“Just thinking,” he replied.
“Dare I ask what about?”
“Dunno,” he shrugged. “Lots of things; how nice the sunshine feels on my face, how the water sparkles when the light hits it, how nice it is to be able to walk along in silence and not feel awkward. It’s nice.” Afraid to continue interrupting the silence, I simply nodded in agreement and earned a wide smile from Brian.
We walked for a few more minutes until I spotted the perfect place for our picnic. “Oooooh, c’mon!” I shouted as I took off running towards a place next to the river that was covered in clean, green moss; almost as if someone had laid down a blanket for us on the green. Brian smiled again as he followed with the bag of goodies, and, once he reached my chosen spot, began methodically unpacking it. After he’d finished setting out the food, he leaned back on his elbows and watched me, or at least I thought he was watching me—it was hard to tell when he was wearing his sunglasses.
*****
“How’s your breakfast?” Brian asked as he popped a ripe, red strawberry into his mouth.
“It’s helping,” I smiled as I took another bite of my bread and cheese. My stomach was still queasy from the night before, but breakfast and the fresh air were helping calm it.
“Laying off the partying might also help,” he said in a mock-fatherly tone that caused me to do a double take.
“Yeah, well…” I hesitated. “It’s not like I party every night. I mean, some people around here are out of control. I just let loose on the weekends.”
“So this is how you spend all of your Saturdays?” he asked.
“No!” I objected. “Well, kind of…”
“I see.”
“What? Are you saying I have a problem?” I felt defensive and resented his insinuation. “I don’t, you know. I don’t have a problem.”
“Uh huh,” he nodded without saying anything.
“I don’t!” I protested. “I party on the weekends and I attend class and get good grades! I’m not a screw-up who can’t control herself.”
From behind his dark glasses, Brian looked at me without saying a word.
“Oh, shit. I’m sorry,” I quickly apologized. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Of course you did,” he said with a shrug. “But you’re not talking about me, you’re talking about you.”
“I just meant that I have a handle on what I’m doing and it’s not getting in the way of my classes,” I explained. “But I can see where it might be a good idea not to do this every weekend.”
“Your call,” he said as he sipped from his steaming Styrofoam cup. “I mean, it’s not like I don’t wish I could party sometimes. I do. It’s
just that the consequences are so awful that I know that if I did, I’d probably wind up in jail—or worse.”
“It’s that bad for you?” I asked as I reached for a berry.
“It’s that bad,” he affirmed.
“Well, it’s not that bad for me,” I said. “I don’t drink to avoid anything, it’s more like…”
“Like you use it to become someone else when being plain old you isn’t good enough?” he finished.
“Yeah, it’s a lot like that,” I admitted. “Sometimes I just want to escape from my own skin and be someone else. Someone who is totally not me.”
“I get it,” he affirmed. “My problem was that I drank because I never wanted to be myself and alcohol was the only way to avoid being me.”
“I don’t want to avoid being me all the time, I just drink when I feel like I’m becoming the me I used to be,” I admitted.
“Either way, there are days I still have to fight to hold on and accept that I’m the me that I am right now—even when I don’t like that me,” he said.
“Well, I can assure you that the you that you’ve become is still not missing out on much in terms of the aftereffects,” I said with a grim look.