Page 49 of Delayed Intention

Frozen

Waking up to the smell of vomit is never a promising start to a new day.

Aside from an incident of food poisoning a while ago, it’s been years since I woke up, still drunk, to the smell of my own sick.

The odor is worsening my nausea. Despite my near-total dehydration, I can tell I need to run, not walk to the bathroom.

Fuck .

The minute I try to stand, blinding pain strikes my head, displacing the nausea with pure agony.

It feels like a brick struck the center of my forehead—am I that dehydrated?

Palpating my scalp to search for damage, I find there isn’t any swelling or blood.

How many days was I drinking? What day is it now?

That’s when I admitted I don’t know if it’s day or night.

Squeezing my eyes shut, holding my head in my hands, I hold still, waiting to let my abused body dictate my next move.

The pain in my head is nothing compared to a sudden, searing pain in my abdomen, making me wonder if I have pancreatitis rather than merely a hangover.

Whatever is on the differential diagnosis for the etiology of my symptoms, I’m not done working through it.

This will go down as one of my top three hangovers of all time, of that, I am sure. Then I remember.

Lily .

I deserve everything coming to me today.

I’ve already had to apologize once for being a thoughtless asshole.

Now, however, I’ve fucked it up to the next level.

Reviewing the night at the bar, I groan, making my headache worse.

What I said, about Ellen, about her… I wouldn’t forgive anyone else for talking to her that way.

I’m not sure I’ll be able to forgive myself.

The last time I ruined things, it took a letter combined with the luck of a wedding emergency to reconnect us. But now?

My time for procrastinating running to the bathroom is over, no matter how much pain I’m in. I grab a water bottle Lily must have left out for me on my dresser and relocate to the bathroom floor. The cool tile provides minimal relief, but I will take it where I can.

I wake, sometime later, lying on my side with a pillow clutched to my chest and Ginger staring at me from the bathroom entrance.

“Hey,” I croak out to my dog. I need to feed her, but I’d have to crawl to the kitchen.

I considered if I could make it to the clinic to start an IV bolus on myself.

Unlikely that I can make it more than a block without collapsing in the street.

I laugh at myself, igniting another headache, this time behind my right eye.

I can see the headline now: “ Disgraced Former Physician Dies Along the Fall River Because He Was a Drunk Asshole Who Lived Alone .”

I hear the front door of my house open, along with the padding of Ginger’s feet tapping on the hardwood floor. Whoever it is, Ginger seems to know them. Or she’s decided to trade me in for a newer, better model. Who could blame her?

With that thought, a familiar male voice—complete with a Boston accent—calls my name. My brother-in-law, Alan, comes into the master bathroom to find me in my current state on the floor.

“There you are. Maybe not your finest hour my brother.” Alan’s accent turns all of his r’s into ah’s and I wonder if I am having a particularly detailed hallucination.

“You really here?” I ask from the floor.

“Your sister worried when she couldn’t raise you on the phone.”

“Yeah, I don’t even know where it is.”

“Can you get up? You sick?”

“Sick from being drunk is all. Can’t hold anything down. I can get up if you help me.”

Alan sets down a King Soopers bag that appears to be full of electrolyte drinks and IV fluid.

He attaches a machine to my arm to check my blood pressure and heart rate.

He’s probably wondering if I’m on the ground due to dehydration or if there’s something more serious going on.

I want to say I’m a little volume-depleted, but I decide I’m in no position to argue.

When he helps me up, my head swims, and I start to lose my footing.

Okay, I’ve never been this hungover. I would have made it without him, but it would have been a crawl to the kitchen rather than an upright walk.

I collapse into an armchair in my room, willing the world to stop spinning.

No use. Eyes open or closed, I’m whirling either way.

“How are you here?” I manage.

“I’m home on leave for a bit. I wasn’t home for twenty minutes when all Michelle wants is for me to get my ass up here. I think she wants me to patch you up so she can kill you.”

Guilt pours over me like molasses syrup. I don’t want to know how short his leave is now that he has used part of it to drive all the way here to help me off the floor.

As if reading my mind, he says, “Don’t worry about it. I’ll get back to her as soon as we get this liter in you.” He regards me with an IV bag and kit in his hand. “Or two.”

“Fuck Alan, I’m sorry.” And I am. Thanks to the shit choices I’ve been making, I’ve been apologizing so much lately it sounds empty even when I mean it.

“You’re my brother too man.” He looks over at me. “I heard a tale that you’re going to settle down and give dating angry women a rest. That true?”

“If I survive this hangover. Avoiding angry women, leaving my sister aside, is my new vibe.” He starts an IV on me and, using a hanger, secures the IV bag to my bedpost. My brother-in-law, from a more religiously observant family than mine, has never been much of a drinker.

The most I’ve ever seen him drink is the four required glasses of wine during the Passover Seder.

But even then, he cuts it with a significant amount of water.

Still, he shows no judgment of me or the mess I’m in.

I guess part of him knows my sister will give me enough hell for the two of them.

“And the settling down part?”

“Well, she’s just a friend. At least, I hope we’re still friends.” I rub absently at a growing discomfort in my chest. “Even if she could forgive me for what the Mr. Hyde in me spouted off at her, she wants love and commitment. That’s not me. You know that.”

He’s pulling my bedding off and throwing it on the floor.

“Let me get you a blanket that doesn’t smell like it’s from a frat house and feed your dog. I’ll be back.”

I lean back in my armchair. He comes back with an electrolyte drink, a bucket, clean sheets, and a blanket. He looks at the pile on the floor.

“Is this worth trying to wash or should I toss it out?”

“Not your problem Al, I’ll sort it later. Thanks for all this.”

He’s back by my side with the small BP machine to recheck my pressure.

“That’s a little better but I want to see you drink something before I leave.” He hands me two anti-nausea tabs from a bag in his pocket.

“Look, Josh, no one thinks they’re relationship material until they realize they are.”

“Not everyone can have what you and Michelle have.”

“Okay, now that’s patently untrue. Yes, you have to leave your comfort zone, to find someone.

But even when you do, that doesn’t mean that you’re set for life.

A relationship like I have with Michelle is work, man, although your sister makes it easy,” he smiles to himself, only proving my point, “but even with that, it requires effort on both of our parts. No one escapes that.”

“Yeah well, I blew it up, so, doesn’t matter now. Besides, I need to deal with the shambles of my professional life before anything else.”

“This Lara person better not cross paths with my wife anytime soon. She mutters under her breath things she’d do to her if she does.”

Not feeling like I deserved anyone’s loyalty, I changed the subject and asked after the girls.

“How happy were they to have their dad home?”

Alan absently adjusts the kippah he wears as he paints a picture of a nervous Etty trying to understand why her sisters were jumping around and grabbing this strange man’s legs. I can see the images in my mind, both the joy and the pain of the reunion and imminent departure.

Dutifully drinking the fluids, I ask, “How do you cope with the hard parts?” I don’t know if I could deal with the missed time, not to mention his own toddler not understanding who he is.

He smiles at me, and I can see his smile reaches his eyes.

“Every second I get with them is worth it.”

Once it’s clear I’m able to hold down liquids and walk on my own steam to the bathroom and back, he heads back to Nebraska.

Restless but still weak, I grab some computer paper and a pen and pull a side table next to my seat in the living room.

I leave it there and start a Bond marathon, trying to distract myself from how shitty I still feel.

Physically, I’m wiped out, and emotionally, I’m destroyed that my sister and nieces lost nearly a whole day with Alan.

After a few scenes, I mute the sound and pull the side table to me.

I drink more fluids before I begin, and I’m grateful it’s staying down.

I want so much to make this up to Lily and get another chance to speak with my friend.

I don’t know if that’s in the cards, but I can write a letter.

Rubbing the back of my neck, I decide that I can write it and not send it.

The truth is I need to write it, to get the noise out of my head.

But she doesn’t need to hear from me again.

What she wants is space, and I can respect that, even if I don’t like it.

Dear Lily Anna,

I’m never sending this, so I am going to put it all down here.

I’d write the date, but I’m not entirely sure I know what it is. I’m here in my living room, recovering from the worst hangover I’ve ever had. My brother-in-law, Alan, actually had to help me up and start an IV. I can’t believe how much I’ve fucked up my life.

I’m suspended from work. My sister lost a day of her husband’s leave so he could attend to my hangover and I’m more afraid to call my mother than I was the time I wrecked her car (prom night, 2008).

And then there’s you.

Lily, I hope—even if you never speak to me again—that you know that night at the bar—none of that shit I said to you was true at all .

I didn’t believe it—even when I was drunk, and it was coming out of my mouth.

I felt frustrated at the world, and you came up here to show me that you care about me.

I was feeling abandoned by my colleagues and guilty about this situation with Lara.

More than anything, I was furious with myself for taking advantage of you and for making you feel like you weren’t one of the most important people in my life.

So, I took all my anger and hurt feelings out on you. I’m so sorry.

The truth is, it’s been wonderful getting to know you all over again. I didn’t know I had a Lily-sized hole in my life. You’re one of a kind: beautiful, sexy, funny—even if it’s by accident some of the time—smart, loving, and such a caring friend.

The people I thought were my friends found it easier to push me out of their lives with this mess I’ve gotten myself into. And you came all the way up here—through the mountain passes—and showed up for me.

Ever since my dad left and started his new family, I’ve fallen into thinking that love and commitment are bullshit, except for rare cases like my sister’s.

Her husband told me today that I’m wrong to think a relationship is easy even when two people love each other. All relationships are work, he said.

I’m not sure how open I am to that, in general, if I’m being honest. But I want you to know that you are worth it. You deserve everything.

If I could try to be that person with anyone, it would be you. It’s always been you. You, my friend, have always been easy to love.

Please know, I’d do anything to take my words back. I wish I’d never lashed out at the one person who’s been nothing but honest, kind and loving toward me.

If I ever get another chance, I’ll do everything in my power to make sure you know your real worth to me. Honestly, I think you mean more to me than I ever imagined.

I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I tried to push you away. I’m sorry I keep fucking this up.

The truth is, if you can’t be in my life, I’ll understand but I know I will regret it. Always.

Love,

Josh