The Miracle

     He woke up slowly, his head spinning like a bowling ball down the alley. His tongue felt like it was swelling up in his mouth, but maybe that was the hallucinations. They often came when he drank. Which was more than often. He groaned, grabbing the hand of his mother to stand up. Then he noticed it was cylindrical and cold, like a metal bar. The image of his mother faded away. He cried out, trying to grasp her in an embrace, but her dull blue eyes left him. He turned around and emptied his breakfast from the previous day. He hadn't eaten anything after that. After all, why eat when you can drink? He staggered back, falling against the wall and banging his head.

     He couldn't shake the image of his mother from his mind, and soon she was back. But this time she looked haughty and cold, and easily danced away from him when he tried to hug her, a child missing his mom. She laughed mockingly, and was joined by his father. We told you, son, they seemed to say. We told you this would happen. He curled up into a ball, sobbing, rocking back and forth. It's all a dream, he told himself, it's not real. "You're not real!" He screeched, throwing his empty beer bottle at them, but they were gone. 

     Limping out of the alley, he started heading back towards the bar. More drink makes the headache go away, as they say, till another day. He passed an old drink buddy, passed out, looking sallow and sickly. His liver was giving out, probably. Then he heard his voice call out, "Did you see your ma? After all, it might be her ghost come back to haunt you." He gritted his teeth and moved on. It couldn't be his mother haunting him. She didn't want to see him, or so she had said before he began seriously drinking. She had only been a little sick, or so the doctors thought. His mother had been in the hospital for a day, but he had been out with his buddies drinking the night away when she had gone in, so she had refused to see him. The next morning she had passed away in between the nurses shifts. No one knew why she had died. He shook his head, shaking the thoughts away. His head was too muddy to think straight. He walked into a pole. Or to walk straight, apparently. He needed the drink, though. He needed the hallucinations. He needed his mother. He rubbed his face, discovering tears on his grimy cheeks. He stopped before the bar door, which said Closed, and sat down, banging on it. The hallucinations were disappearing. He banged harder, tears coming harder, faster. Then the door opened, and he was surprised to see a small woman, blonde hair in a low bun, a light blue dress to her midcalves.

     She looked down at him, and seemed to have a light come into her eyes. She sighed, and helped him to his feet. "Let's get you washed up." He was too drunk and surprised to do anything but follow the lady. She led him into a room that had clothing wall-to-wall. It was all sorts of clothes; old fashioned and modeled yesterday, dark colors and fanciful blues and yellows. She had him sit and grabbed some clothes, holding them up to him. She then grabbed his hand and led him to a bedroom with a door that seemed to lead to a bathroom. She handed him the clothes. "Go wash up. I'll be downstairs once you're ready." He looked bewilderedly at her while she left, closing the door behind her. He slowly grabbed the clothes and went into the bathroom, locking it firmly, because this lady seemed, quite frankly, crazy. He quickly showered, dressed himself in the new clothes (moderately new, a light gray shirt and jeans) and washed his face, then looked into a mirror. His wet, long dark hair hung in front of his mother's blue eyes. He had a long untrimmed beard that he grimaced at, I'll have to get that cut. He froze. Since when have I cared about how I look? Still, he continued looking, and noted several scars from bar fights he had participated in. He winced and left the bathroom into the bedroom. He saw that the whole room was a dark forest green, with dark brown furniture and sea-blue decorations. He left the room, suspicion beginning to creep in. Why would this random lady give him clothes and probably a room for no reason whatsoever? She probably was planning to charge him to the breaking point, and if he refused, she'd probably sue him. He crept downstairs, seeing a hallway. He picked the second door on the right, hoping he had remembered right through his drunkenness. He entered a dining room, which, to his surprise, had been set for two on a round table. His mouth began to water from the sight and smell of it. There was a freshly roasted turkey, cooked carrots and boiled broccoli, seasoned to a point where it tasted like heaven. He saw what he thought was wine, but upon closer inspection turned out to be apple-flavored ginger ale. He sat down in the seat closer to the door, and waited. What if it was poisoned? He wondered. I'll wait until she shows up.

     Indeed, in a few seconds, she waltzed in carrying a mint-Oreo© pie. "Oh!" she gasped, almost dropping the pie, but he leaped up and steadied her. "Thank you. I didn't see you there," she released a breath of relief. She placed it on the table, and began carving him a slice of the turkey. She then carved herself one. He was going to wait until she took the first bite, to make sure it wasn't poisoned, but then she simply bowed her head and murmured a prayer. He quickly bowed his head and clasped his arms like she had done and said "Amen" with her. Then she took a bite, and began serving the vegetables. She poured them both glasses of the ginger ale, despite his almost objection. She had simply raised steely eyes to his, and his mouth froze mid-"no, thank you". She raised her glass and said "To miracles." He did the same, slightly confused. A miracle? Is she talking about me? He questioned her about it, eating his food quickly, and serving himself. She told him a tale of a young woman very much in love with a young man, who had passed away from over-drinking. She had prayed for years for a chance to stop the same thing from happening, for someone to come knocking at her door, someone who needed her help. She had studied ways to stop addictions, and had waited and waited. Now she was 34 years old, and she finally had someone to help. She stopped her story here and ate the rest of her food. He volunteered to help her bring the food to the kitchen, and asked her name. "Karishma. Call me Kari. And you?" "Joshua."

     They cleaned the dishes, then went to the living room to chat. Little did they know, that they had taken the first step of falling in love.

     They continued the process of overcoming Joshua's addiction, and he explained how he had fallen into it. He almost had to restart sometimes when he and she argued about things like leaving socks out. But he never drank again, thanks to being someone's "miracle". And Kari found peace through her guilt felt by the loss of her love. And together, they were whole.