It all started with a missing shoe. Then a few overturned couch cushions. Characteristics of having a rambunctious dog and a preschooler in residence.
The missing remote? Too many beers last night, probably. I’ll look for it later. Shouldn’t be too hard to find. Hell, the cushions are already halfway to the floor! I’ll find it in a jiffy. No problemo.
My misplaced car keys? Now that was the real mystery. I mean, I’ve hung them damn things up on the same damn hook for how long? Like, ever? Yeah, that long. There’s no way in Hell they upand unhung themselves and found their way out to the car all on their own. Nope. No way.
Probably should go check anyways. Just in case …
I’m not sure what prompted me to look for those damn keys in my sock drawer, of all places. Maybe it was’cuz the drawer was already open? I dunno. Dunno why it was open either. Hadn’t changed my socks in-“sniff-sniff”-Phew! Must be six days now. Damn! Gonna hafta ‘member to take care of that.
The Boss gimme two weeks off, onna counta the Doc says I’m depressing, and might be experiencing a sudden onset of psychosomatic hallucinations, or some shit. I dunno. What I do know is, I can’t find my fuckin’ carkeys. And I’m almost outta beer. Gonna hafta walk my fat ass down to the corner store I guess. Hate that place. Goddamn sand niggers,they want fifteen bucks for a twelver! Fifteen bucks! That’s like, a buck a beer! Outrageous,I tell ya. Oh, well. Man’s gotta do whatta man’s gotta do, right?
Should prolly change my socks first. And where’s that fucking shoe?!
Thank God for sandals, huh? Didn’t hafta change my socks after all. Took ’em off though. Gripes did they stink! Right in the trash went them sumbitches. Good riddance! Gonna hafta ‘member to take the trash out thisweek. Missed it last time. Forget what day the truck comes anymore. What day is it anyhow? Is today even aweekday? Ah, fuck it. Gotta hunnert bucks wortha beer. I’m aheada the game.
Oh, shit. I forgot the game was on tonight. Wait. Was that tonight? What day is this? Fuck it. I’ll surf till I find some thin’ interesting. Now where did I put that remote?
Woke up this morning to find the dining room table set for a feast. The fuck? Gonna hafta check with the wife, see if we got company coming.
Found that shoe I was lookin’ for. In the bathtub. Maybe the dog’s tryin’ to tell me he needs a bath. (Maybehe’s tellin’ me I need a bath?) Whatever. Got my fucking shoe, s’all that matters.
Can’t find the little woman nowhere. How’m I posta know if we got company comin’ or not? Christ. Gotta doeverything myself around here.
Maybe I should call Jimmy. Jimmy’ll know if we’re havin’ a shindig or not. He’s always up for someshindigging. Maybe he’ll stop and grab a few beers for me. Supplies are running low already.
“Yeah, Jimmy? Hey Buddy. It’s me. Yeah, good to hear your voice, too. Listen. You know anything ’boutashindig happenin’ over here? Huh? What? No. No, I don’t think so. But, you see, the table is set fit for a king and…Huh? Naw, I ain’t had that much to drink. Oh, stop it! You sound just like Sheree.”
“Huh? Whadja say? I can’t hear ya. You’re breakin’ up. Say. Why don’tcha grab a coupla twelvers and swing by? We ken watch the game and shoot the shit for awhile. Alright?
“Whadya mean, ‘What game?’ The freakin’ Lakers game, ya mope! Huh? When did that … A week ago? Shit. Musta dozed off “Well, whaddya say you grab some coldies and swing on by anyhow? Oh. Oh, alright. My bad. I didn’t know it was Tuesday. Naw, the doc gimme another two weeks off. Wants me to ‘dry out’ a while before I start therapy. Huh? Yeah, sure. Why not? I mean, insurance is footin’ the bill, right? Exactly! I dunno ’bout that whole dryin’ out part tho. Ain’t all that simple, know what I mean? Heh, heh.
“Okay. Okay, Jimmy. I’ll see ya on Saturday then. Tell Theresa ‘Hi!’ for me. Say, why don’t ya bring her and the kids witcha? That way the girls ken catch up and the kids ken play together, while we watch the game and shoot the shit. Sound good? Alright. Alright, Jimmy. See ya Saturday. Later.”
Woke up to find every freakin’ window in the house wide open. Sheree must be airing the joint out beforeour company comes. I should take out the trash. Shit’s overflowing. Stinks to high Heaven too!
Sheree’s a good girl. Love a my life, she is. We met right outta college. Married a year later. Time’s was tough back then. Shitty, one-bedroom ‘partment costed like, sixteen hunnert bucks a month! Goddamn slumlords.
We hadda share the only piece o’shit car we could afford.But Sheree? Sheree didn’t
mind takin’ the bus most days. Said it gave her peace of mind not having to deal with rush hour traffic and whatnot.
Sheree’s a good girl. Love a my life, she is.
When I finally got the promotion down at the plant, we moved into this dump. Pretty nice digs, all thingsconsidered. Rumor has it, it was taken apart brick by brick, board by board, and shipped here from Bangor, Maine.Some author dude used to own it, or some shit. Disappeared in the middle of the night one day. Never heard from again.
Weird shit right there. Wonder who he was? Wonder if I ever read his shit? Meh. Whatever. Better get thesewindows shut. Gettin’ kinda chilly in here …
Whatta freakin’ nightmare! Dreamt old Jimmy came over and told me my wife and kid was dead! The fuck? Said it’s been like, two years now? Damn shame you gotta pop your buddy in the mouth ina dream. Popped ’em good, too. Shut ’em up real quick. The fuck he thinks he is? Nostradamus? Now I’m havin’ trouble sleepin’ again. Thanks, jerk-off.
Where was I? Oh, yeah. So we get hitched, right? ‘Vested inna old jalopy, saved some dough. Bought this place. Then we practiced real hard at makin’ babies. Feel me? Huh? Huh? Yeah, you know what I’m talkin’ ’bout!
Anywho. We come up empty handed. In the baby department, that is. I mean, who lays the salami every night for a year–and twice on Saturdays–and don’t get no results? We do, that’s who. My pride took a hit on that one. Guys down at the plant bustin’ my balls ’bout it. Sheree feelin’ all breft? I think that’s the word. Talkin’ ’boutfertility specialists and sperm counts and whatnot. The fuck ever. But, I love her. I’m gonna do what I gotta do to fatten my chick up.
Turns out I got me some really healthy swimmers down in the old sack. We’re talkin’ Michael Fuckin’ Phelps Olympians here, right? Problem was, Sheree’s subway system’s a little outta whack. Train keeps jumpin’ the tracks, so the passengers gotta catcha ‘nother ride in order to get where they posta be. Somethin’ like that. I dunno.
We ended up doing some kinda video fertilization. Real expensive shit, too. Thank God our insurance was paid up!
And I guess we was real good at it too, ‘cuz the doctor said it took on the very first try, and that was a rarity.Strong swimmers, just like I tole ya …
Nine months, twelve gallons of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream, a whole hockey season, and threefalse alarms later, Elizabeth Michelle arrived. Sheree told me that that little bundle of wrinkly skin was gonna change my whole world. Oh, the stories I could tell ya ’bout her!
Fuck. Another nightmare. Shit’s gettin’ old, lemme tell ya. Dreamt I found old Fred lyin’ dead in thebackyard. Am I eatin’ the wrong shit at night? Maybe s’not agreein’ with my sleep number cycle or somethin’? Shit’s gettin’ old, lemme tell ya …
Elizabeth was just four years old when we introduced her to a Chicago-style deep-dish pizza. It was love at first sight. But she was too young to properly articulate such a grown-up name. Instead, she called it “Pizza Cake.” So wise, this four-year-old. She was what my Ma always referred to as an “old soul.”
Liz didn’t really understand when her Gramma passed away.
But she knew that she missed her and missing her made her feel sad. Like I said, my Lizard Butt was awise one, she was.
After I buried old Fred-and cried my ever-lovin’ eyes out, I placed his water dish over him; like a stainless steel grave marker. Sheree had had his name engraved on it at the mall where she bought it. Like he didn’t knowwhose bowl it was. She was silly that way, sometimes. So full of sunshine in those days. Before the world turned dark, and cold .
The birds use the bowl as a bathtub, so I try to make sure to keep water in it. When I remember, that is. Iknow when it gets dry by the “reminders” I find splattered on my windshield at 6:00 in the morning. I swear, those Goddamn birds get up extra early just so’s they can shit on my car!
But it didn’t take me long-ahem! It didn’t take me too long to figure out what they was tryin’ to tell me.Now, when I’m hosing off my windshield, I’ll take the extra 23.7 seconds to aim the nozzle over the fence and shootsome water into the bowl. Maybe give the lilac bush a quick spray while I’m at it.
Twice a month, we’d work together as a family in the yard. We each performed or own self-assigned chores.It was cute; it was fun.
If we were washing the car, I got to scrub the roof, windshield, trunk, and hood, while Sheree was in charge of the windows and doors. Lizard Butt took care of the rims and bumpers. She couldn’t really reach much past that,without a boost. Big Daddy had the cleanest rims in da ‘hood. Believe dat!
My wife picked up on the anomalies first: the sudden loss of what was once a voracious appetite.(Voracious. That was Sheree’s favorite word to describe our family’s eating habits. Voracious. I love the way it rollsoff the tongue. Voracious.)
This, of course, was followed by some dramatic weight loss. Lizzy was already tiny for her age. Hell, whoam I kidding? She’d entered this cold, dark world at a whopping six pounds, seven ounces. She was so tiny, they had her clipped, cleaned, and swaddled, and on her way to Sheree’s swollen breast, before Sheree even knew it wasover! A real trooper, my Sheree.
When Lizard Breath’s sleeping habits changed, Sheree really began to worry. Not me, though. Nope. What I saw was a six-year-old kid who slept like a champ-just like her old man! I took full credit for this genetic indulgence. I was a Happy Camper. I was a Proud Papa. I was a fucking idiot.
After mowing the lawn, I’d maybe trim a hedge, prune a tree or three, while Sheree weeded the Tiniest Garden in America. No, really. She had a sign made up and everything! She grew tomatoes and jalapenos. That’s it.
Bizzy Beth shared in the work as well, collecting the smaller clippings, picking up the plucked weeds, and would make a neat pile over by the “portable” fire pit. Cheap piece of crap. You couldn’t getta respectable blaze going in one a them things without the sides sloughing off like a cliff’s edge.
Sheree would laugh her ass off every time, spillingPink Zinfandel down the front of her blouse while telling me: “Honey, your fires are hotter than a kiln!” Like them damn things ever saw the inside of a kiln. At seventy-five bucks a pop, I was easily spending a grand a year on ’em! But it was worth every penny.
Whenever Elizabeth saw one of the new ones sitting in its place of honor, she’d say
“Daddy, that one looks different,” and the scrunched up look of confused concentration on her pretty little face would make my heart do flip-flops in my chest. Such a beautiful, innocent child. So full of life and wonder.
Life. And wonder. Too bad broken hearts don’t do flip flops …
“I’m okay, Mommy,”she’d say. “I’m just tired. “
“I’m okay, Daddy,” she’d say. “I’m not very hungry.” “I’m okay,” she told us. And we believed her.
The initial tests came back negative. (I don’t know what it was they were looking for, I just know they hadn’t found it. Yet.) But Sheree? Nuh uh. She was having none of it. She was a Mom, first and foremost, and ifyou know anything about moms, you know that they just know things.
“You smell like cigarettes,” my mom would casually tell me.
“Umm…” I would mumble. “Jimmy’s Ma smokes in the car, so … you know.” What? It wasn’t a total lie. I mean, his ma did smoke in the car!
“Nope,” she would state matter-of-factly. “Smells like you smoked at least three cigarettes.”
How did she do that?!
We never confessed to Lizzy that we’d replaced the fire pit. Over, and over, and over again. Did we lie? Perhaps. But only by omission. It was but the tiniest of little white lies. More of a personal joke, really. Or maybe a secret? I don’t know. But what I am sure of, mostly, is that Liz knew. That she knew that fire pits didn’t magically change their colors overnight. (One time, the store was down to a single pit, a dookie-brown one. The last one wehad was pale pink with blue and yellow swirls!)
I think she became even more suspicious when there was absolutely no evidence of a fire ever having been lit inside the new ones. But she never gave voice to her observations. She was very mature in that sense. She let herMommy and Daddy have their little secret, and we enjoyed pretending like we’d gotten over on her.
Yep. We were good at keeping secrets. Until we weren’t.
I sat quietly on the edge of the hospital bed, holding Elizabeth’s one free hand; the other one was holding up her favorite stuffed animal, Nail Bunny, so he wouldn’t fall over while they watched the muted TV hung high on the wall.
“You must have missed something,” Sheree said to the attending pediatrician. “Please, look again,” shebegged.
We didn’t know this guy from Adam; therefore, he didn’t know us either. Liz’s primary pediatrician, Doctor Angie, couldn’t make the appointment because her private practice was clogged up with snot-nosed kids–typical, considering it was Corona season–and had recommended this schlub.
“Ma’am,” he began. (Like I said, he didn’t know us from anybody, so he didn’t immediately notice the atmospheric changes taking place as my lovely wife took offense at his seemingly patronizing tone.) “I am a trained professional,” he continued, “and I can assure you…”
Dude never had a chance. When Sheree crossed her arms and raised that one, perfect eyebrow a fraction of an inch, the “trained professional” guzzled an entire can of Shut The Fuck Up, and took a step back.
The nurse, who’d been busy fluffing pillows and picking up Styrofoam cups, let out a gasp and froze, whileLizzy and me concentrated on the commercial that was silently playing, trying our damnedest not to hear words aLady shouldn’t use.
“Oh. Assure me, can you?” she said as roiling, black thunderclouds gathered within the crowded room. “Well then, I suggest that you assure me you’ve already spoken to Dr. Howard from down thehall, and have gotten a second fucking opinion,” she said icily. “Can you assure me, doctor,” she spat, taking a threatening step forward, “that you triple-checked the test results before you came galloping in here on top of your high horse, like a knight in shining loafers?” she finished with a lethal neck snap.
She took a deep breath before completing her tirade with a broken voice. “Do you dare assure me, Mr.Trained Professional, that my daughter–the light of my life–will live to a ripe, old age? Do you?”
The hospital room was so quiet, the commercial on the muted TV seemed excessively loud, all of a sudden.
Like any man who’s just had his face ripped off by an overprotective mother bear, the young doctor mumbled, “Very good,” as he turned on his heels and quickly left the room.
The nurse, standing with a pillow clutched to her chest in mid fluff, looked back and forth between my wife and the empty doorway, uncertain what she’d just witnessed, unsure what to do next.
After a moment of uncomfortable silence, she finally asked, “Can I get anyone something to drink?”
This simple display of courtesy broke the tension in the room as all three of us answered: “Yeah! Can Ihave a purple pop?” asked Liz; “Coffee would be nice,” Sheree answered distractedly; “Make that two purplepops, please,” I added.
The room remained eerily quiet after the nurse departed.
Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia. Three words no parent is prepared to hear. Ever.
“If detected early on and aggressively treated, there is a good chance … yadda, yadda, yadda.”
Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia. Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia.
Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia. Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia.
Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia. Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia.
“It’s gonna be okay, Daddy,” Lizard Breath croaked in a dry, raspy voice. This had become her “new” voice,it seemed, ever since her last blood transfusion. The last transfusion.
I wasn’t crying. Yet. My tears normally didn’t spill over until I was alone; in my man cave; having a beer; watching a game; talking to the dog; breathing.
But somehow Lizzy just knew. Knew when I was struggling with my emotions, and she never, ever failed to put in the extra effort to make me feel better.
Tough day on the job? “It’s okay, Daddy. You’re home now.”
Moody from the rush hour traffic? “It’s okay, Daddy. You gotta picture o’me on the smashboard.”
The smashboard. How cute is that? If she only knew how often I used the dashboard for a punching bagthese days. But, l’d never allowed her to see me act out in anger. Well, not true anger anyway. It’s one thing toholler at the refs on TV. I mean, c’mon! That was clearly goaltender interference! You mean to tell me there are four zebras on the ice and nobody saw nothin’? Really? Really?!
“That’s okay, Daddy,” she’d say. “They’ll beat ’em in overtime.” And they would. I often wondered if my little princess was clairvoyant.
Three beers and two goals later, all was forgiven; all was forgotten.
“While you’re sitting there, picking your nose,” my wife would say, “she’s busy picking winning teams.” Truer words were never spoken.
No parent is prepared to bury a child. Six-year-old Elizabeth Michelle Stanley; Daughter, Granddaughter, Princess; was laid to rest four months after her initial diagnosis. She’d never even gotten the chance to prepare for the battle she was facing. Then again, neither did we.
Sheree Leanne Stanley, nee Donaldson; Wife, Mother, Queen; joined our daughter fifteen short monthslater, after losing her battle with severe depression. Unmentioned is a misdiagnosed opioid addiction, andalcoholism. A potentially lethal combo for any adult. Especially a grieving mother.
Imagine my surprise when, after I woke up and took a leak, I couldn’t flush the toilet; that I couldn’t turn on the water faucet to wash my hands. I was really worried at first, but only because I thought: If I’m still sleeping–and this is all part of my dream — did I really just take a nice, long piss? Uh oh!
Back into the bedroom I went and was oddly relieved to find myself still in bed; an end of the sheet tangledloosely around one ankle, the other end dangling over the edge. My mouth was agape in a pained grimace, like I was smelling a fart. Huh. Who knew I was such an ugly sleeper?
Then I thought: This is so fucking cool! Like an outta body experience!
I drifted down the hallway–yes, drifted–then floated down the 14 stairs, coming to a
hovering standstill in the kitchen doorway. That’s when a sly idea entered my pipe dream.
Approaching the huge Sub-Zero refrigerator (in brushed stainless steel, thank you very much!), I attempted toopen it. Dummy me. I’d already forgotten about my troubles with the bathroom fixtures.
Then another bright idea came to mind. Sticking my head through the door, I was now able to see inside my fridge, without having to mess with it. (In the spirit of full disclosure: This bad mamba jamba was equipped with a touchscreen, which, theoretically, would have allowed me to view the contents of my fridge from the outside.However, as I previously mentioned, I could not physically manipulate any solid implements. Besides, doing it thisway was way fucking cooler. Except for the fact that I also couldn’t grab any of the ice-cold beers that were lined up, waiting for me).
Bummed out-but not totally discouraged-I decided a trip into the brisk, early morning air was what I needed.
Through the French doors I went, coming to a rest next to my natural gas grill–which had become my most used appliance of late, outside of the Sub-Z, that is–because a grill didn’t require that you clean it before, orafter use. Unlike a stove. Or a microwave. Or that Goddamn toaster oven Sheree had spent a fortune on thatalways, always burnt my toast to a crisp!
Taking a deep breath, I realized two things: 1) I breathed in my dreams, and 2) there weren’t any birds or squirrels in the yard. This was strange because there were always birds and squirrels in the yard these days.Especially after poor Fred…
Looking down at the shiny, stainless steel water dish/bird bath reminded me of the good times in life. A life thatseemed to fade away right along with Liz’s passing. And Sheree’s. And Fred’s. Life wasn’t worth two shits now. Not without them it wasn’t.
Like many times in the past, I imagined I could hear Fred faintly in the distance, barking in the way he did when he wanted to play fetch: WooWoof! WooWoof! Goofy mutt. God, why did he have to go and die on me too?He was the last friend I had!
Suddenly, and quite unexpectedly, I was hit in the back by something soft. And wet. Something … mushy?
Turning quickly around, I saw rolling away from me a grungy yellow Spalding tennis ball. Actually, onlypal..g showed, so chewed up it was. I recognized it right away. But just as quickly as it appeared–it disappeared.
Disappointed, I turned away and became distracted by the sight of the lilac bush I’d neglected for the past …bow many years has it been? Too fucking many. Not nearly enough. It was in sad shape; ugly cobwebs (or were those cocoons?) wrapped around the ends of sagging, half-dead branches, slowly choking the life from it, further diminishing its beauty. And it no longer produced that intoxicating fragrance Sheree loved so much. I loved so much. With every passing winter it looked more and more like that pitiful tree in It’s a Charlie Brown Christmas.
The thought made me laugh. Until I started sobbing uncontrollably. I do that a lot lately. Am I such a fucking mess that I’m now crying in my dreams too? That’s a sobering thought right there. Shit. I need a beer. Bad.
Elizabeth wanted a baby brother, and we were more than. happy to work on providing one for her. But due to somesorta “surgical complications” we were never made aware of during Liz’s birth, Sheree sustained some internal damage, leaving her barren. No amount of insurance money could ever fix this particular problem, but the malpractice lawsuit we filed did help. A little.
Adoption was our next … No. Adoption was our only option, and we thought long and hard about it, before presenting the idea to Bizzy Beth.
“You mean I get to pick my little brother out, like a toy at the store?” she asked, her eyes sparkling.
Sheree and I shared a look. We hadn’t thought about it quite like that but, hell, the kid was right.
“When are we leaving?” was her only other question. Kids. Gotta love ’em.
Unfortunately, life got in the way, and the dreams of expanding our happy little family quickly faded.
Before I could turn around and go inside to wake myself up–in order to start the day off drinking–I was again hitin the back by that imaginary tennis ball. (Of course it was imaginary; this was a dream after all!) Only this time, I bent over and picked it up before it could disappear on me.
Yuck! Goddamn thing really was all wet and mushy! If I was the sort of guy who analyzed bis dreams, I’d probably find some archaically insightful meaning behind this. But, nah! It was only a dream. Albeit a realisticallygraphic one-but a dream nonethefuckingless.
Staring down at the soggy mess in my band, I again imagined I heard old Fred woofing at me; urging me to throw it: “WooWoof! WooWoof!” So I did.
Out of nowhere, a chocolate lab bolted past me, only to come to a graceless, skidding halt, as the ball bounced off the privacy fence, changing its trajectory without notice. Ha, ha! You’d think that after 13 years of doing this, Fred would’ve learned by now. Dumb dog.
Undeterred, he quickly changed course, leaping after it and scooping it up in a single bound before it had a chance to roll to a standstill.
“Didja see that, Daddy?” I imagined Elizabeth asking excitedly. “He got it before it stopped. That means hewon!” she explained the nuances of fetch to me for the hundredth time.
“He sure did, Bizzy Beth,” I answered back for the hundredth time as I stared at the wet splotch the ball left on the stained wooden fence. That’s gonna leave a mark, I thought. Another mark! I corrected myself.
While she giggled and tried to coax the ball from him by telling him how good of a boy he was, I plucked afresh sprig of lilac from the flowering shrub, losing myself in its heavenly fragrance.
“Mmmmm,” I imagined Sheree moaning in ecstasy as she wrapped herself around me from behind. “Smells like it’s gonna be a good year,” she said, giving me a squeeze.
I closed my eyes, forcing the gathering tears to vacate the premises and streak slowly down my cheeks. A familiar feeling if ever there was one.
I clamped my eyes shut tighter, and with a shuddering breath said, “I could really use a good year, honey.”
After a moment, she let go of me. Afraid to open my eyes and lose this little slice of Heaven, I just stood there, crying silently.
The feeling of a hand other than my own wiping the tears from my face prompted me to open my eyes.There in front of me, shimmering through my tears, stood my beautiful wife. A sad smile on her slightly upturned face.
“Hi baby,” she said. “I’ve missed you.”
I grabbed her up in a hug, and with my ragged voice I said into her silky, golden-brown hair, “I’ve missed you, too. Soo much!” Then I really lost it.
She held me tightly as violent sob after violent sob wracked my entire body; ignoring the snot and the tearsthat drenched her shoulder. My long-lost trooper.
Pulling back a little, she gave me another pained smile and asked, “Feel better?”
I did. But I could only nod in answer, not trusting my voice.
Simultaneous collisions to both my legs nearly buckled me, but for Sheree’s firm hold. Glancing down I got a look at old Fred, leaning heavily on my left leg in anticipation of a good ear scratching.
On my other leg was my precious baby girl, squeezing me tightly, expecting to receive the same attention asFred. It felt just like old times. I was paralyzed.
Jimmy stopped taking my calls about six months ago. Never could figure out why.
I quit drinking about two months later. Right around the time I ran outta beer, I suppose. That was prolly for the best, I think.
The doc declared me disabled and unfit to work. Seems I’d surpassed being a “functioning alcoholic” andprogressed right on to manic depressive, without even realizing I’d made the transition. Yay me! My reward for this accomplishment? $1,800 a month, and a lifetime supply of vacation days.
Problem was, I could no longer drive; I was too fucked up emotionally. Mentally. Every time I got behindthe wheel, I just wanted to ….
And without Jimmy around to pick things up for me, drive me places, I was stuck at home. Alone. Sober.And miserable.
That was alright though, because I’d discovered in the medicine cabinet a whole bottle of Sheree’s old “Happy Pills,” sitting on the shelf, collecting dust.
Goddamn! I thought. If this lucky streak continues, I’ll have to start playing the Lottery!
“Sweetie,” Sheree said to Elizabeth. “Why don’t you run inside and get Fred a T-R-E-A-T, while I talk to Daddy.”
Sheree firmly believed that old Fred understood English perfectly, but he couldn’t spell worth a damn.
“Okay Mommy,” she said with her usual enthusiasm. “I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere, Daddy!” she ordered.
As if.
With the two lovable playmates out of earshot, Sheree again looked up at me, a serious expression now on her face. Uh, oh. My heart raced as I realized I was about to fuck up the best dream I’ve had in years. Why? Why did this always happen? Why couldn’t I, for once, just …
“You never threw away my feel-good pills,” she stated.
I was confused by her sudden tone; by her overbearing presence and expected to wake up-alone and miserable-any second now.
That’s usually how my dreams ended anymore: Me, alone in my bed of misery, the reek of stale beer, of stale asspermeating the unwashed sheets.
I looked away in shame and was shocked back into realityor whatever the hell it was called in this bizarroworld version of Dreamland-when I felt a sharp sting on my left cheek; when I heard a loud “Crack!” explode inmy left ear. Ow! Did she just … Did she just fucking slap me?! What the–
“Look at me, you bastard!” she hissed.
I couldn’t. I was confused. I was ashamed. I was”Crack!” It was my right ear this time. Ow! Who knew shewas such a diverse slapper?
I mean, I “I. Said. Look. At. Me!” she growled.
I was in trouble now. Chancing a look at her, I expected to see the All Fires of Hell blazing within her gorgeous green eyes. Instead, what I saw was kindness. And understanding.
And…
And…And I must’ve been drunk. I mean, she just slapped the shit out of me, Twice! There’s no way what I was seeing could be anything but –
“You stupid, stupid man,” she whispered, her hand on my chest now. (At least it wasn’t coming back forthirds!) “Have you not learned anything?”
I took that rhetorically ’cause if anyone knew how dumb I could be, it was definitely Sheree.
She let out a sigh and gently rested her forehead on my quivering chin. “Why? Why would you-“
But I didn’t let her finish.
“I just thought … you know … maybe … maybe they would work for me,” I stammered. “I thought they’d helpme get out of this … this funk. I’ve been so miserable without you. Without Lizzy. Without Fred.” The words poured from my mouth and I was determined to get ’em all out this time; before I woke up to the living nightmare mysorry excuse for a life bad become.
“Honey, I just wanted to feel better for a change. And I do. Now,” I admitted. “This is the best I have felt inlike, forever. You know?”
Smiling, Sheree shook her head but whispered, “Yes. Yes I do know.”
Music to my ears.
Taking my hand, she led me away from the lilac bush.
“We should go in and make sure Elizabeth didn’t feed Fred the entire box of Snausages,” she said, adding, “Iswear, she spoils that dog more than you spoil her.”
This wasn’t true. But I would never admit that.
“There aren’t any Snausages,” I said, feeling guilty while sadness crept up on me. “I haven’t bought any of those since-“
“Dear,” she interrupted my gloomy confession. “How many of those did you eat?”
Confused, I thought she meant doggy treats. “What?!” I said, insulted. Just how bad did she think my lifehad become that I was subsisting on dog food? “Jesus Christ, Sheree,” I began, only to be interrupted, again-this time by a frowning Little Bit who stood in the doorway holding an empty box of doggy treats.
“You shouldn’t say that, Daddy,” she admonished. “Oh, and we’re all out of T-R-E-A-T-S,” she added with a sideways look at Fred, who sat there licking his chops, waiting patiently for the next handful of treats to hit thefloor.
Sheree laughed the laugh that made me fall in love with her, over, and over again, before telling Elizabeth toput some shoes on, and grab Fred’s L-E-A-S-H; we were going to take a W-A-L-K down to the corner store and pick up another box of T-R-E-A-T-S.
After Lizzy ran back inside, with Fred on her heels, Sheree repeated her question: “So, how many did you take?”
Realizing now what she was referring to, I told her. “All of them.”
“Hm,” she hummed. “You’re smarter than you look. I had to take those damn things for a whole year, beforeI figured out how to make them work.”
I laughed at this. I know I probably shouldn’t have, but I couldn’t help myself. It was such a Sheree thing tosay, and I cherished that. I missed that.
“Honey,” she said, “the directions were right there on the bottle.”
Sheree smiled the smile that made me fall in love with her, over, and over again, and gave my hand asqueeze before telling me, “Yes. Yes they were. Who knew?”
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