ALL MY LUCKY STARS

Alexander

Fridays were usually 'party' days in the office. Everyone brings in something, whether it be coffee or donuts or soda or chips. We all sit in the conference room and digest the week. This was something we recently started doing. It was implemented to help build coworker/boss relationships so everyone could feel comfortable with each other. We all had to work together, and that would be hard if we were too nervous.

We nicknamed it our "safe space", where anything we said in that room stayed in that room, and we never judged anyone's stories. Sometimes someone would talk about something personal, and for others, it was all about work.

I wanted to participate today, aside from just bringing a pitcher of coffee. I wanted to tell them about Olivia, and how I was feeling. But I was too chicken shit.

The day dragged, and I wondered what she was doing. After work, I went to the gym and showered, got takeout from the Ramen place, and arrived home to an empty apartment. Upon seeing my couch, memories flooded back from what had transpired just last night. My heart felt full. Then it ached.

I hadn't heard from Olivia all day. I texted her once at noon and got no response. I texted her a few minutes ago, and still no response.

It was only eight on a Friday night. Did she have other plans? Was she on a date with someone else? Did I scare her off? The uncertainty was eating away at me. I got up from my couch and poured myself a big glass of whiskey and put on the TV.

I skipped through the channels, finding nothing that could satisfy me. I just wanted to hear her voice.

I decided to call the one person who I knew I could count on for advice: Amy.

Or, I wanted to. But she didn't answer the three times I called. That was unusual. She usually always picks up.

I called, again and again. Nothing. So I called Jack. He picked up on the second ring.

"Alex, you gotta come here," he said, panicked.

"Wait, slow down. I've been trying to call–"

"It's dad. He's in the hospital right now. I came home and found him passed out on the floor with vomit all over his face. I don't know how long he was there for. I think he had a seizure."

Fuck fuck fuck. "I'll be there right away."

"We're at Elmhurst," he added and hung up the phone.

I grabbed my wallet, phone, and keys, and made my way to the subway. Elmhurst is a mere 30 minutes away, but it felt like forever.

-: ✧ :-

"He's stable," the doctor starts, "but we're going to keep him for a couple of days. Monitor the symptoms. He did have a seizure, but luckily it wasn't severe."

"Symptoms of what?" Amy asked, tears filling her eyes.

"Liver disease." She continued scribbling in her notepad. "How long has he been drinking?"

"God, I don't know. As long as I can remember really," I said.

"Well, that's no good. His liver is well, pretty much done for. He cannot drink, at all, under any circumstances. Most likely never again."

"But, doc, he's going to drink again. He won't stop," Jack confesses.

"Has he ever tried rehab?"

"Yes, several times," Amy said.

"You'll have to try again," the doctor said. "I'm sorry. There's only so much we can do at this stage. We'll wait for a donor to pop up, but we don't have a time frame of how long that may take. He needs to stay sober for that period of time to save his life."

Amy turned her head away and into my shoulder, the cloth of my shirt absorbing her tears. The doctor finished writing in her notepad, then left.

"What. Happened?" I asked.

"I came home to dad... he was..." Amy started sobbing.

"He was passed out, fucked up, and foaming at the mouth, Alex," Jack said.

"When did he start drinking again?" I was livid. I trusted him.

"Alex, just because you're not there doesn't mean he isn't drinking," Amy said through stifled tears. "He drinks himself silly like a damn fucking fish every fucking day."

I looked up at my dad, sleeping peacefully on the hospital bed. How did it all come down to this?

The first time I saw him on one of these was when I was fifteen. After mom passed away.

After being killed in a head-on collision with a drunk driver.

He went on a bender, and we didn't hear from him for three days. When we did, it was the hospital telling us that he was there and that we should come and visit him.

"I'm sorry I haven't been around much," I say. I know it doesn't help, but I say it anyway.

"Alex, you haven't visited since you left. Almost never. While we're stuck here dealing with this shit."

"I didn't particularly sign up to be a teen dad, Amy."

"So your next best option was leaving us with him?!" She was angry and shot up out of her chair. "You know how many fucking times I've come home to him like this?"

"Me too, man. It's horrible," Jack added.

"No, Jack, it's not horrible. It's fucking unacceptable. It's debilitating. Do you know how much of my youth was wasted on him? And his fucking drinking?" Amy shouted.

"Can you fucking blame him? He was a widow with three fucking children! I had to deal with this fucking shit all the time, all the while helping to raise you two! It wasn't just your youth. I fucking lost mine too!" I yelled.

"He was a widow because his wife was killed by a drunk fucking driver! You'd think that would tell him to stop but it just made him fucking drink more!" She yelled back.

We stared at each other for a short time, and her chin started to quiver. I just pulled her in to hug her. Jack joined after a couple of moments. She cried. Full-on scream crying. I cried too, letting my tears drop on the top of her head.

I couldn't be mad at my siblings for this. This was not their fault. But it was really hard not to when I remember being home at 2 am at 16 with two kids next to me asking when daddy will be home. "I don't know," I'd tell them. But we waited. And waited. And waited.

We didn't even know if he was alive by the time we left for school that morning. When we got back that afternoon, he was drunk again, passed out on the floor. Amy and Jack at least had each other through all of that.

I had nobody. And that weighed heavily on my conscience daily.