Walk in the Woods
Short: Love And Not Love, Part 2.
Love and Not Love, Part 2 Drake Honeywell has had enough of abusive relationships and looks for answers.
“Why am I attracted to these people?” Drake asked Todd a few days later.
Todd Mayo was Drake’s counselor. A slender black man with a thin goatee and calming voice. Drake started counseling when he learned it was free to all students at the university. And he felt safe in Todd’s office regardless of his condition when he arrived.
Todd leaned forward from his seat across from Drake and his eyes grew larger. “Why do you think you’re attracted to them?”
“I don’t know. I think something’s wrong with me. Or broken.”
“Describe broken for me. What’s broken about you?”
The question stumped Drake for a minute. And though accustomed to Todd’s approach, he felt unprepared to answer. He stared at the beige, ordinary carpet for a few seconds, then closed his eyes before answering.
“Something isn’t working. Not all relationships are like this.” Todd nodded but remained silent. Slowly, Drake continued, “I’m the common factor in each of these relationships. I’m the one trying to save people. But somehow, I’m the one who feels exhausted and foolish when it’s over. And I can’t blame an addict for being an addict. You know? I’m the one who kept going back to Abbey, and stayed in touch with Clint.” Tears began to run down Drake’s face and hopelessness crept into his heart as he spoke. He wanted to say more but didn’t see the way out of the pattern.
“Drake, there’s nothing wrong with wanting to help people. Look at me. My desire to help people got me here, helping you,” offered Todd, with a bit of a smile. “Lots of people get stuck in cycles like this. You’re lucky you finally see it. Some go there whole lives in a constant struggle. Now you have an opportunity to make a change.”
“What about them? What about people like Abbey and Clint?” Drake shot back, feeling attacked.
Todd’s face sank and his eyes narrowed.
“They aren’t here Drake. But you are. When you first sat on that couch you said you wanted to learn to love people more. How’s that working out for you?”
Drake was stunned by the question. Todd hadn’t been so blunt or direct, his words thrown back in his face. Yet, deep inside him, he knew. Months of counseling had led him to this moment. He knew he needed to press onward, but could only see what lay behind. Drake was scared
“I tried Todd.”
“And what happened?
“They shit on me.”
“And how does that feel?”
“Like shit. I’m a piece of shit.”
“Why?”
“Why? Why, what? I just told you. I tried and failed.”
“Ok. Why does that make you feel like shit? What’s wrong with failure?”
Drake’s thoughts began to unravel and a hot anger began to simmer inside him. What’s wrong with failure, he gruffed. Fucking everything dude. It means I’m not good enough, he concluded. The thought hit him like a hammer. Todd observed a softening of Drake’s shoulders and eyes. And he waited for Drake to speak first.
“I’m not enough,” Drake stammered as he covered his face with both hands.
Todd let the notion hang in the air for a beat before he asked,”And why is that?”
“Because if I was enough, my friends wouldn’t be addicts. They wouldn’t steal and cheat and hurt me.”
“And do you believe that true? That if you were perfect and did everything right, they’d be drug free?”
Drake knew the answer. He knew Abbey and Clint were addicts long before he met them. He knew they treated all their friends and family as resources. They use people too, he thought.
“No. I don’t. They have to choose to walk away from their addictions.”
Todd took a deep breath and smiled and allowed Drake space to continue down the path.
“It’s not about me. I waged a losing battle with Abbey. We didn’t want the same things.”
“Correct. And no amount of love was going to change her. She didn’t want to be changed.”
Drake nodded and wiped his cheeks.
THE END
Short: Love And Not Love, Part 1.
Love and Not Love, Part 1. Drake Honeywell has had enough and relies on the person he knows will come through.
“You’re not a man! You’re a fucking faggot!” she screamed as Drake sat in the over-stuffed chair beside the hotel room window. Abbey had come down from her high and frantically riffled through her suitcase for a little white bag of happiness. She’d spent the drive from Charlotte to Charleston entertaining her vices and wanted more. And Drake was sapped of hope.
As she ranted, he sank into his thoughts. Why was it so hard to leave her, he asked himself. In truth, he’d seen his relationship with Abbey as a mission or calling. He’d love her and heal her and they’d have a wonderful story to tell. But after ten months of trying, of threats and failure, Drake knew it was time. And he conceded defeat. “This is not my life. This is not my calling,” he whispered to himself. Then, he stood up, grabbed his bag, and marched toward the door.
“What are you doin’? Go ahead you bitch.” Abbey shrieked with sarcastic smile.
Drake understood her doubt. He’d left before and then begged her to take him back, like a cliche. What she couldn’t see was the birth of his resolve.
“You can stay for the night. The room is paid for.”
“How will you get back to Charlotte, dipshit? We took my car.”
Without looking back, Drake dryly responded,”I’ll figure it out.”
Down in the lobby, Drake tried to contact a few friends in the Charleston area. No one texted back or picked up the phone. I deserve this, he thought. He’d ignored his friends for almost a year. Now came the reaping.
Then Drake thought of his father and knew he could call him, knew his dad would be there for him, but it’s not a call he wanted to make. How would he explain it all? How he’d ended up submerged in a world of guns, drugs, and strippers?
“Hey, dad.”
”Hey Drake. How’s my son?” asked the cheery voice on the other end.
“Are you available? I need a ride from Charleston to Charlotte,” Drake asked quietly and without explanation.
After a pause, the joy of hearing his son’s voice gone, Drake’s father responded. “Send me the address. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
Over the next two hours, Drake began to reclaim his life. Since he worked with Abbey and knew she wouldn’t resign, he gave notice to the restaurant they both worked at. “Are you sure? I can make it work.” was the reply of his boss, desperately trying to keep her best employee. Then he blocked Abbey and her friends on social media. He couldn’t block her phone number, not yet, not as long as they worked together. Abbey had sent Drake a steady stream of abusive text messages as soon as he’d left the room- lies mostly- and he was ready for it to end. Finally, Drake set his phone on wooden table beside him and leaned back in high-backed chair. A warm peace spread covered him like a blanket and for a time pushed away the dread.
A while later, as the sun set behind the hotel, Mr. Honeywell drove into the round-a-bout at the front of the high rise building. Drake loaded his bag into the back of the old Jeep Cherokee and the pair motored back up I-26, away from Abbey and life meant to crush him. To Drake’s surprise, his father never asked why he needed to give his son a ride from Charleston to Charlotte, rather they chatted about the Pirates and the coming football season. He was glad to be in the old Jeep, reeking of rust and oil, and more glad to be with someone who truly loved him.
Abstract: A Fool’s Caution
A poem, about dating an abusive drug addict.
“Are you sure about this one?” they asked,
in a passive southern manner meant to communicate caution or concern.
Wouldn’t have mattered anyway,
nothing said in love would’ve landed on my life.
Because I was too high on the feelings,
of being wanted,
of being held,
and my ears clogged with everything I wanted to hear.
For once in my life, I was somebody to someone who wasn’t my momma,
How could my friends be so wrong?
How could this go wrong?
Then the lies began to mount,
and evolved into ongoing gaslighting,
my fears and instincts in error.
Then her kind words faded to darkness,
and all she wanted was my time and resources.
Which, I gave.
Because, I loved her.
Because, I was a man, destined to suffer this woman.
And then, I suffered her fists.
Yes, her fists.
And it became clear,
this demon had no boundaries,
or limits to her depravity.
And by the grace of God,
I walked away before my seeds sprouted,
and rooted me forever to my foolish choices.
Vol III: #61 Meth And Love
What bothers me about the addict outside the supermarket was her lack of self-worth. She knows her condition better than I ever will, but she doesn’t know how loved she is. This sister lives in a violent, ruthless world. Everything has a price and trust is a fantasy. Meth is the only guarantee.
“Fuck you anyway, asshole!” shouted the dusty, meth rattled, woman from the sidewalk outside Raley’s supermarket. She looked pitiful enough and my heart was sad for her. My sin was I had looked the other way as she stood with her sign and thus deserved her curse. As I drove off, I looked in the rearview for a last glimpse. She was emaciated, skin tanned and scabbed, her hair matted and oily. Beside her were two trash bags. I wondered what they held. Addicts tend to sell anything of value as quick as they can, so it had to be blankets or coats- something valuable enough to lug up and down Lake Boulevard but not valuable enough to sell.
When I pulled into the driveway I turned the car off and thought about the poor lady. Meth was her master now and whatever she said or did was in service to him. The addiction isn’t what bothers me. What bothers me about the addict outside the supermarket was her lack of self-worth. She knows her condition better than I ever will, but she doesn’t know how loved she is. This sister lives in a violent, ruthless world. Everything has a price and trust is a fantasy. Meth is the only guarantee.
I know how she feels. I know what it’s like to feel abandoned and truly alone in life. I was jobless, all the doors shut, even to bus tables or wash dishes. My roommate began to distance himself from me, always busy with friends or work. And at my worst, he belittled me when the rent was late. Unable to cope, I swam ever deeper into self-pity. I hated who I was and believed I would never rise from the despair. When I shopped for groceries, I hated everyone I passed and from my beat up truck I sneered at happy couples strolling through the neighborhood. I didn’t know or believe I was loved, not by the Lord, or my parents, or my friends.
It was the Lord who delivered me from all, because He loves me. What my friend on the sidewalk needs isn’t money or meth. She needs love. And I pray she accepts it.