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Eddie still wants to think he can do it by himself. He promised Jason he'd try as hard as he could, but he wants to believe that he doesn't need the help of strangers. And he wants to believe that he doesn't want ...need... a drink.
Tomorrow, he thinks, it might even be easier. Maybe tomorrow he'll wake up and forget what craving is. He'll breathe easier with a weight lifted off his shoulders.
Except he wakes up every morning and it's there. Following him like a shadow. Beer, he thinks, scotchwhiskeyvodkabourbon. Just one drink. If everyone knew how wrong it was, how completely impossible it was to spend every moment of the rest of his life sober, they'd understand that one more drink wasn't so bad.
He doesn't have Jason to distract him. Just days and hours and minutes and seconds and it's not getting easier.
****
Nothing was getting better. After Jason left, Eddie tried to be someone who had quit drinking. Only it was hard to do it when there was no alcohol around for him to stalwartly not drink. He stalled, turning his metaphorical wheels in the mud. He had to do something. Anything to move forward, to get some momentum.
Eddie asked to talk to the woman who runs the whole place with her husband. Louise. Jeremy said she was a good listener, although Eddie would've preferred her being a good talker so he didn't have to say as much.
They've been sitting on the porch of the farmstead in silence for about a quarter of an hour. Eddie knows she's waiting for him to talk. Any other time, for any other reason, she'd be waiting a long time. Eddie likes not talking. He likes just sitting. People talk too much and when he doesn't give much back in return, they just keep going. They say more than they should to fill the silence, more than he wants to know usually.
Now it's him trying to fill the silence and he doesn't like doing it.
"I have a boyfriend," Eddie finally says. It seems an odd thing to say. Eddie doesn't know why he said it. It occures to him that he hasn't actually told anyone that before. Huh.
And to her credit, if she's surprised or shocked, she doesn't show it. "What does he think about your drinking?"
"I don't know." Not true. "He doesn't like it, I guess. No. He doesn't like what I do when I drink."
Like get married and not to him.
"Is he supportive of you quitting?"
These weren't insightful questions. This isn't what Eddie was expecting. "Yeah." More silence. It takes him awhile to realize Louise is expecting more than a monosyllabic answers. And they're what he's best at too. Eddie tries to keep the grimace out of his voice. "I li..." 'Like' is not not the right word. "...prefer talking to him about everything. No offense to you or nothing, but I don't much like talking to strangers."
It's kind of gratifying to see Louise trying to hold back a smile. "I'd noticed. No offense taken. That's a lot of pressure to put on someone. For them to be there for you, to be the one person you're relying on."
Not what he wants to be told. Eddie sighs. Yes, it is.
****
They're sitting there again. Eddie came back the same time the next day and Louise turned up too. He's glad he didn't have to ask her to come back. He doesn't like asking for things.
The late afternoon sun is so warm it feels like it's shining all the way through him. Eddie can't think of anything to say, apart from vague comments on the weather, so he doesn't say anything. This time Louise speaks first. "When did you start drinking?"
Eddie opens his mouth to answer and pauses. When he first stole a sip of his grandfather's beer? The time in high school when he first tried spirits and threw up? How should he choose a beginning? No, he knew when it stopped being about a harmless beer and started being about escaping. "I moved away from home, to the city, when I was young. It was all pretty overwhelmin'. I lived with some other guys, other minor leaguers. We'd go out and I wasn't...comfortable. It wasn't my sort of thing, you know? Nightclubs and parties, and I'd have a few drinks to loosen up..." Loosen up, Eddie. We're here to have a good time. "...and it was easier to be there."
Then he got older and that was just how things were. He partied and he got drunk and he slept around. That was what he did so he kept doing it because that was what he did.
It had occured to Eddie that that was pretty stupid. But it was what he did and that sort of circular logic is tricky to get around.
"And you didn't stop."
"I didn't stop." Except I have. The trick is not starting again. "I thought if I stopped playing in the pros, got out of that life, I wouldn't have a reason to keep doing it."
"There's never just one reason, Eddie. People try to simplify things, but life is complicated." Louise looks at him and Eddie knows what she's going to say before she says it. "So are people."
I'm not. Eddie doesn't say it out loud. After all these years of thinking of himself as a pretty uncomplicated guy, maybe he was wrong.
****
The talks became part of his routine. If they were helping, he didn't notice, but it was something to do. He was trying.
****
"I want to go home." Eddie is tired, Eddie is homesick, and Eddie misses Jason. Complaining doesn't make him feel much better, but it doesn't make him feel worse. And that's something, at least. He could aim for a happy medium.
Louise gives him the look that really makes him feel like an idiot. "No one here is stopping you from leaving."
No, they aren't. But it's easier to think he's trapped here. Away from alcohol and real life, he can rage against the idea of being stuck on a farm, away from home. How dare he send himself here, how dare he have the temerity to put himself through this. Well...not so much rage as frown unhappily at it. Still, it's the same principle. He wants to go home. He wants to be a normal guy who doesn't have daydreams about a bottle of beer suddenly appearing in his hand. He wants Jason.
Eddie doesn't say anything else. He's too angry at himself to bother.
****
Eddie looks up at the sky, at the blue that doesn't stop. All that space and nothing to fill it except more space. It makes him feel little, like a speck amongst specks. That's okay. He doesn't mind being a speck, although he'd prefer to be a speck who isn't alcoholic.
Maybe tomorrow. He'll call Jason and tell him to drive down, be standing at the road with his bags packed. Maybe they can just keep going, all the way to his grandparents farm.
Maybe tomorrow. "He has a son. I've never met him."
Louise sits up a little. Eddie suspects she's partial to gossip, even though she doesn't spread it. She's trying to get him to look at her. "What do you think about that?"
It's a little worrying that he's never met Will, this kid who matters enough to Jason to be adopted. A little worrying and a lot terrifying. Will matters. He's important to Jason. Jason is important to Eddie.
Eddie looks at his fingers, at his shoes, at the fence posts. Sometimes getting him to make eye contact is like trying to nail jello to a wall. He doesn't know how to be a parent. He's barely capable of looking after himself, although these days he's doing a better job of it. He isn't the sort of person who should be put in a parental position. He's still trying to figure out how he can rest comfortable in a married position.
"I don't know." Sometimes that really means he doesn't know. More often it means he doesn't know how to articulate the conglomerate of emotions and thoughts wreaking havoc with his appetite. There's just too much for him to say. "I don't know."
****
Days are ticking over and Eddie starts thinking seriously about going home, instead of just wanting to. He doesn't know if he's ready, but he's pretty sure he won't find out if he is here at the farm. There's only so much he can do before he has to go back to the real world.
There's a lot waiting for him. And he's got his life to get on with.
Tomorrow, he thinks, it might even be easier. Maybe tomorrow he'll wake up and forget what craving is. He'll breathe easier with a weight lifted off his shoulders.
Except he wakes up every morning and it's there. Following him like a shadow. Beer, he thinks, scotchwhiskeyvodkabourbon. Just one drink. If everyone knew how wrong it was, how completely impossible it was to spend every moment of the rest of his life sober, they'd understand that one more drink wasn't so bad.
He doesn't have Jason to distract him. Just days and hours and minutes and seconds and it's not getting easier.
****
Nothing was getting better. After Jason left, Eddie tried to be someone who had quit drinking. Only it was hard to do it when there was no alcohol around for him to stalwartly not drink. He stalled, turning his metaphorical wheels in the mud. He had to do something. Anything to move forward, to get some momentum.
Eddie asked to talk to the woman who runs the whole place with her husband. Louise. Jeremy said she was a good listener, although Eddie would've preferred her being a good talker so he didn't have to say as much.
They've been sitting on the porch of the farmstead in silence for about a quarter of an hour. Eddie knows she's waiting for him to talk. Any other time, for any other reason, she'd be waiting a long time. Eddie likes not talking. He likes just sitting. People talk too much and when he doesn't give much back in return, they just keep going. They say more than they should to fill the silence, more than he wants to know usually.
Now it's him trying to fill the silence and he doesn't like doing it.
"I have a boyfriend," Eddie finally says. It seems an odd thing to say. Eddie doesn't know why he said it. It occures to him that he hasn't actually told anyone that before. Huh.
And to her credit, if she's surprised or shocked, she doesn't show it. "What does he think about your drinking?"
"I don't know." Not true. "He doesn't like it, I guess. No. He doesn't like what I do when I drink."
Like get married and not to him.
"Is he supportive of you quitting?"
These weren't insightful questions. This isn't what Eddie was expecting. "Yeah." More silence. It takes him awhile to realize Louise is expecting more than a monosyllabic answers. And they're what he's best at too. Eddie tries to keep the grimace out of his voice. "I li..." 'Like' is not not the right word. "...prefer talking to him about everything. No offense to you or nothing, but I don't much like talking to strangers."
It's kind of gratifying to see Louise trying to hold back a smile. "I'd noticed. No offense taken. That's a lot of pressure to put on someone. For them to be there for you, to be the one person you're relying on."
Not what he wants to be told. Eddie sighs. Yes, it is.
****
They're sitting there again. Eddie came back the same time the next day and Louise turned up too. He's glad he didn't have to ask her to come back. He doesn't like asking for things.
The late afternoon sun is so warm it feels like it's shining all the way through him. Eddie can't think of anything to say, apart from vague comments on the weather, so he doesn't say anything. This time Louise speaks first. "When did you start drinking?"
Eddie opens his mouth to answer and pauses. When he first stole a sip of his grandfather's beer? The time in high school when he first tried spirits and threw up? How should he choose a beginning? No, he knew when it stopped being about a harmless beer and started being about escaping. "I moved away from home, to the city, when I was young. It was all pretty overwhelmin'. I lived with some other guys, other minor leaguers. We'd go out and I wasn't...comfortable. It wasn't my sort of thing, you know? Nightclubs and parties, and I'd have a few drinks to loosen up..." Loosen up, Eddie. We're here to have a good time. "...and it was easier to be there."
Then he got older and that was just how things were. He partied and he got drunk and he slept around. That was what he did so he kept doing it because that was what he did.
It had occured to Eddie that that was pretty stupid. But it was what he did and that sort of circular logic is tricky to get around.
"And you didn't stop."
"I didn't stop." Except I have. The trick is not starting again. "I thought if I stopped playing in the pros, got out of that life, I wouldn't have a reason to keep doing it."
"There's never just one reason, Eddie. People try to simplify things, but life is complicated." Louise looks at him and Eddie knows what she's going to say before she says it. "So are people."
I'm not. Eddie doesn't say it out loud. After all these years of thinking of himself as a pretty uncomplicated guy, maybe he was wrong.
****
The talks became part of his routine. If they were helping, he didn't notice, but it was something to do. He was trying.
****
"I want to go home." Eddie is tired, Eddie is homesick, and Eddie misses Jason. Complaining doesn't make him feel much better, but it doesn't make him feel worse. And that's something, at least. He could aim for a happy medium.
Louise gives him the look that really makes him feel like an idiot. "No one here is stopping you from leaving."
No, they aren't. But it's easier to think he's trapped here. Away from alcohol and real life, he can rage against the idea of being stuck on a farm, away from home. How dare he send himself here, how dare he have the temerity to put himself through this. Well...not so much rage as frown unhappily at it. Still, it's the same principle. He wants to go home. He wants to be a normal guy who doesn't have daydreams about a bottle of beer suddenly appearing in his hand. He wants Jason.
Eddie doesn't say anything else. He's too angry at himself to bother.
****
Eddie looks up at the sky, at the blue that doesn't stop. All that space and nothing to fill it except more space. It makes him feel little, like a speck amongst specks. That's okay. He doesn't mind being a speck, although he'd prefer to be a speck who isn't alcoholic.
Maybe tomorrow. He'll call Jason and tell him to drive down, be standing at the road with his bags packed. Maybe they can just keep going, all the way to his grandparents farm.
Maybe tomorrow. "He has a son. I've never met him."
Louise sits up a little. Eddie suspects she's partial to gossip, even though she doesn't spread it. She's trying to get him to look at her. "What do you think about that?"
It's a little worrying that he's never met Will, this kid who matters enough to Jason to be adopted. A little worrying and a lot terrifying. Will matters. He's important to Jason. Jason is important to Eddie.
Eddie looks at his fingers, at his shoes, at the fence posts. Sometimes getting him to make eye contact is like trying to nail jello to a wall. He doesn't know how to be a parent. He's barely capable of looking after himself, although these days he's doing a better job of it. He isn't the sort of person who should be put in a parental position. He's still trying to figure out how he can rest comfortable in a married position.
"I don't know." Sometimes that really means he doesn't know. More often it means he doesn't know how to articulate the conglomerate of emotions and thoughts wreaking havoc with his appetite. There's just too much for him to say. "I don't know."
****
Days are ticking over and Eddie starts thinking seriously about going home, instead of just wanting to. He doesn't know if he's ready, but he's pretty sure he won't find out if he is here at the farm. There's only so much he can do before he has to go back to the real world.
There's a lot waiting for him. And he's got his life to get on with.