The Magnificent Death (3)

You are rounding a bend on a slope. The trail has become thin from lack of use, the rains having nearly washed it away. A vague impression persisted but it was enough. Beneath your feet, the decomposing leaves smelt of wetness and earth, pine needles and moss. Death was here but not death. No sadness to it. No fear… You detect a rustling. You pause, still as a deer. Something was out there. Escaping you? Stalking you? You had no way of knowing. But you are not frightened. You ached to see it. Wishing whatever it was would come out to face you.

Many years ago, you were driving in the woods at night. It was late and it was completely dark. You’d rented a cabin with ______. Coming home from a roadhouse, drunk, attempting to find it. Turning a bend your headlights met two eyes. A deer? You stopped the car. A giant white owl stood like a ghost, staring right at you. Only for a moment. Then it was gone, disappearing into the darkest night. Such creatures were rare, even as far north as you were. Sometimes you think it was a vision. In time ______ would forget all about it. But you never did. You’ve been looking for that sacred animal ever since.

To be continued…

The Flicker Inside (6)

You look at the clock. Only ten minutes left in your share. And you still haven’t gotten to what it’s like now, the good part. Even so your lead was not absent of hope. That flicker of awareness… that distant horizon. Your drunkalog now, like your drinking then, could not hide it completely. It was in your eyes.

Bill Wilson wrote, “Few people will sincerely try to practice the AA program unless they have truly hit bottom.” If you were not what he called a “last gasper” you most certainly had plumbed the dregs.

Portion redacted…

Having thoroughly qualified your seat in AA, you say what you always say, what you never want to forget. “Needing this program is never enough. You have to want it.” Aping a grade school teacher, you wag your finger. “Your boss, your priest, your doctor, your wife; all these people said you needed to quit drinking. So maybe you did to ride out the storm. But as soon as that court card was signed you were right back out there, ripping and running.”

The group nods.

You apologize for using the pronoun you. In AA, the arrow only points in one direction. But it was intentional, demonstrating the futility of receiving a lecture. Those never worked, you say. You always knew you needed to stop drinking. For years and years…

To be continued…

The Flicker Inside (4)

The bar nearest your apartment you made a second home. There, you wrote ad copy and composed lousy poetry, an incoherent first novel. But mostly you drank, with others like you or, even better, a woman, drunk too, attracted by your worn leather chapbooks and the romantic person they implied. You drank until they turned on the lights, sending you out into the streets. Fleeing like a vermin or cockroach.

Tuesday nights were like Saturday nights. Better even, with less weekend warriors and more serious drinkers. Consuming alcohol wasn’t a lark; it was necessary. You loathed the frivolity of drinking games. You abhorred St. Patrick’s Day, with its crowd of bingers and lushes, those foolish over-served. Could they not appreciate the sanctity of alcohol? No they could not. The divide between you and them had become a huge chasm.

Yet…

On the other side was a sunlit pasture, a better place. Even in your cups, you saw it from the bar stool. You knew it was there.

It’s St. Patrick’s Day. Time for your drunkening…

Me like beer…

One of my all-time favorite episodes of the Simpson’s is about St. Patrick’s Day. The whole town of Springfield gets drunk and stupid. More so than usual. Everyone is stumbling, puking and fighting. Even the police. Especially the police. And all of them are wearing that dumbass shade of green. Only when Bart accidentally gets drunk does Springfield’s citizenry show any concern.

When it comes to drinking, St. Patrick’s Day rivals New Year’s Eve for “amateur night.” I’d argue that given my hometown, Chicago’s ‘proud’ Irish heritage March 17th is actually bigger and dumber than Dec 31st. We dye the river green!

For me, the mandatory drinking that the “holiday” requires is annoying. As is the mob scene. By 7 PM, North Clark Street resembles Bourbon Street during Mardi Gras. Rush Street is even worse.

Before you take me for a Puritan, you should know for many years alcohol was one of my best friends. We went to high school together. In college, I graduated from beer to vodka. Like playing “Quarters,” beer just seemed silly. Plus it took too long to get drunk. I took drinking far too seriously to be caught dead in some Irish bar on St. Patrick’s Day. Granted, I took drinking far too seriously period but that’s another story.

Anyway, I’m not a fan. That said here’s a clever piece of outdoor advertising from McDonald’s and Leo Burnett. Cheers!