Walking on Broken Glass (32 page)

“I know. I know.” I combed my hair back with my fingers. Closed my eyes. Tried to recapture that Leah for an instant. Stirrings of her like the scent of a candle just extinguished.

“I can’t be independent and not be responsible for my own decisions. It was so much easier when I could be.”

“Sure, so easy you ended up here to find that out,” Ron smiled and closed my file. “So, back to the question. What are you going to do?”

“The opposite of what old Leah would have done?”

“You’re stalling. Pretend I’m Carl, and I’m leading you into our bedroom, telling you how much I’ve missed you, how lonesome I’ve been for you in my bed, how I want to make love to you—”

“Stop. Stop. No. I can’t. I won’t. Not yet.”

“That's good. Don’t compromise yourself. If you forget everything else, remember that. Don’t compromise yourself.”

L
eaving the staff was as difficult as watching some of my favorite students graduate. They march in, tassels swinging on their mortarboards, gowns swishing, and faces like fiery diamonds. In the instant they passed me, it was as if a balloon holding all my memories of them popped, and my heart exploded with hope. A hope that I’d given them the tools they needed, but knowing only they can be the carpenters. I prayed they fashioned a life from their dreams and desires.

The morning I left Brookforest every hug was a prayer. Theresa, Doug, Benny, Vince, Annie, Trudie, and I were a motley collection of people. A tradition, before leaving, was to pass around your Big Book, the AA Bible, so everyone could write a message. I’d read them in my room while I waited for Carl.

From Benny and Vince who, of course, wrote a combined message:
To our fav homegirl: We wish you could have been our teacher. But it's all good. Keep it real. And always remember, who's the champions. WE are the champions! (we hope we spelled it write!) Props … from ya boys.

From Doug:
Leah, I know I wasn’t too nice to you at first. I believe you now. That you really are an alcoholic. No. Make that
WERE an alcoholic. I probably won’t see you anywhere. But good luck. Big Dog Doug

From Theresa:
Dear Roomie: Boo-yah! I’m glad I got to know ya ’cuz your not the stuck-up chick I thought you was. Don’t be like me. Don’t come back. Don’t sell you’re jewelry. If you see a fine woman at a meeting, probably me!!!!!! Remember, God made you a NEW CREATION. Amen to that, sister girl. I’m gonna miss you. I hope I get out of here B4 they get me a new roomie. Stay SOBER. Love. Theresa p.s. I know your an English teacher, I don’t write too good, so don’t grade this note!!

From Annie:
Dear Leah: We didn’t talk much, but that's all me because I mostly hide in my books. I really enjoyed your sense of humor and that you tried to be nice to everyone. I wish we had a chance to know one another better. Keep saying the Serenity Prayer and collecting chips at meetings. God bless you in recovery. Peace and blessings, Annie

From Trudie:
Dear Leah: I’m so glad we actually bumped into each other that day. Who would have thought you and I would cross paths in rehab?! You reminded me not to take myself so seriously. I know I have a long stay ahead of me, so if you ever want to, stop by on visiting day. And you can take Haley with you! (LOL). Take care of yourself. I pray that everything works in your life for good. One day at a time. God be with you always. Love, Tru

When it was time to write my discharge statement, I didn’t know what to write. Jan said it was supposed to be a reflection of what we learned, what the time there meant to us, how we changed, or whatever information we wanted the staff to know. The first attempt read like an essay for my National Boards portfolio. Crumpled that and tossed in the trash. The next one read like a list of things to do and not do in rehab.

Finally, I followed the advice I gave my students when they didn’t know where to start or how to write. I asked Jan for a timer, opened my notebook, started the timer, put my pen on paper and wrote without stopping or thinking or correcting. I just let words flow out of my brain, down my arm, through my fingers, and into my pen. After the ten minutes, I read what presented itself. I revised and reshaped it, then turned it over to Jan. I felt like I’d lived another life in almost thirty days. So much I didn’t know or I would have been more careful. I couldn’t change my past. Maybe it could make a difference in the future for someone else who still had a chance in the present.

Carl turned the corner and pulled into our driveway. Seeing our house again reminded me of Carl's parents. They’d surprised us with it as a wedding present. No. Two untruths in that statement.

Lie #1: Use of the word “us.” Carl had already known about the house and had approved the purchase.

Lie #2: Use of the word “surprise.” See #1.

My surprise was that the house was mostly everything I never wanted in a house. Pretentious and impractical. Too-small kitchen, too-large master bedroom (especially since it was a room I didn’t want to spend time in), detached garage, a formal living room I had no desire to decorate, and no other bedroom downstairs. As in no other bedroom to use as a nursery.

Not long after we knew I was pregnant with Alyssa, I had suggested we convert the living room into a nursery. I’d even sketched a plan for adjoining it to the master. Granted, the drawing was crude. It showed two adjoining rectangles with a one-inch erased section (the doorway) on the common wall. Seemed simple enough to me. Then, when we knew we were having a girl, and there was still no nursery downstairs, I went to Plan B. I told Carl we, really he, since the baby could not endure such gymnastics, needed to practice the up and down trips from our bedroom to the upstairs bedroom closest to the stairs. And I planned to start timing at midnight and two and four and every four hours thereafter. He relented. The architect and contractor appeared on our doorway in two days.

It was the first time Molly jeopardized our friendship. She happened to pop over the night after Carl approved baby land, so I happily explained the plan. With Carl in the kitchen with us, Molly said, “Gosh, you really wouldn’t need to do all that. Your bedroom's so spacious, you could just move the occasional chairs into the living room and use that space for a crib.” Trapped between the skull-drilling stare of my vexation and Carl's benevolent gaze of appreciation, Molly suddenly remembered she had a meeting. Onto Plan C, which involved a modicum of pouting, shouting, and foot-stomping, and the possibility of breath-holding. Alyssa's nursery was completed one month before my due date.

Now, if I hadn’t been sober for almost a month, I would confess I’d heard the house dare me to enter. It never seemed welcoming, and I tried to convince myself the feeling had nothing to do with the oil painting of Carl's parents that I’d placed in the attic for safe-keeping.

We walked in through the back door. It didn’t take much looking around to know Merry Maids had made merry while I was away. We could have used the house for surgical suites. It smelled sanitized, an odor as nose-burning as gasoline. Nothing that a few strategically placed vanilla diffusers wouldn’t solve.

Carl stopped in the kitchen and set my suitcase by the table. I was about to ask why he wanted me to unpack there when he pulled out a pair of scissors from the infamous junk drawer.

“Is this the part where I’m supposed to scream?”

Carl laughed. “Not yet. I have something else planned for that.” He reached for my right arm, gently lifted the hospital identification bracelet and snipped it off. After he returned the scissors to the drawer, he opened the cabinet above it and took out a small wrapped box about the size of a wallet. He handed me the gift. “Here. Now you can scream.”

“I … I don’t know what to say,” I stammered. I know what I thought, and I was truly ashamed of myself for thinking it.
We hadn’t been home ten minutes and already Carl planned to buy me back into bed.

“You don’t have to say anything yet. Open it first,” he said softly, massaging the back of my neck.

I recognized the gift wrap as Southern Jewelers’ signature. Whatever it was, it was overpriced and exquisite. I ripped off the paper. A smallish, ordinary white box. Hmm, maybe not what I thought. I glanced at Carl. His grin stretched across his face. It looked painful. I lifted the top, pushed aside the tissue, and sucked in so much air I almost had to beat my own chest to breathe. Nestled in the box was a woman's gold Rolex weighed down with an emerald and diamond bezel.

“I asked Scott to take the watch out of the Rolex box. I thought you’d be more surprised that way. Were you? Do you like it? If it doesn’t fit, it can be adjusted to your wrist.” I’d never heard Carl string together so many questions in so little time. He lifted the watch out. “I almost forgot. I had it engraved.”

I turned the watch over and read the inscription aloud, “A new beginning. I love you. Carl.”
Theresa's new beginning for a new creation.
“This is beyond beautiful,” I said. “You were right, it was a bigger surprise finding it in such an unassuming white box. This is so generous and thoughtful, especially, considering … thank you. Thank you.”

“Here, let me put it on your wrist. This can be your new bracelet,” he said and snapped the Rolex closed. He held my hand and gazed down at my arm. “You didn’t need that identification anymore. We know who you are.”

C
arl walked into the bedroom where I’d been unpacking, stood behind me, wrapped his arms around my waist, and nuzzled my neck. “It's been a long time since I’ve seen you in this room,” he said. “I like this view so much better.” He pressed his face into my hair. “You smell good.”

“It's a new shampoo Gwen asked me to try the last time she cut my hair,” I said, and concentrated on folding my dirty laundry. Anything to prevent me from having to turn around. “Have you made any dinner plans? I can’t wait to eat somewhere that doesn’t serve food in a divided tray.”

He released his hold on my waist. “No, I didn’t make any reservations if that's what you meant. I didn’t know what you’d want to do on your first day home.”

I walked into the bathroom with my makeup case to unload my “war paint” as my father referred to it and hair equipment. Carl trailed behind me. I shivered when I saw the shower reflected in the mirror.

“Are you okay?” He reached out and caressed my shoulders.

“Fine. I’m fine.” I opened a drawer and started unloading. “We don’t have to eat anywhere we need reservations. Mexican or Chinese would be yummy. Are you interested in either one of those?”

“We could do Chinese takeout and eat dinner here if you’re not up for going out again. I’m sure this has been a tiring day for you.”

“I haven’t been out, as in real world out, in so long, I wouldn’t mind going somewhere instead of ordering in. Besides, if we go out, then I can show off my new watch.” I figured an appeal to his ego might swing the odds.

He massaged my shoulders. “If that's what you want, that's what we’ll do.”

We decided on Peking Garden. It was still early for dinner, so we were scored a window table overlooking the koi pond. The garden was styled with pine and mondo grasses and bamboo. Water burbled out of the fountain. I told Carl we needed to keep this landscaping in mind for the next time my father visited. Reproducing this in our backyard would keep him busy for months.

After hot and sour soup, a spring roll, fried rice, and moo shui pork, I told Carl I needed to be carted out in a wheelbarrow. “Maybe we could try to develop a taste for sushi?” I suggested.

“If I’m going to pay those prices for food, it's going to be cooked,” Carl said, distracted by calculating the tip. “Ready?” As I’d expected, his change was stacked on the bills.