“I transcend fear by meeting it willingly and looking for what is deeper than the fear.”
The phone ringing finally dragged Kelly out of a formless sleep. Squinting against a headache that threatened to overwhelm her, she fumbled for the receiver, the realization slowly dawning that it was nearly nine-thirty.
“Kelly? Where are you?” Jane Ellison, one of the paralegals at work, sounded concerned.
I’m going to be sick. “Jane. God. I feel horrible. I must’ve overslept.”
“Are you ok? Are you sick?”
Kelly managed to find her feet and staggered toward the bathroom, fighting the waves of nausea in her stomach. “Sick. Yes. I don’t think … I shouldn’t come in today.” She had only called out of work once before, when Kaitlan had appendicitis.
“Well, feel better. I’ll let them know.”
Kelly hoped she had actually hit the off button to break the connection before she fell to her knees and vomited into the toilet. The taste of sour wine and bourbon caused her insides to cramp again, and she threw up once more. The pounding in her head came from everywhere, made worse with each heaving of her gut. Finally, she dropped her head and rested against the edge of the bowl, reaching for the toilet paper to wipe her mouth.
She didn’t remember going to bed. She didn’t remember anything after about eight, when Michelle opened a fresh bottle of bourbon and made some joke about Kentucky women and liquor that Kelly couldn’t sort out now. From the way she felt, she hadn’t stopped drinking then. For a moment, she wondered if she could just die where she was and be done with it. Then the nausea started again.
Fifteen minutes later, Kelly managed to make her way to the kitchen. The box of wine she had been drinking sat on top of the trash can, and the bourbon by the sink was half empty.
“Oh, my God,” Kelly murmured as she pulled open the refrigerator, resisting the urge to stick her head inside to cool down. She pulled out the carton of orange juice and poured a glass with shaky hands before stumbling to the kitchen table and collapsing into a chair.
It had been years since she’d not been able to remember going to bed, and almost as long since feeling so horrible the morning after. She had never missed work because of drinking the night before. She didn’t remember Michelle getting up, though she was obviously gone. The newspaper was neatly folded at her place and an empty coffee cup sat by the sink.
Kelly sipped her juice and winced as it burned against the rawness of her throat. Why had she drank so much? Ghostly memories floated through her mind, apologizing to Michelle for something she didn’t think she needed to apologize for, the sense of purposelessness, the need to drown her pain. Other snippets of memory danced at the edges of her thoughts; she and Michelle had talked more, but about what? There hadn’t been any screaming, so perhaps it wasn’t anything to be worried about. At least, Kelly didn’t remember any screaming.
After the juice, she managed to make and eat a small bowl of oatmeal before going to shower. Then, once dressed in sweats and one of Michelle’s t-shirts she lay down on the sofa and wondered how long it would take for the room to stop spinning. It was better than it had been, but she was still a little dizzy. She must have napped, because the cable box read 11:55 when the phone rang again.
“Aunt Kelly? Are you ok?” Kaitlan sounded concerned, and tired.
“I’m fine, why?”
There was a pause. “You don’t remember calling me last night?”
Oh, God. “Um ….”
“I could tell you were pretty twisted.”
“I’m so sorry, hon. Was it late?” The sickness in Kelly’s stomach was no longer from the hangover.
“Late enough. I had a hard time understanding you … are things ok between you and Aunt Michelle? You said something about her leaving.”
“She’s on a business trip. I’m … things are ok. We’re ok.”
“Ok, then. I just wanted to check on you. Love you.”
“Love you too, sweetheart.” Kelly hung up and covered her eyes with her hand. She had drunk dialed her own daughter. A moment later, the sickening thought arose that she might have called someone else. A frantic review of her phone log revealed no unexpected numbers, however, and she blew out her breath with a silent prayer of thanks that no one else would be calling back to check on her.
Tears began to well up, finally spilling out over her cheeks as the full realization of what she had done sank in. She had been toying with the idea that her drinking might be problematic for months; the undeniable truth that it was now stared her in the face. She turned her face into the back of the couch and let the tears flow. No more. There could be no more. At last, she slept.
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