She will always be there

Will came to at 5:10 A.M. against his inherent resolve to remain forever in the throes of substance-induced oblivion. He never woke up like "normal" people. That would be out of the question. Merely going to sleep like everyone else meant a night of interminable agony. That would require him to hold his weight upright upon trembling knees in the absence of his long familiar crutches. Ironically unlike supports for legs in need of healing, a mind's dependency serves only to make it increasingly more dependent. He dared not risk nor even imagine the length of such a night. 1

Instead he chose to gobble up the effects of instant gratification, giving thanks for his own gluttonous appetite and the unconsciousness it faithfully rendered. Only dawn brought consequences. Bright needles pricked and pierced his red, swollen eyelids, prodding him like an unwilling bull to continue down the dusty trail his life had become. He was branded and exhausted, but each morning he rose again to meet the deadline and destination of his own demise.2

Warding off the intrusion of sunlight with a hand he rolled away from the window. Next to him, in his bed, lay his latest conquest. Tish? Trish? Her slender naked form was swaddled in his booze- and body fluid-stained sheets and her long dark hair. He hated waking up in his own place. It turned his characteristic disappearing act into more of a Houdini, as it left the little problem of getting her out to be solved. Then, of course, he had to dodge her attempts to find him at home for sometimes weeks afterward.3

What's-her-name slept quietly for the moment so Will decided to enjoy a first cigarette in peace. He could throw her out later as easily as now. He sat up and slung his legs over his current side of the bed, reaching for his smokes and lighter. He squinted, still adjusting to the light, and drew in his first breath of toxicity for the day.4

He had loved someone once. He guessed he still did. Not a day went by that he didn't think of her. They had a family and a life and a chance at one time. He knew her in high school. They had been drawn together simply by virtue of being outcasts. The intensity of that kind of bond seemed romantic and unbreakable. It was just the two of them against the rest of the world.5

His Christine knew what it was like to grow up without a dad. She knew how it felt to be alone all the time because your mum was always at work or too exhausted from it to really be there, even when she was. Christine was a loner like Will. They never quite fit in with friends who had real families and big houses and clothes from the mall. They only felt complete once they found each other's arms. In that embrace they finally achieved acceptance. In that reckless, youthful embrace they created life from their love. 6

Within a month of the knowledge of the consequences, Will had sought refuge elsewhere. It appeared to him that the state of their relationship had suddenly become the world against the two of them. At seventeen, he was in no position to fight off the entire world while trying to provide for two kids other than himself. Torn from her arms by the cruelty of life, he turned to her best friend for a while. She was in his mind, the next best thing. Thinking back, it was that moment when he reached the cross-roads of maturity. From then on, he couldn't blame his parents for the self-loathing that suffocated him. He had nothing to blame but his own despicable actions. He hated leaving her alone with a kid to raise. He wanted her to have so much more. He had wanted them to find it together.7

Christine stopped coming to school. For a year and a half he drove by her place without stopping, wondering how she was getting on. He wondered if he had a son or a daughter. He wondered if they were healthy or needed anything. After graduation, he took a factory job that paid pretty well by an eighteen-year-old's standards. He thought of them more and more until he found himself pretending they were with him in his dreary little trailer when loneliness got the better of him. 8

Finally, he went back for her. He prayed she would forgive and let him make things right. He wanted to spend every minute compensating for his boyhood weakness. He was a man now and ready to meet the challenge of life on its own terms. He cast aside his shame and doubt and professed his intentions to her.9

Christine was a good mother. She had loved their baby girl well and had taken the burden of her in stride, with the help of her own mum and grandmother. As difficult as it had been growing up, she wanted better for her child. She understood everything about Will as she always had. She did forgive him, and passionately. She took his offer with enthusiasm, telling him her heart had always known they were meant to be together. 10

He held his daughter for the first time with a mixture of joy and longing. She wore the hand-me-downs of a forgotten rag doll. He was so proud of her, yet so disgusted at himself for abandoning her like his own father had done him. He vowed in his heart to do better from then on. He looked at Christine with the circles under her eyes, still wearing the same clothes she had worn in school. They billowed on her now-frail form. She looked beaten, and he assumed responsibility for all of it. She told him about her grandmother's words to her own mother. She had predicted that Christine would never amount to anything, and had done so right in her presence. His anger made him feel like he could rearrange landscapes to mend what he had broken. He would make more of her than what she was, give her everything she ever wanted and deserved.11

And he really did settle down and try for a time. It was a constant struggle, emotionally as well as financially. Somewhere in the back of his mind he must have expected to be heralded as some magnanimous ruler for the sacrifices he was making, but no one bowed at his feet or told him what a great guy he was or how much he had changed. Being a father was hard work and things weren't the same between Christine and him. 12

At times he felt he didn't know who she was any more. She was serious and demanding. She was strict in terms of finances and role-modeling. He did the best he could, but it never seemed to be enough.13

He felt increasingly more like a failure. Coming home meant facing the shabby existence he was painting for the family he only wanted to shower with love and gifts. Their new life was aggravated by his inability to forgive himself for the present and the past. He took offense to Christine's every utterance about needs and parenting. He put up so many walls of stone expectation for himself, he nearly beat himself to death crashing into them.14

Then, from the very bowels of their bliss, came another life. He admitted defeat and bolted. This time he never went back except in his mind, in moments like these. 15

He had developed quite a defense system in the aftermath. Now in his thirties, the hardest part of his day was the morning, the only time when he was coherent enough to wander into the forbidden shadows of his pursuing past. Briefly, but frequently, he wondered what became of them. He was grateful that he usually could count on the vomiting, the headache, or the shakes to keep him occupied. Occassionally he had surprise cuts, bruises, or battered limbs to tend. When the aforementioned failed, he always had situations like the one at hand to bring him some warped semblance of tranquility.16

Will crushed out his cigarette and pulled on his jeans, preparing for his latest distraction. 17

"Hey, Honey!" he shouted, roughly bouncing the bed. "Get up! You've got to GO!"18