Marva Dasef
I thought you were a fun guy. You were just a drunk.
An ancient story, so old hat, so trite. The alcoholic and the long-suffering girlfriend, the enabler. Bah, what shit. Why should I give you a pass? A drunk is a drunk. Drive drunk, walk drunk, talk drunk. That's what made you fun. Aren't you special?
Yeah, go through those twelve steps and feel all self-righteous. Confess your weaknesses, ask forgiveness, get your one-month chip. The thing is, you got all healed up, you got all sober, you got all clean.
You needed to move on, move on, move on. After all, why stay around the person who made you a drunk? Wasn't your fault, was it? If I'd said no, if I'd stood up, then you wouldn't be a drunk. Yeah, right. Aren't you special?
So, just go to your meetings and say "hi, I'm Fred" or whatever name you're giving out that night. Cry a little, oh so sorry. Never do it again, no, not ever, not ever.
"Please, honey, I'll never do it again. I didn't mean it. Look, I'm going to the meetings." Yeah, right, not until the next time. You skip the next meeting because you think you don't need it anymore. You're sober, you're clean. Aren't you just special?
You are a fun guy, you are a drunk. Face it. That's all there is.
Come home, try to stick the key in the lock. It won't turn. Now, you're not special anymore.
Marva Dasef is a writer living in the Pacific Northwest. Having wasted huge amounts of her life working in the software industry, she's finally getting a chance to settle in and write fiction for the fun of it. She's far too along in years to bother with her academic credentials, but notes that she attended Bedrock U. the same year as Fred Flintstone. Her first writings may still be preserved in a cave in France between the drawing of the cave bear and the hand outline. Her stories have been published in a variety of non-paying ezine markets. This is yet one more.