her far away from home.

How it felt the first time Maggie had said, “I love you” and how terrified she looked to even think it, let alone say it.

But then she thought about her accidental overdose last week Maggie didn’t even know about. She thought about the increasingly seedy places she’d been visiting these past few weeks in search of more connections and cheaper supply. She thought about the men, and the things she had become willing to do with those men in order to get her next fix.

“My God. What have I done?” she said out loud.

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* * * *

In my brief visits into recovery, I had sometimes heard others talk about the experience of sitting in their 3rd, or 25th, or 100th meeting, and suddenly everything that was said made perfect sense. That day, I had that very experience. Listening to words my brain normally formulated response to like, “Bullshit,”

or “Yeah, maybe for you” was suddenly a vastly different experience. I didn’t know
what
was different exactly, it was the same meeting I had been to before, with largely the same people I had seen before, espousing all the same wisdom they had said before. But now it had changed.

Miraculously, I could see myself in their eyes, hear my life in the stories they told, a warm feeling of kinship washed over me. I hadn’t felt anything like it since my very first gay pride parade when I was eighteen. Then the realization came of what the feeling was, it had been so long since I had felt it that it seemed foreign. But at the end of the meeting, holding hands with strangers on either side of me, I knew what it was. Hope.

* * * *

“Yes. Yes, J-O-R-D-A-N, that’s right. 7 AM tomorrow?

Okay then, I’ll be there.”

Janine hung up the phone and fought the urge to call the receptionist back at the treatment center and say, “Never mind.”

“We’re very proud of you,” Sheila said, and hugged Janine.

“Should I call Sam?”

“I’ll talk to Sam. Don’t you worry about that. And I’ll make sure he makes the right calls to our insurance company.”

“Dean, you have always been like a father to me. Do you know how much I appreciate that?”

“Well, kiddo, you’ve been like a daughter to me too. An ungrateful, out-of-control teenage daughter, but a daughter nonetheless.”

The three of them laughed and then everyone got quiet, the heaviness of reality hung in the room.

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“What will I say to her?” Janine said, her voice cracking.

“Go home to her,” Sheila replied. “Open your heart, and the right words will come.”

* * * *

When I got home Janine still wasn’t there. But it didn’t matter. I had made up my mind, and if it’s one thing I could say about myself, it was that I had an unbreakable stubborn streak.

Maybe if I could set a good example, she would follow me into a sober life. And maybe she wouldn’t, I had become willing to risk that for my own well-being.

I had believed she was my soul mate from the very beginning, and I sincerely believed if we did not survive this, there would never be another. There never
could
be another. Not after Janine. And I was sort of okay with that.

I had not told Janine my doctor’s visit last week was both awful and prophetic. My doctor that I’d had for all the years I’d been with Phantom looked me in the eye and told me in no uncertain terms if I continued to drink my liver would fail me, and sooner than later.

Yet even then sobriety hadn’t really looked like an option.

I’d had no idea what happened to me today between this morning and now, but whatever it was there was no going back and no changing my mind. I started opening cabinets and emptying bottles into the sink, the same way Janine had done when I tried to get sober the first time. But this feeling was entirely different; there was no direct consequence or action that caused overwhelming guilt. This was just me, taking action that went against the grain of my very core.

When the last bottle was empty I went from absolute confidence to deathly afraid in an instant. Something deep within me crawled out from a very, very dark place and took over my mind and body, I don’t know how else to describe it. I think recovery people call it “the disease.” Whatever it was, it began to speak to me, and with each word it uttered, I became more afraid.

It told me my life would be empty without any mood 120

altering substances. It asked me if I really wanted to give up those feelings of invincibility, of euphoria, of calm and peace I could still sometimes achieve with a few drinks. It told me there was absolutely no way Janine would stay, and that I would never recover from that.

“Shut up!” I yelled to an empty room. Never before had I recognized this voice, but clearly it had been there all along, getting louder and louder as I moved towards betraying it.

I had an idea. An idea that would calm the beast and still let me get sober. I was afraid if I drank alcohol I would die on the spot, that my liver would give out right then and there. Besides, I had just poured every last libation down the drain. But what
was
left in the house was the residue inside the bag on the coffee table. Surely other people had done this, gotten one last good feeling before they entered the stark realm of both physical and emotional withdrawal?

I convinced myself what I was about to do was perfectly fine. I would make tomorrow my “sobriety date” and carry out my mission as planned. Right after this. Besides, I had always been curious. I had always wondered what was so captivating to keep Janine and others like her going back again and again and again. So I took a razor blade and scraped out the inside of the bag. There was enough for just a small bump, which was fine with me. I just wanted to try it, just this once, then clean and sober forever. I had never used a needle in my life and had no idea how to inject drugs. So I pushed the spoon and the needle aside and snorted it.

* * * *

“We’re really glad you came back.”

“Me too.” Janine said. She got a light from the girl who had spoken to her, glad she had decided to come to a meeting before going home to Maggie. She had even talked about it in the meeting, something she had never done before the handful of times she’d been there before. Usually she only went to a meeting when Maggie had, because Maggie had. But today was
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different. Today she came because she was leaving for treatment in the morning, and for the first time ever, she wanted what these people had. She wanted to quit using, and was willing to do anything to get that.

“If she really loves you, she’ll support you,” the girl said.

“I know.”

Janine got in the car and felt not afraid but excited.

Maggie couldn’t possibly be any happier drinking than she had been using. It would be okay. Hadn’t she herself always believed that love conquers all?

* * * *

I knew I had made a horrible mistake. I felt paralyzed and blood ran down out of my nose and onto my upper lip.

Oh, fuck,
was all I could think.

Then,
call 911, you’re okay, you’re okay.

As I reached for the phone, I knew it was most certainly
not
okay. I clutched my chest and fell onto the floor reaching for the phone.

* * * *

Janine stood for a moment in the driveway, gathering her resolve. It had to be this way, no matter what happened, no matter how Maggie reacted. Then she did something she hadn’t done in a very long time, she looked skyward and prayed.

“My God, or Goddess, whoever you are up there, I know you can hear me. I love her more than I have ever loved anyone.

I know I have to get clean, and I have to do it now. I pray you will help me do that, but also that you can keep us together. We are so much better together.”

* * * *

There really is a white light, you know. I saw it, and I heard a voice say, “sudden cardiac arrest.” As I took my last breath, I thought I heard a key turning in the door. All I could 122

think was how much I loved her, and how sorry I was. And then, everything went black.

THE END

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My sincere gratitude goes to my publisher, JMS Books.

JMS has been paving the way for new LGBT authors, and has created a publishing experience that is both validating and highly rewarding.

I want to thank Cheri Peterson, Pam Crews, Dawn Nickens, and my family for their limitless and unconditional love and support. I also owe a big thanks for the comic relief often provided by Sara J. Rose.

Even more gratitude must be extended to Suzi Wilson, Linda Zukowski, and Jane Cuvelier, for setting the very finest examples of what it means to be a responsible, productive, adult woman.

Finally, I have to thank the creative talent of the real rock stars in my life, Kayla Brown, Dawna Nelson, and Angie Heaton, you have all contributed to the soundtrack of my life.

ABOUT ANGELA KELLY

Angela Kelly has been writing since she was tall enough to hit the keys on a manual typewriter. Two of her poems,
Religion
and
Redemption
, received awards, and her first novel,
Unavailable: One Lesbian's Struggle with the Bisexuality of Other Women
, was released through JMS Books earlier this year and has been well received and reviewed, both in the LGBT community and mainstream alike.

Kelly lives, breathes, and consumes books. She has been employed in the publishing production industry for over ten years, and has a Bachelor's degree in English from the University of Illinois. She spends much of her time haunting libraries and local bookstores, always in search of the next piece of inspiring and overwhelming literature to add to her reading repertoire.

A native Jersey girl, Angela Kelly currently resides begrudgingly in the cornfields of the Midwest with her partner, Cindy, and their furry four-legged children. She hopes to someday retire near the oceans of the east coast of Florida, where she plans to write her memoirs with a sharp shell in the sand.

ABOUT JMS BOOKS LLC

Founded in 2010, JMS Books LLC is owned and operated by author J.M. Snyder. We publish a variety of genres, including gay erotic romance, fantasy, young adult, poetry, and nonfiction.