The Drunk Logs Read online

  Over the years I would be able to mold myself into anything that suited me at the time—a best friend, a hard worker, a scholar, a lover, a person of interest…a bull-shitter. I grew in power and prestige with the help of alcohol, and if any person, place or thing that came into contact with me could not handle the essence, the enigma that I had created, it could fall by the wayside and I would not care.

  Those were good times, I thought. My world, through my eyes, was functioning, with job still intact, house that kept up with the Jones’s, car running on a full tank off gas, and a sexual prowess normal for anyone my age. But the strings to make it all dance were pulled tight.

  Eventually, all good things always come to an end. I found, one day in my haze, I could not function without alcohol. I became accustomed to my perceived self and was afraid of the real self.

  The cracks began to form and the emptiness from within began to show. The job vanished, the house was not kept up with the Jones’s, the car ran on fumes, and my sexual prowess was now that of a eunuch.

  Could I tell you when I had my last drunk? The day that concrete smashed my face and then politely asked me if I was all right? No. Not on that day, but on the day after. May 28th, 2009.

  The door opened. I turned my head back and was struck by the vision of a tantalizing, gorgeous, goddess of a woman who entered the room. Long, brown, curly hair rested on her shoulders like snakes; brown crystal eyes and soft lips, breasts snug tight in her white, Saran-wrapped dress, followed by long, gymnastic-strong legs in black high heels. Maybe this place isn’t all that bad, I thought.

  “Mr. Hoffman? Mr. Hoffman?”

  I reluctantly came back to reality and smiled as she sat at the other side of the desk, looking concerned. She gave a small smile.

  She put a group of highlighted papers on the desk, and spun them around so I could read them.

  “Hi, I’m Sarah, and I’m from the admissions department. I’m here to go over all the legal information, and when we’re done, if you understand everything, you’ll sign it stating you understand. Okay?”

  I said nothing. I was caught in her spell.

  “Okay. The first page shows that yes, you are Matt Hoffman. You are currently under the care of Stone River medical facility, on this said date, which is today’s date. And you are letting us release all medical information that we gather to your insurance provider.” She extended a pen across the desk and pointed to the highlighted area. “Please sign here.”

  I grabbed the pen and signed; the entire time staring at Sarah’s soft white fingers with red nail polish.

  She then flipped to the next page. “This one indicates that you are giving us permission to treat you for your illness, as we see fit. Furthermore, patient understands they are allowed to receive any and all information upon their request. Please sign here and here, and initial here.”

  I signed again and moved my eyes up her hairless, milky white arms and onto her heaving breasts. I could faintly make out her nipples.

  Again, she flipped another page, “This page indicates the patient understands all rules and regulations, and the patient acknowledges that failure to comply with these rules and regulations will result in immediate dismissal.”

  I signed again, and worked my eyes from her breasts to her red, plush, wet lips. I handed the pen back to Sarah and soaked in the entire picture. I was satisfied.

  She smiled, stacked the papers, and slid a folder across the desk. “This contains the rules and regulations, emergency information, and weekly schedule.” She opened the folder, pulled out the room key, held it snug between her thumb and finger, and positioned it right in the center of her face. “This is your room key, with the room number on it. This key will only lock and unlock your closet, not the door. In detox, all room doors must be left open, so make sure anything of value is locked at all times inside the closet.”

  She put her hand down and slowly slid the key into the pocket of the folder and closed it. “I know it’s hard to process all this information, but do you understand?” she asked with sympathetic eyes.

  “Yes,” I said, with what I still hoped passed for a boyish smile.

  “Okay, you are all set. You can go to your room and settle in.”

  She stood with confidence, exited the room, leaving behind a wave of perfume that crashed into me. It left me battered and bruised, but I enjoyed the state she had left me in. If this was all I had to do, I would have taken it for now, until it, too, faded away. I eventually got my bearings, collected the folder, and slapped it under my arm. I picked up my suitcase and duffle bag and headed toward the door. Flipping the light switch off, I turned back and slowly watched the door close behind me. My recent memories had become like my past, trapped in complete darkness.

  I stood in the hallway with my suitcases as the numbers 1, 0, 5, stared back at me on the vanilla wall next to the crème doorframe with the door slightly ajar; the room was fully lit. I stepped in and gazed around at my new surroundings with all the minimal necessities. There were exactly two single hospital beds, two pine nightstands, two pine cabinet closets, one pine desk, two pine side chairs, one shared bathroom, and one mirror and sink, that was plastered on the beige wall next to the door.

  “Great, now I’ll probably get stuck with some weirdo,” I mumbled to myself as I chose the bed farthest from the door. I threw my suitcase on the purple comforter and watched it bounce across the bed like a jackrabbit. As I put my backpack on the floor I heard the bathroom door unlock and open.

  “Whew, I wouldn’t go in there for a while,” a surprisingly effeminate voice said, as the owner of the voice fanned his behind.

  He was a tall, slender man, who wore black tasseled shoes, black jeans, and a white collared dress shirt, with a clear name tag pinned to the front pocket. He had black hair, a clean shaven face with neatly outlined sideburns, a Roman nose, and piercing black eyes. He could have been considered a man among men, but the lip gloss and slight lisp in his voice screamed out otherwise.

  “My name is Carl and I’m with security,” he said as he walked over and shook my hand. “I’ll need to check your bags for any drugs, alcohol, or weapons. If you will, open your bags please.”

  “Is this normal procedure here?” I questioned and unzipped my bags.

  He moved in and started to take all of my belongings out. “Yes, it is. It’s not that we’re apprehensive about you, but instead we want to protect you from the others. After all, you’re here to get help, not high, or die.”

  He pulled out every article in the suitcases like he was sifting through a file looking for one specific document, and placed them neatly on the bed. The bags were even checked for hidden compartments.

  “You’re clean,” he said as he patted me on the shoulder and sashayed out of the room.

  I stood in the room alone and felt as if I was in the middle of an empty football stadium, violated. I took a deep breath and started to grab some of my clothes, when I heard my name being called over the intercom.

  “Matt H., report to the nurses’ station. Matt H., report to the nurses’ station.”

  Frightened and confused, I held on tight to my socks and prayed that if I didn’t move, maybe they would forget about me.

  “Matt H., report to the nurses’ station, Matt H.” the intercom screamed again.

  With a deep breath, I threw my socks back into the piles of clothes, walked to the door, stopped at the mirror on the wall, and glanced at my face. “Damn it. Still swollen,” I whispered and exited the room.

  I stood at the green carpet and rubbed my protruding forehead, trying to hide my face as I walked down the hallway that was packed like sardines with nurses and patients. But from the laughter and the stares, I realized that this futile attempt had only drawn more attention to my predicament, so I released my hand and let them stare. If they want to get a good look, get it now, I angrily thought. At least I could look at myself in the mirror.

  I arrived at a long line and stood behind colorless,
rotten, beaten down figures, slaves to their addictions. They used to be wide-eyed bushels of the future and fountains of joy. Now they were outcasts, aliens only accepted by the ones who share in the same.

  I kept my head down the entire time that I was in line, looked at the tightly woven green carpet and the back of the white tennis shoes in front of me, and tried to hide my swollen, purple, red, and black face. I moved only when the white tennis shoes moved and looked up only when the tennis shoes were gone.

  In front of me, behind a half-door, stood the vodka-soaked nurse with a multi-drawer plastic cabinet and a very large male nurse in the shadows.

  “Matt H.?” she asked.

  “Yes,” I said as I fanned my eyes back and forth, embarrassed to look up.

  “I’m Molly. Sorry, I didn’t introduce myself earlier,” she said as she turned the handle, opened the half-door, and pointed. “Come on in and sit over there.”

  Although apprehensive, I casually entered and sat in a wooden chair next to a small shelf attached to the wall, where a digital camera lay.

  Molly smiled, picked up the camera, and took a quick picture. “That was for our files. So if something happens, we at least know what you look like.”

  She reached behind her to a shelf and pulled my file. “Here are two wristbands that you must wear at all times. The red one is to indicate that you are in detox and will come off when you’re in the detox clear. The other one is an identification band which you must keep on the entire stay here.”

  She reached forward and grabbed my left hand, lifted it up, and attached the two bands.

  She walked back to the multi-drawer plastic cabinet, and grabbed a cup with my name printed on the plastic platform beneath it. “Okay, so now that’s done, this is a cup with the medication the doctor deems you need at this time. The blue pill is a Valium to help you detox from the alcohol. Hold your arms out straight for me.”

  I raised my arms, but my hands shook uncontrollably.

  “Yep,” Molly said. “Do you want me to feed you these pills?”

  “I probably could use some help,” I said, ashamed.

  Molly gave a sympathetic smile, closed the door, and continued to help me as she held the cup of pills to my lips. I opened my mouth as she tilted the cup forward, surprised by the amount I started to cough.

  “Hold on. You need to drink this water too,” she said softly as she held another cup to my lips.

  “Thank you, Molly,” I said, and wiped off the water from my chin.

  She grinned, patted me on the head, and put the cup on the shelf next to me. She opened the door and told me I could go back to my room. Before I left, she stated that a nurse would check on me throughout the night. So, with another pat on my head from her, I headed back into the hallway, which was less congested with nurses and patients. The path back to my room seemed a little more familiar. Tightly woven carpet was still green and the walls were still vanilla.

  I was just a few feet away from my room when Carl exited it; he smiled as he passed and walked toward the nurses’ station. As I looked, I realized that I had left all of my belongings on the bed, and rushed into the room, hitting the partially opened door with my shoulder. I ran to my bed and started to sift through my belongings to make sure that everything was accounted for. Underwear, jeans, shorts, shirts, bathing supplies, cigarettes…good. Everything seems to be here, I thought.

  Putting the carton of cigarettes on the nightstand, I found the yellow folder I’d been given and pulled out the key from the inner pocket. I walked to the cabinet closet on the right side of my bed and unlocked the door; inside there were a few shelves, a few plastic hangers, and a full length mirror on the inside of the door. Not bad, I thought, this should definitely hold all of my belongings. I reached into the closet and grabbed one of the plastic hangers, and turned for one of my collared shirts. Grabbing my brown-striped polo shirt, I had just inserted the hanger when I heard the toilet flush, but no one exited the bathroom. It must have been someone from the other room, I thought. I turned and proceeded to hang the shirt on the steel rod when the bathroom door opened and an old, gray haired, unshaven man limped out into the room, wearing a worn, short sleeve, gray-striped shirt, faded blue jeans, and a walking cast on his right foot. Oblivious to his surroundings, he limped over to the bed closest to the door, lay down on the comforter, and put his right arm over his forehead.

  “Excuse me?” I said.

  “Oh, I didden’ know that there was someone else here,” the old man mumbled in a low gravelly voice as he threw his foot off the bed.

  He proceeded to push himself off the edge of the bed, while his thin, shaking arms made a go of pushing his heavy mass. He stood quickly, stumbled a few steps, and eventually got his bearings as he limped over and held the chair by the desk for support as he passed.

  “Name’s Barry Eugene, and that’s what they call me,” he said as he extended his hand. I just stood there and said nothing for a moment.

  “Oh, my name is Matt, pleasure to meet you,” I finally said and shook his hand.

  “So did they capture and trap you inside here, too?” he asked, as he turned and limped back toward his bed.

  Speechless, I stared at a long dark stain from his back pockets to his boot cast on the back of his pants. He just shit his pants, I thought as he sat back down on his bed.

  “N-n-no,” I said, stuttering my words, “I, uh, I, uh, drove here myself.”

  “Well, not me,” he grumbled. “They captured me like a prisoner, they did.” He took a long breath as he prepared to tell his story. “Yeah, I was sitting in my recliner drinking my Budweiser when my wife says we need to go to the store to get me more beer, which didn’t make sense because I knew I couldn’t of drank the case that fast. Well anyhow, we got into the car and headed to the store, but she told me she was going to take a different way this time,” he said as he rubbed his cheeks. “Anyhow, I didn’t know where she was driving, and she pulled into the parking lot outside this place. I asked her if this was a new convenience store, and she said no, it was a treatment center, and I needed to get help for my drinking. Well, I gave her one of my angry looks and told her, who does she think she is, thinking I have a drinking problem? Hell, I’ve been married to the woman for 30 years. Well, I wouldn’t budge and she wouldn’t leave the parking lot, so we just sat there for a while. So, I thought that if I’m just gonna sit there I might as well have a beer doing so, and told her I’ll drive to the store. Well, she agreed and we both got out of the car, but as soon as I was by the front, she hopped back into the car and started to drive. Since I didn’t know where I was, I hopped on the hood, because she wasn’t going to be leaving me there, ya know. Well, the damn woman pulled out, and we headed down the road, but I wasn’t gonna let go, ya know. Finally we hit this intersection and she slammed on the brakes, where I slid off the front of the car, and she turned around and headed in the other direction, leaving me in the middle of nowhere. So I headed back here to use the phone and that’s when they told me my wife admitted me. Just wait ’til I get out of here, I’ll show her who has the problem.” He lay back down on his bed and covered his forehead with his arm.

  I started to shake my head and laugh with disgust as I methodically put away all of my belongings: collared shirts, jackets, and pants on hangers; shirts, shorts, underwear, socks, and toiletries on the shelves; cigarettes hidden between the shirts and the shoes, and suitcases on the bottom.

  I looked at the inside of the closet and smiled at my perfection of order. A job well done, I thought, when I caught my reflection in the mirror on the inside door. My smile quickly vanished as I closed the door and turned the key.

  As I patted my shirt pocket to make sure I had my cigarettes and lighter, I decided to ask where I could go to smoke, but first I needed to go to the bathroom; I hadn’t done so since I arrived. I walked over to the bathroom door, grabbed the handle, and noticed Barry Eugene snoring on the bed. I proceeded to open the door inward and stepped in, slid on
something wet, and held onto the doorknob for dear life. Shocked, I stood in an entire bathroom covered in shit.

  Gagging, I slid back into the room and wiped my shoes on the green carpet, turning it black.

  “Great, Barry Eugene. Just great,” I raged.

  Leaving behind long, black streak marks, I shuffled my feet all the way to the door, entered the hallway, and looked for someone to help.

  “Carl! Carl!” I screamed down the hall, toward the place where I had made my entrance into this circus. “Could you please come here?”

  Hearing the commotion, Carl sashayed down the hall.

  “How can I help you, Matt?”

  “Well first, where can I smoke in this place?”

  “Remember coming in, you passed the workout gym and turned right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well right by it, those glass doors that lead to the outside, there’s a pavilion.”

  “Oh, yeah. Yeah.”

  “What’s your other question?”

  I looked at Carl with a half smile. “Well, you know the guy that just came into my room…well, he’s lying in his bed with his pants full of shit, and the bathroom is covered in it, too.”

  “Oh, no,” he said, disgusted.

  “Someone better take care of that, because I’m not.”

  “I know, I know, I’ll get someone to clean it up. Thanks for letting me know,” he said and grudgingly walked into the room. I snickered as I walked down the hall and looked for the doors that led to the outside.

  I found the glass and steel doors and pushed them open into another set of doors that released me to the outside. I felt clean as the air washed over me. I took a few deep breaths, opened my eyes, and absorbed my new surroundings. There is much to take in, but all I have is time, I thought.

  In front of me was a long pathway, with the building extending along the right of it that housed the detox patients on the first floor and the clean patients on the second. More colorful wildflowers kissed the building’s concrete base and provided beauty for anyone who wished to accept it. At the corner end of the building was a bay window, with a 180-degree view of the grounds. I found out later, it was specifically placed there to warn the patients that they were always being watched.