12. Chapter Twelve #3
“I’m nowhere near as ripped as I was back when he was working with me,” Cavalari said and chuckled low.
“But I’d like to think he saved me from having cottage cheese for a brain if I’d taken steroids.
” Cavalari toyed with the collar of his polo shirt and then leaned forward to rest his forearms on top of the table. “Mind if I ask you something personal?”
“Personal? Okay, shoot,” Bronx said.
“When did alcohol become a problem for you?” Cavalari asked.
Bronx leaned back on the couch and slowly inhaled. “That’s a long story,” he said. “Are you sure you want to hear it?”
“I’m a naturally curious person,” Cavalari stated.
Bronx spun his cell phone around on the smooth top of the table with the tip of his index finger.
“I come from a large extended family, and pretty much every male going back as many generations as I can remember were drunks,” Bronx said.
“My grandfather was always drunk or close to it and my father fell right into his footsteps. Then there were my uncles, who were all drunks and it was the perfect storm for me to be just like them. It’s what I grew up around and to me it was completely normal.
Every weekend someone in the family was having a dinner or a cookout which we’d all attend and this went on all year long.
I remember when I was six or seven and walking around the circle of bent and half-broken lawn chairs arranged in a relative’s backyard next to their traditional vegetable garden.
I’d shift around the circle and pick up the mostly empty bottles of beer sitting on the grass beside the chair legs.
I was little for my age and could easily slip in and out of the circle without anyone seeing what I was doing.
I’d discretely reach under the chairs and empty whatever was left in each beer bottle that belonged to one of my many uncles and the older cousins.
I did that for a long time before they finally caught on. ”
“Did you get into trouble?” Cavalari asked.
“Nope, they all thought it was hilarious to watch me staggering around the yard buzzed off my ass. A few of my uncles deliberately started to leave quite a bit of beer left in the bottom of their bottles and would take bets on how long it would take me to pass out from the beer,” Bronx shared.
“I was getting hammered at these parties before I was ten and they thought it was good clean fun.”
“That is child abuse,” Cavalari said. “If that happened today, Child Protective Services would be called.”
“I didn’t know it then but rehab opened my eyes to the significance of the behavior,” Bronx admitted.
“Are your parents still alive?” Cavalari asked.
Bronx shook his head. “My old man died a while ago from liver failure,” he said.
“Shocking, I know, but he was given the option of a liver transplant if he stopped drinking and smoking but he couldn’t do either.
Due to his flat-out refusal to quit, the doctors wouldn’t even put him on a donor list because of his habitual use of alcohol and cigarettes.
They were right to do that. My father didn’t deserve a new, healthy liver when he’d only start drinking and smoking as soon as he was out of the hospital.
My mom passed a couple of years ago from cancer.
I never saw her even sip a cocktail but she was a smoker like everyone else in the family. ”
“Did you smoke?”
“Of course and I occasionally still do under the right circumstances,” Bronx admitted. “It’s not often these days, though.”
“Siblings?” Cavalari asked.
“Two brothers but they’re both gone now,” Bronx said.
“I’m the youngest. My middle brother died fighting in Afghanistan and the oldest died while driving his motorcycle drunk.
He was still grieving the loss of our brother and crashed into a cement truck.
He didn’t survive, so it was a horrible blow to my poor mother to lose two sons less than a year apart.
I’m all that’s left of the Alauson family. ”
“Jesus, Rory. That is beyond tragic.”
“Why do you do that?” Bronx asked.
“Do what?”
“Call me Rory,” Bronx said. “It sounds weird and oddly . . . intimate, like we’re close friends or something.”
“I’ve asked you before if it bothers you and you’ve said it didn’t. Was I wrong about that?” Cavalari asked.
Bronx shrugged. “I’m not sure,” he said. “I guess it’s just strange to hear, but coming from you it kind of makes sense because we do sort of know each other.”
“I’m willing to bet I remember a lot more about our encounters than you do,” Cavalari said and grinned.
“I’d agree with that,” Bronx said with a lighthearted chuckle. “Considering how drunk I always used to be.”
Cavalari was about to say something more to Bronx but his phone pinged with an incoming text message. His eyes dropped to the screen to read it and then he glanced back up at Bronx. “Bus driver just informed me that we’re stopping for gas and a break. Care to stretch your legs?”
“No, I’m good,” Bronx replied.
“Okay, sit tight and do not leave this bus without me shadowing you,” Cavalari instructed. “I’m going to go make a few phone calls on your behalf and I’ll be back in a few.”