Two Years Ago

Mr. Jackass is an alcoholic. I found out shortly after I met him he was an alcoholic, but he had been three years sober at that point. I didn't know anything about recovery. I knew very little about addiction. I knew next to nothing about AA and the community of addicts. I learned a lot.

About a year after we started dating he relapsed. I was devastated. I had no idea someone could change so completely. When he was using I didn't know who he was. When he was using, I didn't want to know him. I stayed with him through the three months of relapse. I sat by his side as he cried when he sobered up. I held his hand when he had to call his family and tell them. And while he was using, we went to the bar together. I was the worst possible girlfriend for an addict to have during a relapse.

One night Mr. Jackass and I headed for the bar. I don't know how, or why, but somehow Mr. Stonecold ended up with us. The boys decided on a blue collar hole in the wall dive bar. Mr. Jackass pouted and drank, and did his normal relapse Dr. Jekell Mr. Hyde thing. Mr. Stonecold and Mr. Jackass talked about old times and caught up on the happenings of life.

As we sat across the table from each other, in the dim smoky light of the bar, it was the first time I had really looked at him. I stirred my G&T awkwardly, not knowing quite what to say. He sipped his Cap'n Coke, while looking around the room, trying to avoid conversation. Mr. Jackass sat on my right, rambling on about the food being too hot, or too cold, or his back hurting, or someone did something that pissed him off or something. Stonecold's eyes met mine over our drinks and we smiled.

At one point the conversation turned to the subject of the perfect relationship. Mr. Stonecold leaned forward on his elbows, swirled the ice in his glass, looked me in the eye with a twinkle, and declared that women belonged in the home making his dinner and cleaning his house. I kicked him under the table. We laughed. We debated about the gender roles appropriate in the 21st century. We drank.

As the night wore on, a group of women came into the bar, clearly celebrating something. They had an assortment of beads around their necks. They were middle aged midwestern mothers, attempting to pretend they didn't have children at home and PTA meetings the next day. I don't remember how it happened, or why it happened, but somehow I infiltrated their group, and convinced them that they needed to give up some beads to see Mr. Stonecold take his shirt off. They did. He did. We laughed.

The evening came to an end. The lights in the bar harshly told us it was time to leave. We gathered our things and walked to the car. I dropped off Mr. Jackass so he could go home and get high. As I drove Mr. Stonecold home, the awkwardness of the beginning of the evening returned. We talked about his kids. We talked about his brother. We talked about Mr. Jackass.

When I stopped the car in front of his house, he told me to pull out my cell phone. He watched me as I programmed his number into the phone book. He told me to call him anytime I needed to talk or go drinking, because I shouldn't go drinking with Mr. Jackass alone. And then he went inside. That's the first time we went drinking together. From then on we were drinking buddies.