Chapter 47 Jay #2
A man in his sixties with weathered hands talks about losing his wife, his kids, his business—everything that mattered.
He breaks down when he talks about his daughter refusing to let him see his grandchildren.
A young woman, maybe my age, talks about drunk driving, about the accident that almost killed her and did kill someone else.
About the guilt that eats at her every day.
A middle-aged guy with a construction worker's build talks about waking up in a hospital with no memory of how he got there, about the three days that just vanished from his life.
And I listen.
Their stories aren't my story exactly, the details are all different.
But they feel like my story in every way that matters.
The shame. The hiding. The promises to quit that never stuck, that crumbled the moment things got hard.
The way alcohol felt like the only thing that made the pain bearable, until it became the source of the pain.
The way it promised relief but delivered destruction.
I'm not unique. I'm just another person who found the wrong way to cope and couldn't find my way out alone.
Toward the end, Dorothy looks around the circle and asks if anyone else wants to share. If anyone has something they need to say.
I don't plan to speak. I came here to listen, to observe, to see if this is something that could work for me. But something pushes me to my feet before I can stop it, before I can think about what I'm doing.
"I'm Jay," I say. "I'm... I think I'm an alcoholic."
"Hi, Jay," the room says in unison. It's the strangest thing—that simple greeting, that acknowledgment, makes my eyes burn with unshed tears.
"I relapsed last night," I continue, the words spilling out faster than I can think them through.
"I'd been sober for almost three weeks, and then I wasn't. I bought a bottle of Jim Beam and I drank the whole thing.
And then I almost... I almost took some pills on top of it.
I had them in my hand. I wanted to take them.
I didn't, but I almost did. And if my—" I glance at Ivan, not sure what word to use for what we are.
"If he hadn't shown up when he did, I don't know what would have happened. I might not be here."
No one interrupts. No one judges. They just listen with understanding in their eyes.
"I don't know if I'm really an alcoholic or if I just use alcohol to cope with stuff I don't know how to deal with," I continue, needing to say it all.
"But I know I can't do it alone anymore.
I've tried white-knuckling it. I've tried being strong.
And I keep failing. So, I'm here. I don't know what else to do, so I'm here now. That's all."
"Thank you for sharing, Jay," Dorothy says, her eyes kind. "It takes tremendous courage to walk through that door for the first time. It takes even more courage to speak up and be honest. We're glad you're here."
I sit down, shaking violently, and Ivan's arm goes around my shoulders immediately. He doesn't say anything. He doesn't have to. His presence is enough to help calm me.
After the meeting ends, several people come up to introduce themselves.
They give me phone numbers written on scraps of paper, tell me about the daily meetings and the different formats, suggest I think about finding a sponsor soon.
It's overwhelming, all these strangers offering help.
But in a good way. Like being wrapped in a safety net I didn't know existed.
We walk back to the motel slowly, neither of us in a hurry.
"How do you feel?" Ivan asks.
"Like shit," I say honestly, because there's no point in lying. "But also, like maybe I can do this. Like maybe it's actually possible if I have help."
"It is possible. You just took the first step. The hardest one."
When we're back in the room, I sit down on the edge of the bed and Ivan sits across from me in the chair by the window.
"We need to make a plan," I say, breaking the silence. "A real plan. Not just 'try harder' or 'be stronger' or 'hope for the best.' An actual plan with concrete steps I can work on."
"I agree completely," Ivan says, leaning forward. "Let's figure it out. What does this look like?"
I take a deep breath, trying to organize my thoughts. "Step one: I keep going to meetings. Every day if I can, at least for the first few weeks while I'm getting my footing. I get a sponsor like they suggested. I work the program, whatever that means. I commit to this fully."
"That's good. What else?"
"Step two: I have to stay here. In Macon, I mean.
At least for now." I see the disappointment flash in his eyes, and I hold up my hand quickly.
"I know you want me to come to Atlanta. I know that's what we talked about.
I want that too. But if I can't make it three weeks without you here in a city I know, how am I supposed to make it in a completely new place?
I have to prove to myself that I can do this first. That I can stay sober on my own, in my own environment. "
Ivan is quiet, and I can see him wrestling with it. Finally, he nods slowly. "You're right. I don't like it. I hate the idea of you being here alone, but you're right. You need to build a foundation first."
"But that doesn't mean we don't work toward it," I continue quickly, needing him to understand this isn't rejection. "Step three: at some point you get your own apartment. Close to Rosalyn and the kids. You start building the life we're going to have together. We start making it real."
"That was already the plan," Ivan says.
"Now there's a concrete timeline. It's not just your apartment for someday. It's our apartment for when I'm better. When I've done the work I need to do."
Ivan's eyes brighten slightly at that, hope creeping in. "I like the sound of that."
"Step four," I say, and this is the part I've been thinking about since the meeting, since listening to people talk about making amends.
"I start pulling my weight in this relationship.
I need to man the fuck up. I've been letting you do all the work.
You drive hours to see me without complaint.
You paid fifteen hundred dollars for my lawyer.
You show up every single time I fall apart.
And what do I do in return? I wash dishes at Betty's and feel sorry for myself when I'm alone. "
"Jay, that's not fair to yourself—"
"Let me finish. Please." I lean forward, needing him to hear this.
"From now on, I'll come to you too. You told me you love me and I need to earn that love.
When the weather's good, when it's safe, I can make that drive on my motorcycle.
We take turns. We meet in the middle sometimes for a picnic or lunch.
Whatever it takes to make this feel equal. "
"I'd like that," Ivan says softly, his eyes bright with emotion. "I'd really like you to come to me sometimes. To see where I live, meet the kids, be part of my life there."
"And there's something else." I reach out and take his hands, holding them between mine. "Your truck. It's got what, one hundred and fifty thousand miles on it? Maybe more?"
"Something like that. I've lost track honestly."
"I can take good care of it for you. Oil changes, tune-ups, brake jobs, transmission work—whatever it needs.
I'm good at that stuff. It's something I can give you that doesn't cost money I don't have.
" I squeeze his hands. "I need to feel useful, Ivan.
I need to feel like I'm contributing something real to this relationship.
Like I'm not just a burden you're carrying out of guilt or obligation. "
"You've never been a burden."
"I know you don't see it that way. But I need to feel it differently. I need to know I'm bringing something to this relationship besides my problems and my damage."
Ivan is quiet, looking at our joined hands for a long moment. When he looks up, his eyes are wet with unshed tears.
"You know what you bring to this relationship?
" he says. "You bring you. The person who makes me feel like I'm home no matter where we are in the world.
" He lifts our joined hands and kisses my knuckles tenderly.
"But if taking care of my truck makes you feel better, if it helps you feel equal in this—then yes. I would absolutely love that."
"Yeah?" Hope flickers in my chest.
"Sure. That truck is a complete piece of crap and I have absolutely no idea how to fix it. You'd be doing me a massive favor."
I laugh, and it surprises me that I can still laugh after last night. "It's a deal, then."
"What about step five?" Ivan asks. "What comes after all that? What's the end goal?"
"Step five is the long game." I take a breath, trying to steady myself.
"I stay sober one day at a time. I work my program consistently.
I save money from both jobs. I prove to myself and to you and to Rosalyn that I can be trusted with my own life.
And when I'm ready—really ready, not just running away from my problems—I move to Atlanta.
I get a real job at a motorcycle shop. And we start our life together. "
"How long do you think that will take?"
"I have no fucking idea. Six months? A year? Longer? I guess however long it takes for me to know I can stand on my own two feet without falling over." I meet his eyes directly. "Can you wait that long? Can you handle a year of this long-distance thing?"
"I would wait forever for you," he says. "But I don't think it's going to take forever. I think you're stronger than you know. I think you're going to surprise yourself with how capable you are."
"I hope you're right."
"I'm always right." He pulls back and smiles at me. "Now we have a plan. This is doable."
"It's a start." I lean my forehead against his, breathing him in. "I'm so goddamn sorry about last night. I'm sorry I scared you so badly."
"Don't apologize for being human. Just don't do it again."
"I'll try my best. I can't promise I won't fall down again—I might. But I can promise I'll keep getting back up. I can promise I'll fight over and over if I need to."
"That's all I can ask. That's all anyone can ask." Ivan kisses me softly, his lips gentle. "I love you, Jay. I've always loved you. You're my life."
"I love you too." The words feel unfamiliar after years of only thinking them. I've thought them a thousand times but never said them out loud before. "You're everything to me, and I'm going to spend the rest of my life trying to deserve you."
"You already deserve me. You just have to believe it."
I don't believe it. Not even close.
But maybe someday I will.