Diary of an Alcoholic Housewife (25 page)

[Saturday, August 30]

My parents saw Tony Bennett tonight using the tickets I’d given them for Father’s Day. They were good seats in the pavilion. I bought lawn tickets for Charlie and I, as did Liv and Reed, and we coordinated a picnic dinner for the concert. At six thirty, Liv and Reed picked up Charlie and me for the eight o’clock show. Hoards of people were going to see Tony Bennett. By seven thirty, we were somewhat near the concert but sitting in bumper-to-bumper traffic, and Reed was getting pissier and pissier by the minute. I started laughing. I poked fun at our situation, trying to lighten the mood. Liv and Charlie joked back. Reed muttered expletives. We turned onto Green Bay Road, almost at Ravinia, and inched our way closer and closer. The parking lot was full. We continued driving north on Green Bay Road flagged on by Ravinia workers directing us toward remote parking. We approached another lot. Full. Lot after lot was full, and we continued on through downtown Highland Park, a fair distance from Ravinia, and drove until we were in neighboring Highwood. I tapped Liv’s arm.

“Good thing we have our pack mules,” I said. “My picnic basket’s heavy. I’m not carrying it.”

“Brenda!” Liv laughed, shooting a look at Reed and cringing.

“Fuck it!” Reed said angrily, yanking the steering wheel and turning the car west toward the highway. “We’re bagging it and going back to our place. These fuckers have been out here waiting since four o’clock (which I later found out was true). They fucking oversold the lawn.”

“I’m with you,” Charlie said. “Let’s bag it.”

“Yeah, I think so,” Liv agreed.

“By the time we park and haul all this stuff and get on a shuttle bus and try to find a spot to sit, not to mention trying to get on the damned shuttle later,” Reed said, “fuck it. I’m not doing it.”

Reed sped back to his house. The moment we walked in, he began pouring drinks. He began shaking a martini for Liv and I wanted one bad.

“I wouldn’t mind a martini,” I said, hoping Reed would offer me one, but he ignored me. Liv and I set out the food, and I watched the three of them drink. I talked myself into and out of having a drink for the next twenty minutes. We sat around the island counter in Liv and Reed’s kitchen and ate shrimp, sushi, bruschetta, and pâté.

“Back in college,” Reed said, “my buddies and I had an eight-ball. It was some good cocaine. We went to a forest preserve to get high. We were underage and having trouble getting booze, and we came across a biker party. I walked up to the first biker I saw and asked to see his leader.”

“Sounds like something Frankie and Annette would have asked in
Beach Blanket Bingo,”
I snickered. Liv and Charlie laughed.

“No, really,” Reed said. “I asked to see their leader and when he was pointed out to me, I offered to turn the guy onto coke if he let me and my buddies drink at his party. He and I bonded. I ended up riding around with him on his bike all night doing blow. We snorted the last of it beside a donut shop at dawn. It was great.”

I remembered that jagged, edgy, coming-off-the-rails feeling when the coke ran out and the sun was coming up. People were beginning their day and there I was, skin coated with a clammy narcotic film, barely able to function, going to someone’s dark apartment to wait for sleep. It sucked. I hated the ugly aftermath. Maybe that’s why coke was never my thing.

The last time I got really high on coke was at an overnight bachelorette party, and I came home all wired and haggard to a two-year-old Max. It was a new low for me, and I decided never to get wasted on coke again. I did a line or two here and there on New Year’s Eve if someone offered it to me, but that was it.

“I’ll never forget that night,” Reed said, smiling fondly at the memory.

“Yeah, sounds awesome,” Liv said sarcastically.

I no longer wanted a drink. I was glad I was sober.

“I was just on a motorcycle trip with Joel and his friends,” Reed continued. “We got busted. We were camping and drinking in a state park that didn’t allow alcohol, and the cops came by and made us dump our booze. After the cops left, the guys started chopping down trees for a campfire, but they were green and wet. They kept trying to light a fire and I kept telling them it wasn’t going to work. It was hysterical.”

“Wow, sounds like fun,” Liv deadpanned.

“Did you see
Bowling for Columbine?”
I asked Reed, changing the subject. “You’re a big fan of George’s. You should see it.”

“I hate Michael Moore. The guy’s a smug, fact-altering prick.”

“The guy’s got bigger balls than anyone I know,” I said. “How ’bout I buy it for you? It just came out on DVD.”

“Don’t.”

[Sunday, August 31]

I went to a meeting this morning and mentioned wanting to drink last night. Old Baseball Bob, who’d had visions of playing pro ball, was there, and when it was his turn to speak he said, “Brenda and I were just at Playboy Pete’s for his twenty-fifth anniversary.” He turned to me and continued. “It made my heart drop when I heard you say you wanted to drink. I really want you to stick around.”

It made me feel good.

[Thursday, September 4]

I’ve been in a depressed funk the past few days and I’m not sure why. I can be driving my car, fine as can be, and all of a sudden I start crying. I don’t understand it.

Van and I went back to Van’s old preschool today. After the bad field trip incident, I pulled him out, wrote a letter of complaint documenting what happened, and as a result, Casey and Isabel were fired. The director asked me to re-enroll Van, so he and I visited today to check it out because Isabel’s sister, Aliyah, is still there.

“Aliyah has really blossomed now that she’s out from under Isabel and Casey,” the director told me. “She has no hard feelings about what happened. Bring Van in, let him play, and talk to Aliyah. We hired another new teacher for the room who I think you’ll love.”

Van and I got to the school at nine thirty, and Van was happy to see his friends. Jenny, another new teacher, seemed great. She just got back to the States after being on a mission trip in Africa, and she and Aliyah were on the playground with the kids.

“Hey Aliyah,” I said.

“Hi, Brenda,” she said and gave me a hug.

Surprised, I hugged Aliyah back. “I’m thinking of re-enrolling Van,” I said. “You’re great with the kids, but I’ve been a little worried that you might have hard feelings about what happened between me and your sister.”

“Not at all,” Aliyah said. “What happened on that field trip was wrong. I was actually happy to see them go. Casey used to say mean things and make fun of me all the time. Isabel used to boss me around and take credit for things I did. We should go out to lunch sometime when Van’s back in school.”

“That would be nice,” I said.

I re-enrolled Van.

[Friday, September 5]

I dropped Sturgis off at the vet to have his teeth cleaned and two rotten molars extracted. When I picked him up later, the woman running the office gave me the two molars they yanked, a bottle of antibiotics, and an enormous bill. But my boy is worth it.

[Tuesday, September 9]

Sara came over this morning and I told her I’ve been feeling very bitchy toward Charlie. I resent that he’s a workaholic. I resent that everything to do with the house and kids is on me. I resent that he wants to live in his little work bubble and have me do everything else. I feel like a single mom with financial support—which is better than being a single mom without it. Kat is a single mom and she’s got it rough. I have friends who are married to control freaks, too. And when I think about my two grandmothers, I thank God I don’t have their lives.

My mother’s mother, Mary, gave birth to fourteen children on her dairy farm. Two died as young children, and she raised the other twelve in a house that was heated by one wood-burning stove and had no indoor plumbing. She washed dirty diapers and clothes by hand, grew and canned her own vegetables, and slaughtered and plucked chickens for dinner. My grandmother hardly ever stepped foot off her farm.

My father’s mother, Alice, had an
Angela’s Ashes
kind of marriage. My grandfather drank with his friends after work and spent most of his money in taverns. My grandmother had to hunt him down on paydays and grab what she could before it was gone. When my dad and his three sisters were all enrolled in school, my grandmother got a job as a school lunch lady.

Comparatively, my life is good. I dismiss my negative feelings and problems and tell myself I’m a whiny jerk. But the same shit keeps coming back at me. I keep getting twisted up about the same old stuff.

[Thursday, September 11]

I drove up to Minocqua with Van and Sturgis. Paula and her family have been vacationing at the cabin with my parents for a week, and I’m dropping off Van and the dog because Charlie and I are leaving for Budapest on Monday. I’m going to stay a couple of nights and drive home on Saturday.

[Friday, September 12]

My father posted an ad to sell his fishing boat, and this afternoon a couple and their adult son came by to look at it. My mother never liked my dad having this boat. She couldn’t see why he wouldn’t just motor around the lake in the rickety piece of crap the other cabin owners use. All morning, before the prospective buyers showed up, my father was unhappily lost in thought. Periodically he’d comment that he needed to sell the boat so my mother wouldn’t have to sell it when he was dead or dying. After lunch, the couple and their son showed up, bought the boat, and drove away with it. My father looked miserable. He looked at me and frowned. My mother walked through the living room and he looked at her disgustedly. “I’m regretting it already,” he said and shook his head. He spent the rest of the afternoon drinking. By evening, he was in a nasty mood.

During dinner, I made small talk and said, “Charlie’s taking Max to Lakeside tomorrow. Charlie’s brother, Chris, and little Charlie are going, too. It’s good they’re hanging out.”

“You never invite me to Lakeside.”

“Yes I have,” I snapped.

“Why are you going to Budapest?” my father asked. “What’s there to do there?”

“Uh, let’s see, visit a beautiful, former-communist city,” I said sarcastically. “Experience another culture. See the world. If we had enough frequent-flier miles for Max, we’d bring him, too.”

“You’d take him out of school for a week to go there but you won’t take him out of school for a week to come here?”

“There’s no comparison,” I snapped. “Budapest would be a broadening experience. Max has been coming here for years. He was here this summer. He should come again and miss a week of school?”

My father snorted and no one spoke for a while.

Later, after Paula and I put our kids to bed and the grownups were sitting around watching TV, my dad blurted out, “You girls want our Minocqua time shares? You’ll have to pay the yearly taxes and maintenance fees and let your mother come up whenever she wants to.”

“Of course!” Paula responded gleefully. “I definitely want the place.”

I looked at my mother. She was staring straight ahead at the TV saying nothing.

“I only hear one of you saying you want it,” my father said, looking at me.

“Have you discussed this with Mom?” I asked him.

“No.”

“Maybe you should before you offer us your shares.”

“Well, we definitely want it,” my sister said, looking at her husband.

My father said nothing. My mother said nothing. My brother-in-law, Rick, said nothing.

“Really, we want it,” my sister said.

[Saturday, September 13]

My dad was watching a hunting show on TV this morning when I got up. The hunters were in South Africa. I’d spent three weeks in South Africa in December and January of 1987 and 1988. My then-boyfriend was from Johannesburg and we spent a week on safari, a week at the beach, and a week in Johannesburg with his family. I sat down next to my father and watched the show for a couple of minutes.

“You and Mom should go there this winter,” I said. “It’ll be summer there. It’s fabulous. You should go while you’re feeling good.”

My dad nodded and kept watching the show. I packed my bag and threw it in the Jeep. When the kids were awake, we piled into our vehicles and had breakfast at Paul Bunyan’s. I thanked my parents for watching Van and the dog and gave Van a big hug and kiss and left.

[Sunday, September 14]

Charlie’s high school buddy, Sean, and I went to a meeting this morning. He mentioned wanting to get sober again when Charlie and I had dinner with him and his wife back in February.

“It’s been pretty bad,” Sean said as we drove to the meeting. “It’s a pot problem this time. I’ve been smoking every day all day for the past three months and I can’t stop. I’ve been feeling like I’m going crazy, literally nuts, so I know it’s time to do this again. You know I had a coke problem a while back, right? I haven’t picked that up again, but I’m binging on alcohol, and this pot thing I’ve always done. But lately I’ve been smoking first thing in the morning and throughout the day until I go to bed. Then I lay in bed unable to sleep with my heart hammering and crazy thoughts racing through my head.

“When you and Charlie and Marcy and I went out to dinner in February and you told me you were sober and going to meetings, I was jealous of you,” he continued. “You got the monkey off your back.” Sean sighed and looked defeated. “I gotta stay away from my other high school buddies,” he said.

“That’s probably a good idea,” I agreed. Most of Charlie and Sean’s high school buddies are affluent drunks and addicts who never grew up.

We went to the meeting and before we parted ways, I told Sean that Charlie and I were leaving for Budapest tomorrow, but that I hoped to see him at meetings when I got back. I wonder if I will.

[Monday, September 15]

I called my mother this morning to check on Van before leaving for Budapest. She told me a shitty little story that brought up all sorts of resentments for me. I believe my mother shared this story to gauge my reaction, to see if what she did was okay, because I think deep down she knows what she did was wrong.

My mother told me Van said he wanted a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. She made him one and when they sat down to eat, Van told her he wasn’t hungry. So my mother said she made Van sit at the dining room table for one hour until he ate his sandwich.