"You knew I was going out, didn't you, James," Bobby asked.
"I thought something . . ."
"How'd you know? I didn't know!"
"Not much gets past me."
"No, REALLY. How'd you know? What was it?"
"You weren't laughing at my best stuff, my "A" material. Last week I was throwin' some zingers past you and all you did was "uh huh, uh huh" like some bored husband hiding behind a newspaper at the breakfast table."
"I was like that?"
"All week long. Gone somewhere, man. Your body was here, but your mind had gone fishing. Earth to Bobby. Earth to Bobby!"
"Yeah, that's the sign all right."
"Gone fishing," I repeated.
"Fishing for pussy," he said.
"That's your trigger."
"You know all the lingo. I always thought that was strange about you, James. You MUSTA been in a program."
"Crackhead paranoia. Y'all think EVERYONE'S an undercover crackhead," I said.
"No, you do all the stuff they say to do in the (recovery) book, like apologizing to that shithead who wouldn't let us eat breakfast (without a chit)."
"Weeeell, I DID talk about his mother . . . "
"But that's in the book . . ."
"Just trying to be human," I explained.
Bobby pulled his 30,60,and 90 day sobriety keychains from his drawer, looked sadly at them, and with a sigh, tossed them in the trash can.
"Maybe I should just end it all, James. I've been thinking about that a lot . . . getting a gun and eating it."
"Suicide is brainless," I sang, paraphrasing the MASH TV show theme song, "No, wait, this one's better: One, two, three, what're we fightin' for?" I sang, "Don't ask me, I don't give a damn, next stop is Viet Nam!"
"What's that?" Bobby asked as he looked at the trash can.
"Country Joe and The Fish," I answered, "wait for the punchline: 'Five, six, seven, open up the pearly gates; no time to wonder why, WHOOPEE, we're all gonna die," I sang.
"Wha--?"
"WHOOPEE, we're all gonna die!" I repeated.
"You're crazy, James."
"I'm crazy? I'M CRAZY? You're fixin' ta run out the country so youkin sell Chinese shoes to Mexican tourists so youkin smoke crack, poke little girls and probably die in a puddle of your own urine in a Mexican jail and I'M CRAZY? I'M CRAZY?" I yelled as I waved my fists erratically over my head.
Bobby handed me three packets of diet microwave popcorn. "Want some popcorn, bro?"
"Diet microwave popcorn? Let me ask you something, Bobby. Why would a glass sucker like you worry about fat from REGULAR microwave popcorn? I mean, is that sane to you?"
"Why are you so pissed, bro?" Bobby asked as he closed the hasps on his luggage bag.
"Have a nice life, bro," I said as I turned my back to him and went back to sleep.
A couple of hours later I was awakened by a new veteran making Bobby's upper bunk bed, moving in . . . a NEW recovering addict.
"My name's . . ." he started to introduce himself.
"Hold it, man," I said, swinging my feet off the bed, jumping up and looking the new guy square in the eyes. He looked like a 20-year path of abuse and destruction.
"You gonna stay the program? You gonna stick it out? 'Cause if you're not, I don't even want to know your name."
He looked at me like I was crazy, like I was going to be some trouble for him, but I'm not the one in drug recovery, even if I do know the game. Let's see how many weeks THIS one lasts.
END
"I thought something . . ."
"How'd you know? I didn't know!"
"Not much gets past me."
"No, REALLY. How'd you know? What was it?"
"You weren't laughing at my best stuff, my "A" material. Last week I was throwin' some zingers past you and all you did was "uh huh, uh huh" like some bored husband hiding behind a newspaper at the breakfast table."
"I was like that?"
"All week long. Gone somewhere, man. Your body was here, but your mind had gone fishing. Earth to Bobby. Earth to Bobby!"
"Yeah, that's the sign all right."
"Gone fishing," I repeated.
"Fishing for pussy," he said.
"That's your trigger."
"You know all the lingo. I always thought that was strange about you, James. You MUSTA been in a program."
"Crackhead paranoia. Y'all think EVERYONE'S an undercover crackhead," I said.
"No, you do all the stuff they say to do in the (recovery) book, like apologizing to that shithead who wouldn't let us eat breakfast (without a chit)."
"Weeeell, I DID talk about his mother . . . "
"But that's in the book . . ."
"Just trying to be human," I explained.
Bobby pulled his 30,60,and 90 day sobriety keychains from his drawer, looked sadly at them, and with a sigh, tossed them in the trash can.
"Maybe I should just end it all, James. I've been thinking about that a lot . . . getting a gun and eating it."
"Suicide is brainless," I sang, paraphrasing the MASH TV show theme song, "No, wait, this one's better: One, two, three, what're we fightin' for?" I sang, "Don't ask me, I don't give a damn, next stop is Viet Nam!"
"What's that?" Bobby asked as he looked at the trash can.
"Country Joe and The Fish," I answered, "wait for the punchline: 'Five, six, seven, open up the pearly gates; no time to wonder why, WHOOPEE, we're all gonna die," I sang.
"Wha--?"
"WHOOPEE, we're all gonna die!" I repeated.
"You're crazy, James."
"I'm crazy? I'M CRAZY? You're fixin' ta run out the country so youkin sell Chinese shoes to Mexican tourists so youkin smoke crack, poke little girls and probably die in a puddle of your own urine in a Mexican jail and I'M CRAZY? I'M CRAZY?" I yelled as I waved my fists erratically over my head.
Bobby handed me three packets of diet microwave popcorn. "Want some popcorn, bro?"
"Diet microwave popcorn? Let me ask you something, Bobby. Why would a glass sucker like you worry about fat from REGULAR microwave popcorn? I mean, is that sane to you?"
"Why are you so pissed, bro?" Bobby asked as he closed the hasps on his luggage bag.
"Have a nice life, bro," I said as I turned my back to him and went back to sleep.
A couple of hours later I was awakened by a new veteran making Bobby's upper bunk bed, moving in . . . a NEW recovering addict.
"My name's . . ." he started to introduce himself.
"Hold it, man," I said, swinging my feet off the bed, jumping up and looking the new guy square in the eyes. He looked like a 20-year path of abuse and destruction.
"You gonna stay the program? You gonna stick it out? 'Cause if you're not, I don't even want to know your name."
He looked at me like I was crazy, like I was going to be some trouble for him, but I'm not the one in drug recovery, even if I do know the game. Let's see how many weeks THIS one lasts.
END
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