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"But why are you back here, Tom?" The case worker looked at him from behind two-inch thick bullet proof plexi.
All Tom Morrison could do was shrug. His head swiveled to the left, and he saw some of his old friends. The term 'friends' might be pushing it. But he had spent the better part of his detox with these fellas. And they knew him quite well. There are few topics barred from the discussion table when you are cooped up with seventeen other men for weeks on end.
"You got a bed, or not?" Tom's head remained fixed on the rec room. The Steelers were playing. His team. At least while he was inside.
"Your old bed opened up last week Tom," she said, "but I gotta tell you, I wish you weren't the one filling it. Come on." She pressed a buzzer under the desk, and motioned to him to step around the booth to the residence hall.
Six weeks later, Tom woke in the chair of his therapist as he explained the months following his last release. Woke? Yes, Tom thought that phrase was adequate. In the weeks leading up to this final evaluation Tom was still in denial. He rejected the experience he lived through as drunken delusions. Yet. It was acceptance of that tall tale which granted him freedom from Franklin Hall Treatment Center.
"And you say this was the first time your father had been part of your life since," Dr. Graham looked down at his notes, "since before your graduation from high school?"
"Yes Doc. Now, fast forward would ya. I've told you all that dozens of times. During my last stay. And you had me tell it all over again this time." Tom was getting quite good at reciting his testimonial, and was able to point out where he needed to exercise each of the twelve steps, and with whom. But it was the relapse and stretch of fog filled memories which had him stuck until today.
"After I was released from Franklin last time, like I was saying, I met up with some others. Guys who had made it. They was on the wagon, and doin' OK. You know what I mean?" The Doctor nodded for Tom to continue. "Well, one of these dudes said he had a room at his place. I could stay there if I kept clean. And I didn't have to pay no rent until I got a decent job. So we were all going to head over there after dinner."
"But you never made it to your friend's apartment, did you Tom?"
"No." Tom looked down at his hands. They were sweat covered and red from rubbing. "No, I guess I didn't."
"Did you see him at dinner? Do you think your friends arranged for the meeting?"
"No. No, it wasn't like that. I think it was just bad timing. He saw it different. You know, I think he saw it, as like, his chance to redeem his self. Oh brother, would you listen to me. Now I'm his shrink, eh Doc?"
"Yes, well. Why don't we leave the psychoanalysis to me, shall we? Go on, Tom."
"We all pile into this place. A real nice joint. I was worried cause I didn't have no money. Just being released and all. But the guys say 'We got it, Tom!' and 'This is your big day, buddy!' So I let them treat me. And the night was going great." Tom looked off into the distance as he started to retell the series of events that landed him back in the addiction center.
"As the waiter is dropping off the bill, my Dad walks right up behind him, and sweeps it off the table before my pals can get a look at it. He smiles and says, 'Tommy! My dear sweet boy. It has been far, far too long. I can't believe I found you here. And tonight of all nights. Let me cover this, and buy you all a round of drinks.' And Doc, before we knew it, the little waitresses in those short skirts was piling beers, and shots, and mixed drinks onto the table like we was at a frat party. And I've been to a few of those, let me tell ya."
"But you were able to say no, isn't that right Thomas?" The Doctor made a note, and peered over his glasses at the recovering patient.
"Yes, of course. We all pushed back and declined. I was just released. There was no way I was about to drop off the wagon like that again. Most of the fellas were upset. They swore at my Dad, and pushed tables and chairs all over the place on our way to the front door. My Dad, he stopped me, and started to apologize. He had no idea who those guys were. What they had been through. What his own son had done and stopped a dozen times. How hard it was for him to even be out on the streets that night, instead of locked up in a jail cell or a center somewhere. So, yeah, he was wrong. But he knew it."
"And this heart to heart in the parking lot. That's when you say he told you the reason for his elated nature?" The pen tapped a rhythmic beat on the legal pad on the doctor's lap as he continued to listen. A clock on the far wall kept time.
"Yeah, it was the craziest thing I ever heard. My old man tells me he was in town for a business trip and hit the slots. He was always a compulsive gambler. But this was his big night. 'Lady Luck,' he said, 'had come through at last!' He pulls out a photo of him and a few people from the casino. Above them, the jackpot sign was flashing, and more numbers in a row than I ever even thought was possible. So, he won! The guy cleaned house. After all this time, my estranged father became a millionaire." Tom shook his head and took another deep breath. The incident was still hard for him to believe.
"What happened next, Tom? How did you," a pause. "What caused you to fall, again?"
"After I seen that jackpot photo, it was like all the heartache and pain was just wiped clear. My Dad and I hugged and laughed, and hooted and hollered. Man, he even started howlin' at the moon. I kid you not! It was like I was his little boy again and we just picked the winning horse at the downs. We used to do that a lot, him and me."
"Go on, Tom."
"Well. A few hours stretched into a few days. We went all over town. We saw some shows, and ate at some nice placed. Places too good for me even when I was sober and working sixty hours a week. Weeks passed. And before I knew it, we were both living in one of them Presidential Suites. He quit the job that had brought him to town. And I hadn't given a single thought to what happened when he cut me loose. I was fresh out of rehab, man. I didn't have a dime to my name. But he just kept saying 'what's mine is yours Tommy' and 'I want to make it up to you, boy.' That was a laugh."
"Why do you say so Tom?"
"Well. One night he comes stumbling in drunk with a couple of girls. Also hammered. One thing leads to another, and my old man takes one of these gals in the other room. I am left with the other one. She's cute alright, but wasted. I figure I ain't one to let a good thing pass. But I've gotta get up my courage a little. Had to convince myself that it was alright to, well, you know." Tom spread his hands in a gesture that said 'I've laid it out there, you put it together.'
"So I took a small drink. And poured her one too. And we drank a little. Then I had another one cause she wasn't quite done yet. But soon it was just me alone with a few dead soldiers, and the girls had left. And my Dad is shouting and kicking me in the ribs. And he threw me out. It didn't take me long to find what I needed. And I stayed on that bender for, well, I am not too sure how long."
"I see." The Doctor wrote a quick phrase, underlined it, and capped his pen.
"At some point, I woke up next to a broken bottle and blood dried on my forehead. The light in my eyes pierced right through my brain. I squinted and blinked, but it wouldn't go out. When I shielded my face from the glare, I could just make out the fluorescent words 'Franklin' and 'Hall'. I guess I knew I was home then."
THE END