The Drinker #4

That time he drank too much at the wedding
And wanted to drive the truck home with me in it.
I said “you have two options: You’re drunk, or being a dick”
He said, “not drunk.” Fine. For me, that was it.

I walked alone in pretty red heels and a light silk red dress.
Without my phone, wallet, money – was relying on his.
Walked down Laurier East through Vanier bridge barely lit.
And a creepy not-him trucker slowed down: “Hey wanna get in, bitch?”

While the headlights lit up my silks
And my kidneys hurt from being ill
And my heart hardened “another alcoholic”
I walked steadfast to get home before him.

“DO NOT COME HERE,” I texted, knowing he wouldn’t listen.
And took off my make-up, exhausted, and livid.
Then in he came, talking gibberish and nonsense
I know it wasn’t easy for him: they were pimping the champagne glasses.

And I went to my bedroom as he pop-hissed a Heineken
And he sat on the balcony, but I didn’t know if he’d jump off it
And I called my Mother: “Mom, it’s happened again”
And my Mother said, “He’s a nice guy, Sylvie, it’s OK. I’m coming.”

Mom came over and gently told him to wake up
He was passed on my balcony patio furniture that he helped to set up.
He was confused, and babyish, and Mom said straight up:
“Gonna take you home now B—-, you’ve had enough.”

She drove him home and left his truck in the garage
Mom came back, said “Sylvie, don’t be too mad” nor disparage
“He loves you a lot and is afraid he’ll lose you” she added
“But Mom, I can’t do alcoholics again: ZERO TOLERANCE.”

The next day, sure enough, he came to my home.
He was dressed in his black shirt, black pants, wedding clothes.
And he wept in shame saying “If my parents were to know”
Confessed to a DUI at 18, disappointing his mom and dad years ago.

And so where the fuck was I when he was about to drink and drive?
And where the fuck was I when I needed rest and told him to not come by?
And where the fuck was I in his regretting remorse and his crying?
Again: an alcoholic in his shame, all about him, self-absorbed … where was I?

And we stayed together a year more while he took 2 pints a night
Added up to about 20 drinks a week, if he went out, maybe 25.
And I hated he decompressed this way, and I was one to chide
And his father said his illness was real. And he often broke down and cried.

After this all I went sought out Al-Anon
With another ex lover who is a full-blown Alcoholic
And I wanted to learn why the hell I put up with this
And I learned what I learned —

from my parents.

Quite a dismal state to live with a drinker.
But when you never were consistently cared for by someone who really cares for ya
Your every thought becomes about their needs and how you can please them
And you get lost in the shuffle of all their different faces

It’s always about what they need and feel
And to hell with you and your feelings.

Sylvie Hill, Montreal, June 2019