Rehab, Step 1

Part 2: Rehab, Turning it Over

The man sat slouched in the driver’s seat of his pickup, hands and chin resting on the steering wheel. He watched people come in and out the front door of the huge building. He was parked far enough away to observe from a distance, hopefully unnoticed. The sun appeared high overhead, the distant mountains soaking in the last days of warmth before the weather changed, creating a layer of biting cold for months. He studied the architecture of the building. The intention must have been to make it appear similar to a large resort lodge. The large floor to ceiling windows reflected the mountains a few miles away. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his stomach knotting up, hands sweaty. His mind shifted to the scene the night before. It stuck in his head like an overplayed song bouncing around his brain with aggravating repetition. He rubbed his face and neck roughly, an attempt to shake off the doubt stirring through his mind. He was on the verge of losing his wife. His job was on shaky ground. They could lose their home. He was aware of how much his drinking had played a role…but there were other things that contributed as well. But he didn’t want to open that door right now. Not with his current mental state.

He rubbed his eyes again and reached under the truck seat, feeling around on the floor until he found the familiar shape of a pint. A fleeting promise of escape from his hellish reality ignited a subtle feeling of hope in his mind. Shaking his head, he twisted the cap off and took a swig. The harsh words of his wife bore down into his brain and carried a loathing disgust that made him feel incompetent and useless. Drunk fuckup. Worthless piece of alcoholic s**t. Jeff squeezed his eyes shut waiting for the familiar liquid to find its way to the part of his brain that wouldn't shut off. The abrasive, judgmental voices that shamed him and made him feel like the scumbag of the world needed to shut-the-hell-up. Those voices mingled together until he wasn’t sure if it was his wife degrading him, or himself doing the verbal damage. Wasn’t it all the same?

He tapped the bottle in a rhythmic beat, forcing some distraction from the ruminating until he could numb it down. Soon the tension began to ease up and the shameful words began to lose their edge. Almost. Screw them. He closed his eyes and thought of happier times with his wife. She would flirt with him, smack him in the ass. He smiled lazily, the harsh words in his head floating away like the bubbles his son liked to blow into the summer air, popping as they lost their strength. There was a time when his drinking hardly affected her. Hell, she even drank with him. He was never without a job, and he paid the bills. He worked damn hard. The image of her sexy smile took the shape of a judging scowl. “Worthless alcoholic! “Why don’t you put this ring on your bottle of booze, Jeff! That’s your mistress…your life! I can’t compete with that!”

Shaking his head, he screwed the cap on and slid the pint back under the truck seat.

Feeling suddenly sleepy, he pulled his cap over his eyes and slumbered down into his truck seat. He could sleep for a bit, then maybe head back to Boise. Whatever reason brought him to this parking lot was a thing of the past. His plans had changed. With numbed senses, he stashed his guilt away until he was quietly snoring in the cab of his truck. When he woke up, the sun was slowly receding behind the distant mountains.

He needed to pee. He could possibly get away with peeing behind the truck. Pulling his cap back up, he stole one last look at the building, barely able to hold his pee. He noticed a man walking in his direction. He let out a frustrated grunt and forced himself to hold his pee a little longer. He could pee somewhere else.

The man hastily waved at him, making incredible time getting to the truck. Oh come on! s**t, he had to pee. The man stopped at the truck door. He was holding car keys. He was bald on top and had a nametag, “Joel-Janitor.” Jeff relaxed a bit.

“You doing OK out here?” Joel asked.

“Yeah…but I really need to use the bathroom. Is there one around here I can use?”

Joel smiled. “Sure. Follow me.”

Jeff begrudgingly jumped out of the truck and followed the man into the building. Once inside, Jeff realized how immense the structure was. The huge lounge area was open and spacious. Bright abstract paintings adorned the tall walls. A skylight took up half the lobby, complimenting the all-glass windows that embraced the distant mountains. Joel pointed to the bathroom in the lobby and gave a quick wave. “Take care sir.”

As Jeff left the bathroom, he could think only of getting back in the truck and having just one more shot for the road. He could be back in Boise in a couple of hours. Maybe sleep in his truck at a rest area and be back in time for work tomorrow morning at 7:30. He nodded at the receptionist sitting behind the desk. She opened her mouth to say something, but he didn’t let her. “Thanks for the bathroom.” He pulled his cap back down over his eyes and pushed the door open.

“Jeff? Jeff Parkinson?”

He froze. The woman behind the counter continued.

“Are you Jeff Parkinson?

He squeezed his eyes shut, a sick feeling forming in the pit of his stomach. He could just bolt. Pretend he didn’t hear her. He stood frozen for several more seconds, inhaling deeply. He shook his head and turned to face her.

The woman stood, looking a bit confused, then made her way around the counter and managed to position herself between him and the door. He had a brief vision of pushing her out of the way and making a run for it. Would she chase him? The woman held out her hand.

“Hi Jeff, I’m Lori. I’m the Admissions Specialist here at Step One. Your wife called about an hour ago to see if you made it to treatment.” She looked at him curiously. “You are checking in?” It was more of a statement than a question. He didn’t like that.

He stared hard at her, but didn’t really see her. His mind raced. Every cell in his body needed another drink; to get out of this place before it was too late. Not a single part of him wanted to be here. He hated the thought of it. Hated the feel of it. Hated the notion of showing weakness because his wife forced him into something he didn’t want to do. Just leave, man. This is your life. No one is in control of you. Leave now and get your s**t together. You can do this on your own. You just haven’t tried hard enough.

“Jeff?” His body tightened. He felt every muscle flex, urging him to bolt. To escape danger. He breathed in deeply through his nose, surprised at how cleansing it felt. He slowly released his breath. His body relaxed. An awareness seeped into his pores, breaking through the chaos and shame buried deep in his mind. He felt for the first time that he might actually be OK.

“Yeah…I know.” When his words came out, he didn’t even recognize his own voice. “I—I can’t do this anymore.” He shook his head in disbelief. Did he really just say that? He looked at her for the first time, meeting her eyes. “I don’t want to lose my family.” His body trembled uncontrollably, releasing a weight of shame that had accompanied him so often these days. He felt warm tears on his cheeks and he realized he had no control over his emotions, or his actions. He was both painfully aware of how he must look standing there in front of a woman, blubbering and shaking like an i***t; yet, he felt comforted at the same time, as if a force of some kind was lifting him out of the dark hole he nearly suffocated in. He squeezed his eyes shut and took in a deep breath, as if ready to jump off a cliff into raging whitewater. “I’m here to check in.”