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Rags to Riches: Part 15 (Saturday Story)

Saturday Story 

Thank you for joining me for part 15 of my first Saturday Story: Rags to Riches. If you missed part 14, you can find it here.

Please check back next Saturday for part 16, and have a great weekend!

Give your life the green light. It’s A Go!

Amber Green

…

Rags to Riches 

Rags to Riches
Rags to Riches. Art by Dixie Foxton; used with permission.

To Riches:

It’s not a big deal. Everyone is just so damn sensitive, Chris thought to himself, justifying yet another drink on a Wednesday evening.

Dave was on a business trip for their chain of auto repair shops, and Chris was sitting alone on their beautiful terrace. Ice cubes clanked around in the glass as Chris drank deeply.

The sun shone down. It was a beautiful day. How many gorgeous afternoons had Chris spent on a patio enjoying a few too many? (He really couldn’t even wager a guess…)

Throughout the years, Chris had worked every program, read every self-help book about alcoholism, sought counselling and meditated. For decades, he had been on a continuous roller coaster between the lows of alcoholism and highs of sobriety (though, sometimes sobriety felt very, very low).

Every time he was sober for a while, he felt good; he fooled himself and those around him into thinking that he finally had his drinking under control. He wrangled alcoholism; beat it into submission- only to drink again (whether it be days, weeks, months or even years later, it didn’t matter. It classified as failure in his eyes- and worse, in the eyes of his partner and family members).

How did this thing that started out as fun (and even celebrated) in his twenties turn into a crutch? Alcohol had slowly crept in to form a large part of his very lifestyle over the years. He ignored it as best as he could (which was probably the worst thing for him), but when he forced himself to confront it, he was ashamed. He ignored his sisters’ watchful eyes and his mom’s pursed lips when he openly drank in front of the family (those times were few and far between, but they had happened over the years). He ignored Dave’s anger and resentment. He ignored the gnawing feeling that he himself deserved better. Ignore, ignore, ignore. I really am my father’s son, Chris thought to himself, bitterly, as he poured himself another drink.

Dave could never know that Chris had been drinking today. He had had so much hope for Chris’s sustained sobriety this last time…

From Rags:

“Should I call Mom?” Priscilla asked Franca from the passenger seat.

Franca’s hands gripped the steering wheel tightly; she focused on getting them to the hospital where their brother was being treated for alcohol poisoning. Franca exhaled a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.

“Yeah, Dave said Chris is unconscious. Call them,” Franca said.

Priscilla called their parents’ number from her cell phone. “Hi daddy,” Priscilla said calmly when their father answered the phone. Franca rolled her eyes- their mother always answered the phone; in fact, this was probably one of five times their father answered their home phone throughout their parents’ marriage. Where the hell is mom? she thought.

“Daddy-” (whether it be because she was their first child, or because she had always been a ‘Daddy’s girl’, Priscilla was the only one of his adult children to call him this; Chris and Franca always stuck with plain ol’ ‘dad.’) “-where’s mom?” Priscilla waited for him to respond. “She’s on her way home now? Okay. I’m sure everything is fine-” Franca grimaced at this, as she knew her father was probably suffering from a mild heart attack at this less-than-comforting phrase, “-but Chris is in the hospital. He’s being treated for alcohol poisoning.”

The hospital was just ahead of them now. Franca thought one more prayer for her brother’s recovery, as she turned into the hospital’s entrance.

“What do you mean, ‘how do we know?'” Priscilla asked their father patiently. “Dave called us, and said-” Priscilla paused. Her tone changed from calm and patient to short and icy with her next sentence. “What do you mean, ‘mom will meet us?'” Priscilla scoffed and gave me her Are you kidding me? look through a side glance. Anger entered my sister’s voice, “Dad, this has gone on long enough. He is your son. Come with mom,” she paused again as our father responded. Priscilla flushed, and her voice shook with equal parts disbelief and rage. “Yeah, well, dad, fine. Just know that it’s probably your fault that Chris in the hospital to begin with.” She ended the call.

I almost hit a parked car as I whipped my head around to stare wide-eyed at my sister.

“What?” Priscilla asked, exasperated.

“Nothing- no, it’s just, I can’t believe you said that to dad.”

“Yeah, well, usually I talk to him like his daughter, but today I had to talk to him like a parent.” In that moment, my father- the man my sister thought hung the moon- was just another person, focused on all the wrong things. “Would you park already?” she asked, frustrated.

I pulled into the next available spot, and we raced for the hospital’s entrance.

………

Continue reading Rags to Riches: Part 16 here.

*This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

© 2018 Amber Green

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Rags To Riches: Part 8

Saturday Story: Rags To Riches

Hello! Thank you for visiting my blog to read part 8 of my Saturday Story: Rags to Riches. Feel free to let me know what you think by commenting below, and please be sure to come back next week for part 9!

Give your life the green light. It’s A Go!

Amber Green

Rags to Riches: Part 8

Rags to Riches
Rags to Riches. Art by Dixie Foxton; used with permission.

To Riches:

I looked up at the brand new sign- Engines & Fenders; it was one of hundreds in the country. I had been to a number of new openings, but it was always a thrill. In the coming years, we planned to grow the chain to thousands of locations worldwide. It had come a long way from that one little location on Main street.

From Rags:

I concentrated on looking normal; my face relaxed and interested (but not too interested) in the conversation my family and Chris’s friend, Dave were having during brunch at my parents’ house. (Dave may or may not be Chris’s secret make-out partner from the auto repair shop yesterday, dubbed ‘Mr. Mystery Arms’ by my sister, Priscilla and I).

“Thank you very much for having me, Mr. and Mrs. Bruno,” Dave said politely, after introductions had been made.

“Not at all!” my mother replied. “I miss when Priscilla, Frankie and Chris were in school. We always had their friends over.”

“So, Dave what do you do?” my father asked.

“I’m a mechanic,” Dave answered. I have my own auto repair shop on Main Street.”

“Engines & Fenders?” my dad asked him, as I dug into my mom’s famous frittata.

“That’s the one,” Dave said with a smile.

“I like that place,” my dad said, approvingly.

“You’re very young to have your own business,” my mother said, admiringly.

“Well, my parents owned the business; they sold it to me when they retired last year. I learned about cars from them.”

“See, Chris, your friend may have had a leg up, but he’s clearly driven-” my mother started.

“Yeah, you should hang out with him more- maybe his good habits will rub off on you,” my father finished my mother’s thought. Whether it was simply bad timing, or my father’s statement caught me off guard, I started choking on my eggs.

Everyone stared at me, as I continued to choke. My mom and dad asked if I was okay, and looked ready to jump out of their chairs if I required the Heimlich maneuver. I motioned that I was fine, and took a sip of water. Clearly, I was failing miserably at ‘looking normal.’

Once I had recovered, and conversation resumed, I noticed Chris glance at me from the corner of my eye. It was brief, but I swear I saw him smirk.

Why would he smirk? I wondered. No one had just told a joke– unless… That little putz! I thought to myself. He did see us last night! And now, what? He’s punishing my sister and me for not telling him? What’s wrong with him? 

We finished brunch, and my sister started gathering the kids after we helped our mother clear the table. “You can’t leave yet,” I whispered to my sister, after she thanked our mother for brunch.

“Why? The boys need to go,” Priscilla said- our brother and his possible-lover clearly not high on her list of priorities.

“They’re kids! Whose birthday party is it? One of the royals? Seriously- they can be five minutes late,” I hissed at my sister. “Boys, help grandma tidy up. Dad, I’m sure Dave would love to see your car-” I said. The boys set to work (getting in my mom’s way more than helping, I’m sure).

“That’s a good idea, Frankie,” my father replied, predictably. “Luke, come with us,” my father said.

“We’ll be right out,” I called to my father. Before Chris could follow them, I grabbed his arm and commandeered my siblings into my parents’ laundry room, closing the door behind us.

“Who goes into the laundry room to talk?” Chris asked.

“Shut up, Chris,” I said, immaturely. I locked eyes with my brother, and waited a beat. “You saw us,” I said, looking at my sister.

“You saw us,” my brother said. Immaturity was running rampant today; I thought it juvenile for my brother to bring ‘Mr. Mystery-Arms’ to brunch before we spoke, and I had just forced my adult siblings into the laundry room at our parents’ house; despite all of it, in that moment, Chris didn’t look like my little brother; he looked like a man who knew who he was. Unafraid. Unapologetic. Honest.

Without another word, Priscilla and I embraced our brother.

………

Continue reading Rags to Riches: Part 9 here.

*This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

© 2018 Amber Green