Chapter 3

3

PORTER

I was going to check myself into a recovery center; there was no use pretending I wasn't an addict anymore. I went to work, but instead of clocking in, I went straight to my boss's office.

"Excuse me, Mr. Matthews?" I knocked on the door.

"Come in," he called.

I snuck into the office, feeling awkward and ashamed. "I'd like some time off."

He looked at me with those kind eyes, the ones that knew I needed help. "Go on," he encouraged.

I drew in a breath. "I'm gonna check myself into rehab," I heard my voice say. Was that really the decision I had made? Surely things weren't that drastic. I could still have my fix and get to work on time—that was all that mattered. I put my foot down on those thoughts. My life was out of control, and it was time to do something about it. This was the necessary first step.

"Bravo." Mr. Matthews stood up, clapping as he crossed the office. He put a hand on my shoulder. "You're doing the right thing."

I felt weak inside, like I had been waiting for those very words. See? I told the demon of addiction within me. I am doing the right thing.

Mr. Matthews continued, as if he too had been waiting for this day. "I'm proud of you, son. I know it's going to be hard, but you stick with it. Take as much time as you need."

"Really?" I croaked, unable to keep the emotion out of my voice.

"I'll hold the job for you, as long as it takes," Mr. Matthews promised.

"Thank you," I whispered, overwhelmed with a desire to escape before I started to cry.

I didn't think of myself as a person who had friends, and this display of support was unnerving. Maybe Old Man Matthews really cared about me. It sure seemed that way. I wasn't sure what I had done to deserve his approval, but I was grateful. I mumbled something about doing my best and ducked out of there.

My next stop was Mike's house. It was Saturday, so I was pretty sure he would be home. I had been invited to a bunch of cookouts over the years, so I knew exactly where it was. I pulled into the driveway off Deer Tail Road and stared up at their little house in the forest.

I was happy for Mike, I really was. That didn't stop the jealousy that habitually reared its head when I thought of him and his friends. They were all settled down, with beautiful wives and cute children. It wasn't that I had never been in a relationship but instead that I managed to sabotage anything good in my life. I just wasn't cut out for the happily ever after, and I knew it. It was ugly and unfair to be jealous, but that didn't stop the feelings.

I turned off the engine and climbed out of the cab. Next to Mike's brand-new Toyota, my old Ford looked crappy as hell. I guess that's what came from spending all your money on drugs, I thought. I was lucky to have the truck, even luckier still that the law hadn't caught up to me and taken it away.

I knocked on the door, already beginning to feel the dull effects of sobriety creep up on me. If it was a regular day, I would be searching for my next fix by now. This time, I just hoped to get this social call out of the way and drive myself to treatment.

Tammy answered the door, pregnant and showing. Their little girl, Elizabeth, peeked out from behind her mom's legs before she recognized me.

"Porter!" the little lady shouted, threading her way past Tammy and into my arms.

I caught her up, spinning her around. It was so refreshing to have someone see past all my failings, to see the real me. This kid was actually happy to see me, and that meant something. Her mom, however, was less than thrilled. After all the support they'd shown me over the years only for me to flake out on them time and again, I couldn't blame her.

"Porter," she deadpanned.

"Is Mike here?" I asked, setting Elizabeth down.

"Come in." Tammy moved away from the door, taking her daughter by the hand. "Go get Daddy, please."

The child scrambled back into the depths of the house, and I heard her screaming, "Daddy! Porter's here!"

"Would you like some coffee?" Tammy offered.

"Yeah," I said. "Actually, coffee would be great."

She nodded. She went to the kitchen and poured a cup for me. Mike appeared from the hallway, a guarded smile on his face.

"Porter, come in. It's good to see you man. It's been a minute." He gestured toward the couch.

I sat down awkwardly. "I wanted to tell you I'll be going away for a while. I'm gonna check myself in to the Westview Hospital drug treatment center."

"What's a drug treatment center?" Elizabeth climbed up onto my lap.

I laughed, searching for a way to explain my predicament that a six-year-old might understand. "It's a place where people go to get better."

"Are you sick?" she asked.

"I am," I confirmed.

"Okay. I hope you feel better soon." She snuggled against me, sticking her thumb into her mouth.

I looked up at Mike to find him smiling. "I'm really happy to hear you say that. I thought that the last time you got sober, you would make it. I guess I don't know much about addiction."

I nodded, a little bit uncomfortable. "It's hard."

Tammy swooped in with the coffee, her mood a bit improved. "You're gonna do great."

"Have you told Matthews?" Mike asked, sitting down.

Elizabeth climbed off my lap and went to sit with her dad. I picked up the coffee. "Yeah, he was really supportive."

"Good." Mike nodded.

"He said he would save my job for me," I added.

"That's great."

"I'm gonna pay rent a couple months in advance, with what little money I have," I explained. "If you could stop by my place once or twice to pick up the mail…"

"Consider it done," he said.

"Thanks man. I know I don't really deserve your help after all the crap I've put you through."

"This is a big thing you're doing," Mike spoke, as if I needed reminding. "You'll do great."

I put my cup down and stood up. "Thanks for always believing in me. I think I'm not living up to your standards."

"That's ridiculous." Mike could see that I had to leave and moved Elizabeth off his lap to stand up.

He circled me in a hug so strong, it brought tears to my eyes. I hoped to God I didn't let him down again. When Mike broke it off, I gave Tammy a quick salute and patted Elizabeth on the head. All the way back to the car, I waged war against myself.

About three-quarters of me wanted to drive directly to the hospital, to check myself in and get the ball rolling. But there was that devilish minority that screamed so loud, I almost lost my nerve. It wanted to go back to my apartment, where I knew I still had some dope. It wanted to get high again and forget the life-affirming decision I had so recently made. It wanted me to throw away all the goodwill I had earned through my hard conversations, to turn my back on my best friend and my boss. It promised euphoria, and I struggled not to give in.

Driving to Nashville was an epic battle. Through turn lanes and on-ramps I saw demons and angels, both screaming at me to follow their advice. The further I got from our little town, the better. I narrowed my focus, holding the treatment center in my mind as a beacon of hope.

I fought with myself all the way to the parking garage, all the way to the front door. When I presented myself for intake, it was like a weight off my shoulders. I had made it. I'd fought the demon and won this battle. I was going to change my life for the better and win the war, and nothing could stop me.