Keeping On Without You

I was staring at the ticket in my hand. Half of the present I got for Addie last Christmas. The date for the concert was only two weeks away.

I wouldn’t be fixed by then. I wouldn’t be even close to being fixed yet.

The only thing I could hope for was that by March twenty-first I would be in rehab, working on controlling my alcoholism. I would be stuck here on March twenty-first, knowing that the concert I was supposed to attend would be happening, and I wouldn’t be there. Addie wouldn’t be there. Both of us were missing what we had once looked forward to so much.

Memories flashed into my mind of just weeks prior, when Addie had lost hope. It was apparent when she had. The way she didn’t smile, when she didn’t even remember about this concert. If I had a pound note for every time I played his CD because I knew Addie loved that CD too, I’d be rich. She loved his music. And yet at the end, it was hard to believe she loved anything at all.

I rolled out of my bed with the ticket still clamped in my hand. In search of a pushpin I skittered into the kitchen, sliding on the wood floors. Every drawer was ransacked as I looked for a clear piece of plastic with a metal point. I found one, holding it gently in my hand because I knew I would end up stabbing myself with it accidentally if I forgot it was there.

As I walked out of the kitchen I took a peek at the clock. It was past midnight. I hadn’t taken a single drink today. A fleeting smile appeared on my face, one of a moment of pride for not giving in today. I had made it. Tom hadn’t even been over yet to scold me some more, telling me to get my arse over to our parents’ house.

One day. That was the longest I had gone since I arrived home, and the only thing it did was give me determination to stop altogether.

I carried the pushpin to my room, climbing onto my bed carefully, walking on my knees. I held the ticket up against the wall, right above the headboard of my bed, stabbing the little pin through it. There. It could stay there as long as I wanted. That single ticket would be a reminder. A reminder of what I was working towards, as well as what I had lost. It signified that half of me would forever remain in Springfield, Illinois. The other ticket that went along with mine was resting there, too.

And those two halves would never be together again, but working towards fixing myself would help me learn to be okay with that.

I leapt off the bed and stood back a few feet, admiring the tiny ticket that was tacked to my wall. I had absolutely no intentions of ever removing it. The only reason why I would ever want to, is if I wanted to forget Addie, to never be reminded of what my past had been like. But what I wanted was to remember. Every day I wanted to remember how great it was, how truly blessed I was to have someone like Addie in my life. Thus, every time I came in here, I would remember.

Reminiscing isn’t just for girls.

After gazing at the tiny ticket placed upon my wall, I turned on the lamp on the nightstand. It illuminated the room, casting shadows as I flicked off the main light. It was partially dark as I slipped between the covers, wrapping up on the right side of the bed. After being home for nearly two weeks now, I still hadn’t dared to let a toe cross onto Addie’s side. I was sincerely doubting that I would ever cross onto that side again, and I liked it that way.

Her clothes were still in the closet, still occupying drawers in the dresser we had shared as well. Everything that had belonged to her was still here. And I hadn’t the slightest intention of ever moving it. Not at least until I could feel comfortable and not guilty doing so.

I felt that maybe after I came home from rehab with a new outlook on life and a new mental state, I would be able to. Then again, I didn’t want to think about how empty it would all feel again without Addie’s things taking up space. Without that, this place felt just like it did before she moved in: empty, and nothing compared to an actual home worth spending time in. This place was only a few walls and doors, windows sparingly throughout with myself plotted somewhere in here.

My hand reached out from under the covers and turned off the lamp. Darkness engulfed me and I felt comforted in that without the light, I had nothing to hide. I was myself, nothing more, nothing less. I was a mess. I was working on it. I was missing the life I had had just weeks prior. I used to avoid darkness. The only way I wanted to welcome darkness into my life is if I was passed out.

And thank God I didn’t want that anymore.

I lied awake the entire night. And I thought about everything. I felt the effects of disappointment and regret eating away at me, just like they had every other night after Addie left me. The only difference between every other night and this one was that I wasn’t getting drunk to stave off how the disappointment in myself and regret of my actions felt.

I decided that in the morning I’d be making a trip to my parents’ house. It was time I told them. They’d seen me all of one time since I had been home. I rejected every attempt my mum made to come over to cook for me; I dodged every call and plea to come over for some family time. Much needed time with my family, I admit, and I walked away from it. Being around those I loved while I still guarded this deep, fast growing secret was hard. So I opted not to be around them at all.

Even if my brother knew of this secret by now, my parents had been in the dark about it. The only thing I’m sure they weren’t oblivious to was the fact that we had all substantially grown farther apart during the past year. And I can tell you that it wasn’t Addie’s fault. She didn’t come between me and anything. The only thing that hindered my attempts at upholding relationships was the alcohol.

And that ruined nearly everything.

Yes, it was time for my parents to know.

***

Mum welcomed me into the house with open arms and a warming smile. She made it so easy for everything to be familiar and comfortable, just like it had always been. Things felt like they had always been when I was home, my dad puttering about or watching telly while mum talked endlessly about things that weren’t highly interesting, but because she was saying them I would listen. It all just felt right again to be here. Of course I was still missing the greater part of me by now, but the way in which my mother noticed the dark circles under my eyes and didn’t say anything, said I was cared for here. It didn’t matter what I had done, my family would always care for me, do whatever they could for me. And I would do the same for them.

But for the past year I couldn’t seem to have done it for myself.

A grim look overcame my face after spending half an hour in the house with just my parents. Tom knew I was there, and I had asked him not to come because for some reason I felt it would be harder with him there. My logic on this was not apparent, because he was as good a support system as I could ever get, but I had to admit this on my own. I knew if he was there I would have drawn a blank and looked to him, pleading that he spit it out for me so I wouldn’t have to say it.

The word alcoholic tasted worse than any vomit I had faced after a night of drinking.

Mum noticed and quirked an eyebrow; she knew I had something to say. Never did I go this pale and say so few words when I didn’t have bad news to give. They saw me act this way at the dinner when I told them Addie passed away. This time the news wasn’t as life-shattering, but it would be hard for them. I knew it would. I had a hard enough time with it on my own, so any idea as to how my parents would deal with this was unimaginable.

“I think you should bring dad in here,” I muttered, fixing my eyes to the wooden kitchen table we were seated at. Dad was somewhere around here, going about the daily house duties of a man, of which those duties were, I wouldn’t know.

“Alright,” she said, nodding and taking a short breath before standing up from the table and hollering “Ian!” in the loud voice that could only be emitted from a mother.

In less than twenty seconds my father was lazily walking into the kitchen, spotting me and my sudden somber mood. A flash of confusion crossed his face as he knew I didn’t appear this way when I walked in the door just under an hour ago.

“You’re gonna wanna sit down,” I mumbled, the words barely coherent as more than a slur. The understood the gist of it though, following my motioning hands to the two seats across from the table. My eyes were still fixated on the wood grains of the table, but by the time I had drug them up to look at my parents, their attention was fully on me. A spotlight of ‘what’s he going to say’ directed straight into my eyes and suddenly I wasn’t so sure I could do this cleanly.

A few false starts and nothing more than single syllables before my father spoke up. “Oliver, you can tell us anythin’. You know that. And I presume you have somethin’ to tell if you can’t spit it out. We’re here for you.”

It was a comfort boost in those few words; a reminder I so needed.

“Look, I’m…” I tried to figure out how I could do this. “I’m going to check into rehab.”

My father’s eyebrows rose and my mother coughed in surprise. It was silent while I tried hard to maintain eye contact between the two of them.

“F’what?” my dad said, shock apparent in his voice as I could barely hear him.

“A-alcoholism,” I stuttered, hearing intakes of breath and sighs of relief for both of them.

At least I wasn’t into hard drugs at the moment. At least those hadn’t caused my life to spin out of control, because I knew if it were drugs, I wouldn’t be alive right now. I would have overdosed much sooner with those at my hand. At least with alcohol I was only killing myself slowly.

Something about that statement still sounded terribly wrong though.

As it should have.

More silence ensued before my mother spoke. I could see the few tears welled up behind her eyes. I hadn’t gotten yelled at yet, which of course wouldn’t happen in the first place; I was a grown man, I could think for myself. Part of me wanted to be reprimanded, to be shown how wrong everything I had done was; I believed punishment would be the only way I could see how wrong I had been.

Having Addie taken from me was punishment enough though.

“How long has this been going on, Oliver?” Her eyes were beyond hurt, as any mother’s eyes would be. And the worst part was I knew they both had some sort of suspicion. Everyone had to have had suspicion. Or maybe they all just thought it was Addie, that I was drifting away from everyone because I was too caught up in a romance.

I was too caught up in a romance to figure out that I was killing myself.

“Over a year,” I choked.

My mother covered her mouth, a squeaky sob erupting from behind her lips.

“Why… why didn’t you get any help? Talk to anyone?” My dad looked beside himself, his eyes just as hurt as my mother’s.

“’Cause… I don’t know! It was ‘ard, okay? I didn’t know what to do,” I admitted, flustered.

“Does your brother--”

“Yes,” I said shortly, cutting off my mother. “He, he found me a few nights after I got ‘ome. I were on the kitchen floor with a ton of bottles everywhere,” I admitted, ashamed that I had gotten to the point of passing out in the kitchen. It was embarrassing enough, let alone telling this to my parents.

Mum reached across the table and grabbed my hands. Any other time I would have refused this gesture and pulled my hands back to myself; but this time, I needed it. I needed a physical sign of affection that told me they would be there for me.

“It’ll be alright, love. We’ll get you through this together. One step at a time, aye? We’ll be there for you.”

She said it in that way that only a mother could to make me believe it.