Down on Luck

If I was honest, I feared I might wind up going down the same path that my dad had. I wasn’t doing smack, of course, but I was relying on a substance to cope with life just the same as he had and I really didn’t have much of a moral high ground. I couldn’t imagine myself letting it get as far as he had, but then again, I guess he never imagined that happening to him, either, until it did.

I also felt bad about Maggie. About not telling her about that part of my life. I was just scared it might scare her off if she knew the whole truth. Addiction could be genetic, and I had been pretty rough in the past. Not unprovoked, but still. Once you’ve fractured a man’s skull with a beer bottle, it’s not the sort of thing you tend to forget. Even if he was shanking your brother at the time.

I wasn’t sure if she would accept me for my scarred past. But I needed to tell her. I needed to tell her that she was right and that I was going into therapy and, if I had the guts, I needed to tell her what really happened and what I was really like when I was younger, before getting the hell out of Dodge became the name of the game.

The gate to her apartment complex was already open when I got there so I didn’t have to buzz, which was nice because it would add to the surprise. I just hoped that she was home. I had a bit of a surprise when I got to the door and heard yelling.

It was Maggie. I went it to see what was happening.

“Oh, come on! I’m really tired of surprise visitors today!” she said, as she came to the door.

I was about to ask what she meant when I saw Kenny standing over by the kitchen with an open beer.

“Seriously?” I asked.

“What?” Kenny asked.

“Come on,” she said, and took me out onto the front porch, slamming the door behind her so that Kenny couldn’t hear us.

“W’at the hell happened?” I demanded of Maggie. “Are ye still pissed about what I said last night? Because you sure seemed friendly enough t’is morning. But here’s your douchbag ex. Were you double timing me the whole time or is t’is a new development?”

“Oh, yeah, you’re one to talk about secrets! Hiding the truth about your family and saying you’re falling for me.”

“I came to tell ye that ye were right and I’m going into t’erapy for all that. I need it if I’m going to be emotionally healt’y.”

“You’re still being fake. An actor to the core. You just made that up right now. You can’t just use me as an emotional crutch when things aren’t going well.”

I was about to protest her sudden switch from hot to cold but then I remembered that the whole thing was fake to start with. That was when Kenny decided to intervene by opening the front door and scowling at me.

Pointing the finger of his non-beer hand with ferocious emphasis, he said, “Hey, listen you paddy fuck, I think-”

I never got to find out what he thought. As soon as he was in range, I grabbed his finger and snapped it in half at the second knuckle and head butted him so hard his knees buckled. He collapsed to the floor, howling, getting beer and blood all over the carpet. Nobody called me ‘paddy.’

“Pro tip, bottles hurt more t’en fingers. If yer’re gonna to come, come swingin’ like a man,” I told him.

I headed to the door, turning back to Maggie, who looked shocked at the vulgar display of violence.

“Have fun with that douche. Though you may want to call an ambulance.”

I made sure to calm down before driving home. I didn’t want to actually kill anyone. In a car accident or otherwise. Getting back without incident, I took the stairs, trying to work off more of the old, frightening aggression I felt coursing through me.

“Eoin?” I said, seeing him on the couch.

“Hey, Gav.”

“W’at are ye doing ‘ere?”

“I had to come. You were ignoring my calls.”

“Yeah, because they were all about da and how bad off he was, and I had already told you not to discuss him with me anymore. Ye know how I feel about this, Eoin. I’m done enabling him or having it effect my life anymore.”

As I said it, I felt a bit hypocritical all over again. I knew that I had been avoiding him because I was trying to stuff my feelings down and not face them. And avoiding therapy because of it.

“Listen,” I tried to explain again for the millionth time. “If we keep cleaning up after Da’s messes, he’ll never hit rock bottom…”

“I think he has hit it—”