Was I Really Dating This Man?
For the first time since high school, I had three weeks sober.
I felt good. I felt like life had meaning again, purpose, like there was some reason that I’d been saved from both my suicide attempt and my more recent stupidity on New Year’s Eve. I had God – a real, tangible God – who was on my side, who confirmed that it was in my best interest to stop drinking alcohol.
I flew home from London without my family; I needed to get back to work after taking an entire year’s worth of vacation. I rode on a huge jet where they offered me – legal at 23 – many options for alcoholic drinks.
But I didn’t feel compelled to drink. I could smoke on the plane and, without any parents around, I smoked a lot. I also slept a little. But mostly I sat anxiously awaiting my re-arrival in the United States.
Finally I got off the plane, purple duffel in tow, and there was Larry. He was standing right at the gate, waving wildly in front of the waiting crowd, grinning that crooked-toothed smile that I’d grown to love.
Except suddenly I didn’t love that smile anymore. Suddenly I was super-conscious of the crookedness of his teeth. His hair was so stringy; when had it gotten all stringy like that?
Larry was obviously going bald, and he was older than I remembered. When did he get so old? He looked older than my father – like somebody’s grandfather. How had he aged so much in three weeks?
Was I really dating this man?
“Hey Baby!” Larry said in that beautiful, gravelly voice. He lifted me and my duffel and swung us around wildly, right in the heart of all those people, grinning right into my face and whacking some very unhappy lady in the face with my bag.
He didn’t even notice; he kissed me like we were in a movie, like we were being reunited after a war.
And while I kissed him I thought, Who is this guy? When did Larry turn into this socially inappropriate old man?
He grabbed my duffel in one hand and put his arm around me with the other, reeking of dirt, oil, and obnoxious exuberance.
“I fuckin’ missed you, Baby!” he yelled. “I’m so glad you’re fuckin’ home!”
I hadn’t sworn in three weeks. Larry’s repetitive use of the f-bomb felt unusually uncomfortable.
In fact, everything was uncomfortable. Larry felt uncomfortable, unfamiliar, like a caricature of himself.
At the airport, I didn’t realize that I’d never seen him through sober eyes before. I didn’t know that it was me who had changed. I’d reconnected with a part of myself I thought I’d lost forever; I was still getting to know the real me.
And now I was reconnecting with Larry, who seemed absurdly flamboyant. I didn’t like this new Larry, the guy he’d always been. He was boisterous, loud, unkempt and unclean, and absolutely ancient.
Suddenly I felt out of place in the world, like Larry was pulling me away from a place I actually belonged. As we walked through the airport, I could feel the angry tug away from myself.
Larry’s boots were loud. He squeezed me too hard. I didn’t want to be with him. But I truly had nowhere else to go.
I need a drink, I thought immediately. Then: But I’m not going to drink.
I really didn’t want to drink. I’d seen a shooting star.
But as we reached the car, another thought slowly crept into my brain, a brilliant idea.
I guess I could just smoke pot.
