TUCKER
Iam so bored of being in hospital. It’s like when you’ve got an idea to do something, and you can’t think of anything else. I want to be out and free so I can start repairing my mess of a life.
Thankfully, as if sensing my thoughts, the doc walks in.
“I’m good, doc, can I go?”
The doc looks at some paperwork at the end of my bed. He flicks the sheet over and steps closer to my bed.
“And how are you really doing?”
Really is such a loaded word. How do I state that I’m bored to the core and want to get my life together? Can you really say that to professionals?
“I’m bored shitless and want to get my life together.” Or maybe you can.
Doc laughs. “Okay. Well, you seem to be on the mend and your readings are improving. I think maybe another week and --”
“A week? Bro -- I mean Doc -- you can’t keep me here another week. I’m going mad, I’ve got amends I need to make, life to plan for, baby shit to pick up.”
“Maybe we can crunch it down to five. You’re doing great but we just need to make sure there’s no lasting damage.”
“If there was any lasting damage, you’d have caught it by now, though, right? Right?”
“Most likely, yes, but you can never be too careful.”
And with that, he says his goodbye and waltzes out. I really, really, really hate being in hospital.
The thing is, I feel fine. No headaches, no razor blades in my stomach -- I’m fine, so why do I need to be in another state when I could be at home planning? Oh well, guess I’d better get comfortable if I’m here for the long term…
-----
Five minutes pass and I decide it’s time to leave. I get dressed into normal human clothes as opposed to old lady bed clothes, pack my rucksack, and head out to the front desk.
“Sir, I don’t think you should be up.”
“I appreciate everything y’all have done for me, I do. But I OD’d, I haven’t got a missing leg or need a brain transplant.” Though sometimes a brain transplant does seem like a good idea. “I just want to go back home. I’ll take it easy; I promise.”
“We can’t stop you, but I need to stress you need to rest right now. Here are the papers, but I really--”
“Cool. Thanks.” I sign the papers, smile, take a card and leaflet the nurse passes me, and say goodbye to all the hospital staff.
As I step outside the hospital, I feel a wave of peace wash throughout me.
This, right now, feels like I’m taking in air for the first time.
The sun beams, cars rev their engines, the slight breeze drifts over me.
I feel new. Brand new. Like this could be the dawn of the first day of the rest of my life. Maybe being a schmuck isn’t too bad.
The plane ride back goes by in an instant. Mostly because I sleep through 90 percent of it. I swear, how can I spend all day in a bed and still need sleep? Beds are tiring, I guess.
I hop into the nearest cab. It’s costs more than just petrol -- a lot more, holy fuck I didn’t know taxis could cost this much! -- but I guess I don’t have a choice.
The driver drops me off on the road near my house and I pay him a frankly extortionate amount of money, leaving my wallet down to its last hundred.
“Thanks, bro, appreciate you.” I say, and the cab dude drives off a lot richer.
I should be sour, but I just made the guy’s day with a massive tip and let’s be real, my life is taking a turn.
I pass through my porch and place my hand on the doorknob but don’t turn it.
Surf school? Who am I kidding?
Who am I without drugs and drink? Who am I without the people who want to party egging me on? Who will I become if I’m a dad working a real job?
I know the moment I step back into my house; my new life commences. No more drinking, no more drugs, no more being the cool dude everyone wants to be. All that’s over.
I won’t lie, the idea of becoming a fully functioning adult scares the shit outta me. What if I fail? Again? And again, and again?
I leave my porch without stepping foot inside. There’s one last thing I need to do.
-----
It’s getting pretty late by the time I reach the liquor store.
“A bottle of whiskey, please. Biggest you’ve got.”
I take the brown bag containing my liquor from the shopkeeper and hand over the last of my money I’ve got on me.
I step outside and realize how late it’s gotten. The stars paint a picture in the sky and the night air breeze suddenly hits me hard. I Should have grabbed a coat.
I walk for the next 10 minutes -- past several shops closing their doors until I reach a graveyard.
With my rucksack in one hand and my whiskey in the other, I hop over the knee-height wall and walk past several graves.
I can't help but wonder who these people were and what their lives were like.
Better than mine? Worse than mine? Somewhere in the middle?
Do people still miss them? That last question I knew the answer to.
In loving Memory of
James and Marie Braddock
Who are Deeply Missed By Their Five Sons
I’ve arrived at exactly where I need to be.
“Hey mom, hey dad. You won’t believe the shit -- oh, sorry. Accident. You won’t believe the stuff I’ve got to tell you.”
I drop my bags on the floor and sit crossed-legged in front of the tombstone.
“I don’t have a clue where to start… Okay, so I just got out of the hospital. But don’t worry, I’m fine. No, that’s not the start of the story. So, I met this girl, Amber. No, that's too far forward as well…”
I think for a moment, and thankfully mom and dad don’t interrupt me.
“You guys died. I love you guys so much, and you died. I tried to copy Ryan. Ryan was perfect. He didn’t seem as fazed by it as the rest of us. Turns out he was, though, he was just better at hiding it.
I saw how he was handling it and I tried to emulate him. Only I wasn’t emulating him, I was just burying it deep down inside in a black void that would eventually consume me without me knowing it.
When I got older, I didn’t know why I had this empty pit inside of me where a soul should be. I had plenty of anger, and I’ve got the rap-sheet to back that up. But anything else? Peace, happiness, was missing.
So, I did what any young adult would do and got help. Only the help I got wasn’t conventional. I turned to drugs, drinking, and getting laid.” I can almost envision them rolling their eyes.
“I wasn’t the type of son you’d have been proud of. Not like Ryan. Sure, he’s a mess as well it turns out, but he held it together for us. Me? I fell. Hard.”
I reach inside my rucksack and pull out the remaining baggies filled with a cocktail of different drugs and place them on the ground.
“See? How I thought these drugs would make me feel. Feel anything other than anger and emptiness. And they did, or at least they used to, for a time…
I won’t fill you in on all the mad stuff that’s happened to us over the years, although I’m pretty sure the others have already. We’re gonna take a quick time jump now, though, okay?
I met this girl. A girl with the biggest …
errm … eyes. She was seriously great; you know what I’m saying?
But I’m too scared to do anything in case I fuck it up and she leaves.
Then I meet her again and I can’t stop thinking about her.
We’re like, I dunno, magnets. Get us within the same vicinity and we can’t help but be attracted to one another.
The second meeting is great as well, even better than the first, but she’s running from something as well.”
I take a deep breath and ready myself.
“You get this, right? Are you both sitting down cause you’re not gonna believe this? She’s pregnant. I know, right? Crazy. Turns out you can get pregnant way easier than they tell you about in school. Is that why there’s five of us? I guess I really do take after you both.
I’m gonna be a dad. Can you believe it? I couldn’t and managed to do everything wrong. Well, not everything by the sound of it.
Actually, you’re right. It’s not about how much I fucked -- sorry -- messed up. It’s about perspective. I did enough things right somehow that Amber thought I could be worth a shot providing I do everything in my power to try not to fuck -- sorry again -- up again.
I don’t even think she wants me not to mess up ever again. I think she just wants me to be the best person I can be. To cut out the cancerous parts of me and throw them into the sea so I can be the me she can see buried inside.
Women really are complicated, just like you said Dad. But that complication doesn’t come from them. It comes from us. We’re complicated, because people in general are complicated.”
I rummage through my rucksack looking for the card the nurse gave me. Found it!
I show the card to my parents. “I’ve decided to check myself into Alcoholics Anonymous, AA.
Weirdly enough, the drugs I can do by myself.
I’ll just cut the dealers out of my life and then I won’t be able to buy anything.
Alcohol, though? I can walk into any liquor store and buy it to my heart’s content.
That ain’t a good thing to have hanging over me, you know?
I’m gonna phone them up later and get myself booked ASAP.
I OD’d a few days ago and that time in hospital made me think.
Like, really think. Think about who I am and who I want to be.
To think about who in my life really matters.
The answer is what it's always been, and it’s been staring me in the face this whole goddamn time.
The answer is family. That’s all that matters.
And Amber’s part of that family, because … I … L … Lo … Love her.”
I get back to my feet and hoist my rucksack onto my back. Next, I pull the whiskey out of the brown bag and scrunch it up into my pocket. No littering in the graveyard. That’s just disrespectful.
“Here,” I say, bending down. “I got you a bottle of that whiskey you both love.”
I place the bottle in front of the gravestone then dust off some of the wayward soil, so the stone looks cleaner.
“Thanks, folks. No, I mean it. I know you’d both rather be here to see us through life, and it’s bullshit that you’re not.
But just know, your kids love you and we -- even me -- are all doing good, and I can’t wait to introduce you to Amber and the kiddo.
You’re going to love them both as much as you love me, I promise. ”