Yeah, This Is IT!
While I found Larry to be alluring, like a speck of gold in a muddy creek, and I loved the music he put into my life, I had not one iota of respect for his job, his choices, his behaviors, his past, or his way of life.
I was extraordinarily seduced by the confidence of the man who became my surrogate husband and father. I found Larry to be extremely attractive, and I was fascinated by the blue-collar world I’d never seen. But Larry and I had not one millimeter of anything in common, and I had no interest in him as a person. I never thought beyond what he could provide for me in my 22-year-old desperation to live “independently.”
In my head, I was living a free and easy biker life – hair flowing in the wind, arms outstretched to reach the sun – able to do whatever I wanted to do, whenever I wanted to do it. That’s why I went back to Larry. I believed in the dream I thought I was living – and Larry continuously reinforced that dream. He never wanted anything beyond the simplicity he’d attained.
Sometimes we’d ride on the motorcycle on a warm day and the sun would blaze and the ice would melt and I would think, Yeah, this is IT!
And sometimes I’d be wet and hungry and sick and flopping all over the back of the bike because I was too wasted to sit upright and I’d think, I just want to fucking die.
But in my head, I only remembered the sunny days. I thought it was always summer and was surprised when the morning was cold. I was disappointed when it rained, which happened frequently in Pittsburgh, but remembered prior days as though they’d been full of carnivals and cotton candy. Every day, I’d wake in complete agony, head pounding, throat parched, and head straight for the fridge, and grab a beer as though my life was one continuous picnic.
I’d become convinced that my life was glorious. I thought I was beaming. I thought I was happy.
In reality, I was living next to a slum in a degenerate town teeming with derelicts. I was filthy to the core – barely clean enough to show up to work. My entire life revolved around the consumption of alcohol. On weekends, I had no reason to get out of bed except that there was a cigarette to light, a beer to crack open, and a dark bar into which I could crawl.
Other than those happy-hoo-hah moments when cocaine appeared, I did nothing other than sleep and drink beer. On a big day, I drank a few shots of root beer schnapps, or petted a dog on the street, or bought a carton of cigarettes, or a pizza with mushrooms. Sometimes I choked down a pickled egg or bought a candy bar at the gas station. That made it a big day.
There was absolutely no connection in my mind between my alcohol use and my behavior. Deep-down in the core of my soul, I believed that everyone wanted to live the way I lived.
And eventually, after months and months of living where and how I was living, drinking myself daily into oblivion, listening to everyone talking about freedom, believing that I was living my dream … I started to believe I belonged where I was. I began to feel at home, to find my place, and fit right in.
The more I drank, the more I fit.