Rehab, Step 1

Chapter 1 “God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference!” Grayson chanted the familiar words along with everyone in the circle of 12 or some people, hand in clammy hand. “Keep coming back!” They released hands and he quickly wiped the feeling of sweaty palms on jeans. He didn’t like any of this bullshit he was court ordered to do twice a week. Now get me the f**k out of here so I can get back to things I need to get done. He broke from the circle and headed straight for the exit before the mob started to form. “Grayson!” He quickened his pace without looking in the direction of the voice and threw out a dismissive wave. “I gotta run man. Alice is waiting for me to feed her.” His mandatory N.A meeting was over. He owed them nothing. He made his way through the tiny church parking lot, doing a quick pocket search to make sure he had his signed probation card to prove he attended. He really did need to feed his dog. He cringed thinking about the amount of time she spent alone in the apartment. Between his job and these damn meetings, she was alone for close to 12 hours. He hated that. f*****g meetings. His basement apartment had its usual musty smell as he made his way to the fridge for a Gatorade. Alice followed his every step, tennis ball in mouth, tail slapping excitedly. Her soft brown eyes pleaded with him to take her out and throw the ball. It was already after 8, and he still hadn’t eaten dinner yet. He patted the top of the dog’s head. “Give me a minute Al. I need to make something to eat, then we’ll go outside.” He tossed a frozen dinner into the microwave, pressed quick start, and took his dog outside. The grass felt cool under his bare feet as he stretched his arms up over his head, releasing the tension and bullshit of the day. Alice waggled her way over with the ball, dropping it just far enough away that he had to take several steps to pick it up. “Al, I’m too tired for this. If you want me to throw it, you’re going to have to bring it to me.” He covered the distance, stooped down to pick it up, and felt his back stiffen at the bend. He wondered if this is what it felt like to be old. His body protested in stiffness and pain. He was too young to be feeling like this. When Alice roamed the grassy area to find a place to poop, he took advantage of the minute he had to guzzle his Gatorade and pull from his vape. A few beers would have hit the spot after a hot day like this, but that was a no go on probation. His P.O could come over at any time and do a random check. He gulped down the rest of his Gatorade, threw it in the recycling bin, and took Alice in. He would have a couple of hours to binge watch Rick and Morty before going to bed. His day would start at 6:00 in the morning. He devoured his T.V dinner in less than 5 minutes, then worked his way through a bag of chips and salsa and some old cookies his sister had dropped off several weeks earlier. He would do anything right now to finish off his evening with some weed, but it wouldn’t clear from his system before his next piss test. He silenced his phone and was asleep on the recliner by 10:45, Alice lying fully content in his lap. He slept so soundly that he missed the 1:16 AM phone call from his best friend’s mom, sobbing into the phone. Her whales of grief carried over 600 miles away. Her son, his childhood friend and buddy for life, had overdosed on fentanyl. He had been alone when he died. Paramedics weren’t able to revive him with Narcan after his girlfriend found him on the bathroom floor. She had worked late and reported to the paramedics that Jared had been clean from oxys for almost 4 months. Grayson would wake up to a voicemail that would rip his heart into pieces and push him into the deep, hellish hole he found solace in during his using days. Days where there was no probation, no mandatory meetings or piss tests. Where he could slide into a protective buffer of numbness to dull the emotional turmoil that, when left to its own devices, left him with a constant edge of anxiety, dread, and anger. He rolled over in his recliner as his muscles protested the uncomfortable position. Alice jumped down from his lap and hopped onto their bed, her slimy tennis ball nestled protectively under her chin.