Page 25 of Up In Smoke
“So,” he says, nodding and taking a deep breath in and out as he drums his fingers together. “You’d be open to going back to rehab if that was a possibility?”
I scoff. “Well, it’s not even close to being a possibility, but yeah. Why not? It wouldn’t be worth it, though, unless I made some serious life changes when I came back out.” I’m just thinking aimlessly out loud, because Rico seems encouraged talking about this. However, it is kind of nice to make believe for a minute. Maybe he thinks that by discussing the idea of getting clean it means I’m showing good intentions.
What do they say the road to hell is paved with?
It’s sweet that he wants to try, though. I’m exhausted merely contemplating trying to do this on my own. I suppose I could attempt to go to AA or NA meetings again. I was always a self-conscious prick about that before, thinking everyone wouldknow my name from TV and that meant I couldn’t be expected to share my secrets with strangers week after week, too afraid they’d go running to the media.
It’s been a few years since then, and I’ve safely been disillusioned of the idea that I’m anywhere near still that famous, if I ever was.
So maybe I should try again? Even just the prospect of letting myself be that vulnerable would have enraged me in the past. But now? Now, I’m so tired and I know I can’t do this all alone. Rico has offered to help, but firstly, he doesn’t know the depths of hell addiction can drag you to, so I’m not sure how much he’d actually be able to relate. And secondly, I don’t want to put that burden on him. This fragile friendship we’re cultivating is what’s keeping me going from hour to hour.
He can’t be my crutch. But if I gave meetings another shot, perhaps I could get a sponsor. Someone willing to hold my hand through what is undoubtedly going to be a long and shitty time in my life.
I realize Rico’s been watching me carefully as my thoughts have wandered. “What kind of changes would you need to make?” he asks when it’s clear he’s got my attention again.
I shrug. “That would have helped me stay sober before? Who knows. The staff at these facilities talked a lot about having stability and a safety net, which is all well and good when you can move back in with your folks or whatever. But especially after the last stint, I wasn’t sure why I even bothered getting clean when I went straight back to living in a rathole and working in a dive bar. I think I blacked out less than forty-eight hours after I got home.”
Rico flinches and as much as that hurts, it’s better he knows the truth of the situation. If there’s a way for me to fuck something up, I probably will. Self-destruction seems to be my most charming personality trait these days.
“Right,” he says, apparently thinking something over as he nods, looking at his hands again. “So let’s say you had all that. Time in rehab and then you came home to a solid support network. My question is, do youwantto get clean and sober, Jesse. Or do you just want to have some time to rest and then go back to LA. I’m not trying to push you into anything.”
My mouth is open to point out again that I have no money or insurance to go to any treatment center, let alone a good or pleasant one. But he knows that.
He’s asking me what Iwant.
A laugh bubbles out of me, but my eyes are stinging with tears again. “What I want is to get fucked up and party all my cares away. That’s what the gremlin in the back of my mind is begging for. Not just right now. Literally every waking moment. So I know what Ineedis to make a big change. Lots of changes. I probably need to change everything in my whole life, because that’s the only way I might be able to feel free of this constant, aching dread that sits on my chest.” I realize the tears have spilled down my cheeks, but I let them fall, like delicate little raindrops. “I just want a chance to be happy, Rico.”
He swallows then moves to perch on the sofa next to me. When he opens his arms, I fling myself into them without overthinking the consequences.
“I want that for you, too,” he murmurs. We stay embraced for a little while longer before he pulls back and grips my shoulders. “You’ve been cooped up in this place for days. Can I take you to the place I go whenever I need a pick-me-up?”
I sniff and eye him wearily. “Depends where it is,” I say.
He laughs and releases me, but he stays sitting close, which I like. “The beach,” he elaborates.
My heart soars like a kite caught on a warm zephyr. “The beach?” I repeat. I’m not sure the last time I saw the ocean. I avoided the seafront in LA more often than not because I wasusually sleeping during the day. But also, the people there would either strike me as shallow posers or sickeningly happy, neither of which I wanted to be around.
Rico nods, beaming at me. “We can get breakfast there and maybe take our shoes off and feel the sand and surf between our toes. Sound good?”
It sounds like fucking heaven. My life has been pretty extravagant at times, so it’s funny that such a simple suggestion could be so exciting to me.
I nod and look around the place. “Did you want to shower? I could tidy while you do.”
He tilts his head. “We can worry about that later if you just want to head out now? I’m ready if you are.”
I lick my lips, feeling guilty, but also wanting to follow his lead seeing as it’s his idea. He’ll also be the one driving and paying for everything. So if he says it’s okay to clean up later, I guess he means it.
“Can I quickly brush my teeth?”
“Of course,” he assures me. “Meet you back out here in a couple of minutes.”
I use that time to throw on some deodorant and fresh clothes as well so Rico isn’t embarrassed to be seen with me. It’s not until we’re on the road does it occur to me that I’m not sure if we’ve finished our conversation or not. He asked me a few times about what I wanted, but it’s not like we’ve made a plan or anything. I assume that’s what he’s after. Knowing that I’m already seriously considering attempting to go to a meeting makes me hope that I might impress him.
I want him to know I’m not just expecting him to do everything for me. But if he’s willing to give me some help…perhaps that will be what makes this time different.
We get breakfast burritos from a food truck then amble down to the sand. The wind ruffles my hair and feels amazing in mylungs, and I appreciate that there can possibly be redeeming features to small towns like this. There are still plenty of people around, but it lacks that rat-race feel of Venice Beach or Santa Monica.
“Have you lived here long?” I ask.