In the Blood

Call me sick, or twisted, whatever, but it was the most logical idea I could possibly have at that time. I wasn’t trying to make her become like me, or anywhere close. I was only trying to protect her. From the possible jerks who might fool her into thinking freedom is only in insobriety. Her world is as charmed as mine already. The only difference between us is that she’s in the sober world. I wanted her to see that the grass is just as green here as they are on her side.

We talked about family. I told her, well, yes, my drinking money I used to get from the parents. And yes, I feel guilty sometimes. I think guilty is not actually the word. I’m thinking pride, but that would require of me deeper reasons and more profound ideas and a possible nosebleed. So I decided to stick with guilt. I remember a friend, Adia, she told me she wouldn’t mind if her children become drug addicts in the future as long as they don’t ask the money from her. I was thinking the same thing about alcohol. As long as I have a job to pay my intoxication, I should be all right. And I did get a job. Only, I wasn’t able to foresee that I’m not alcoholic enough to drink down all my earnings. And I am not boasting. You should wonder why there are many alcoholics in the slums. It isn’t so expensive to get drunk. Drinking is the only thing I’m good at. And well, yeah, writing and words, which is my job, but you get the drift. I was earning more than I was drinking. That’s a big problem, to me at least. When I said drinking is my only forte (let’s make writing a given so that we could take it out of the picture), I wasn’t exaggerating. When I have money, I drink. When I don’t, I look for money; and when I do, I drink again. Clear enough, so far?

So there, my first justification. I could tell from the expression on her face that she was starting to feel sad for me, like all along I was a big disappointment in the making. After I told her, well, we still were not that rich to think about doing charities, and we really have everything else provided for, for us, already, she seemed to understand my point. Alcohol was an end. I don’t drink to be anything else, to serve any purpose, whatever; I drink because there is nothing else left for me to do. For me, I repeat. This should not apply to everyone else. Intoxication is customized. She was about to go further into the future; I stopped her. That’s a different story there. Let’s be egoistic for now.

I told her, well, the parents were big drinkers too, in their youths. We laughed. We had to agree on that. Even if they question my alcoholism again and again, they still would have to insert now and then their stories on how once upon a time, they would sneak at the stock area of bars, with a handy bottle opener, one at a time, with an excuse of taking a leak, only to feast on the stacks of cases of beers ready for their taking. The bar owner would wonder how, even with only a set of beer on their table, they would come out of the place ass-drunk. Those kinds of stories make one see the essence of drinking, and those same stories were the ones that made me realize the scolding I get was simply the SOP of parents to their children.

She was starting to burn on the cheeks a little. I had to smile to myself. There is this “zone” in drinking. Once you’re there, it’s where and when you realize why people drink. She must be there already. She was starting to laugh harder and was even telling some stories herself. I knew the guilt would catch up the next day (it always does for me in cases involving my intended manipulations), and so I doubled the toasts and the cheers to lose myself that night and let the next day worry for itself. It wasn’t going to get twice my worry time, that’s for sure. I only reminded myself again and again, this won’t happen again, and I’m doing her good. Ignorance and innocence are two different things. It’s not like the deal with cancer that you harm the good cells while trying to kill the bad ones. I only wanted to kill the curiosity before it gets to the cat. 

The thing about drinking is that it’s done sitting down. Thus, one can’t really tell if he’s had enough not until the time when he tries to stand up and walk and go home. And a drunk mind has way more strength than the body actually has. It’s kinda like, mathematically speaking, the inverse proportionality relationship. The more alcohol one takes in, the stronger his mind thinks it is, while the otherwise is true for the rest of him. In other words, I, again, had too much to drink that night. I made a temporary enemy of a friend, who, for some reasons, shared our table that night, the details have escaped me I’m afraid. I was to wake up the next morning with a nasty bruise on my left elbow (much as I had wanted to take all the blame, I had to be honest and give credit to the alcohol as well). Then my sister woke up. She laughed a bit before saying she wouldn’t go through one of those ever again. I succeeded.