I am a patient boy. I wait I wait I wait I wait.

I sat down, took my phone from my pocket, and turned it on.  Just as I suspected, there was no charge.  You are not allowed to keep your phone on your person in detox; the temptation to call someone to bail you out is too great.  It is also not a desirable time to try to repair recently damaged relationships, tender apologies or make promises.  Things are too fresh; there needs to be a period of slack time. So, the phone gets locked up for the duration and inevitably is returned with a dead battery, unless you were smart enough to fully charge it and power it off before you turn it in.  Of course, this sequence always escapes me.  However, somehow I had managed to pack a charger.  At times I amaze myself with certain things I remember to do, especially with a full load on.  I found a wall plug and attached the phone, sat back, and waited.

I thought about the first time I could remember drinking.  I must have been about fourteen years old and my older brother brought home a six-pack of ale.  Our father was out of town.  I drank it down, paying no attention to the fact that he was abstaining. Then result was predictable. I vomited and passed out, and my brother blackmailed me for months with fabricated stories of my drunken escapades. The switch had been flipped, though.  For the next thirty-five years, alcohol became a constant companion.  I thought about this.  Did I experience a fundamental, organic change as a result of that night?  Does it even matter?  Is it important to pin down the sequence of events that lead to an alcoholic life?  I decided that it didn't matter.  I looked around the waiting room and saw an old man sitting quietly, patiently staring into the distance, perhaps reminiscing about his time in the service.  People tend to do that when they come to the VA.  It is place where fraternity brothers can gather and talk about the old times.  For me, it is a depressing place.  I glanced at my phone and noticed that it was holding a small charge, and that snapped me back into the present.  I couldn't stay here much longer.  I had to make a call.  Instantly, the anxiety and fear returned.  As much as the place depressed me, I felt a modicum of safety here.  I had to make a move, though, and I had no idea what was out there.