Chapter 21 Chapter 21

I didn't cross the street.The lad with the battered face and broken leg wasn't the only robber in the area.It dawned on me: I don't want to run into one after drinking. No, I have to go back to my place.I was only going to have one drink, maybe two, but I'm not sure I'll be enough, and I can't say what I'm going to do after two. To be on the safe side, I should go back to my turf, have a drink of it at the bar, never more than two, and take a few cans of beer back to the room. The problem is that it's not safe to drink anyway, at least for me.Haven't I already proved this?How many more times am I going to prove it?

So what should I do?Shake until I fall apart?I can't sleep without drinking.I can't sit still without drinking, for God's sake. Well, fuck it.I still have to have a drink.That's medicine.Any doctor who sees me will prescribe this. any doctor?Where's the intern at Roosevelt Hospital?I felt his hand on my shoulder - where the robber was grabbing - and pushed me into the alley. "Look at me and listen. You're an alcoholic. You're dead if you don't stop drinking." I'm going to die sooner or later, one of the eight million ways to die.But if I had the choice, at least I could die closer to home.

I walked to the side of the road.A gypsy taxi--the only kind that would pick up passengers in Haarlem--came slowly towards me.The driver, a middle-aged Hispanic woman with weird red hair and a hat pressed on, thought I was safe, and I got in, closed the door, and asked her to drive me to the intersection of Fifty-eighth Street and Ninth Avenue. I have a lot of thoughts along the way.My hands are still trembling, just not as much as before, but the trembling in my heart still shows no sign of getting better.It seemed like the drive would never end, when suddenly I heard the woman ask which street corner I was going to park at.I asked her to lean against the door of Armstrong's Bar, and when the light turned green, she walked straight across the intersection and stopped where I said it would be.I didn't move, she turned to see what was going on with me.

It just occurred to me that I couldn't drink anything at Armstrong's.Of course, they probably forgot by now that Billy kicked me out, but it's also possible they remembered. Just the thought of stepping into the store and being rejected makes me feel hot all over.No, fuck them, I'm not stepping in their goddamn gates. Where should I go?Polly's should be closing, they always close early.What about Farrell's? It was there that I had my first drink since King died.Before I picked up that glass, I had not drunk a drop for eight full days.I still remember that wine.It's called 'The Early Years'.

It's strange that I always remember which brand of wine I drink.It's all rubbish, really, but you just stick with that sort of detail. I also heard someone say something similar at a party not too long ago. How effective is my sobriety?Haven't had a drink in four days?I can go upstairs to my room, stay there, and wake up to day five. It's just that I can't fall asleep.I can't even stay in my room.I'll try, but I can't stay anywhere because I feel bad right now and the only company I have is my messed up head.If I don't drink it now, I'll still drink it in an hour.

"Sir? Are you okay?" — Stick School · E Book Group — I winked at the woman, took out my wallet, and drew a twenty-dollar bill. "I've got to make a call," I said. "It's at the booth on the corner. You have the money. Wait for me here, okay?" Maybe she'll walk away with the money.I don't care.I went to the phone booth, put in a coin, and started dialing. It's too late to fight now.what time is it?After two o'clock.It's too late for an acquaintance to make this call. Hold.I can go back to my room.Just an hour and I can clear my head.

Bars usually play at three o'clock. So what?There's a deli nearby that will sell me beer, legal or not. There was a bar on Fifty-first Street that was open all night, between West Eleventh and Twelfth Avenues. They may have closed down though.I haven't been there for a long time. Kim Duckinen has a bottle of Wild Turkey in the cabinet in the front room and her key is in my pocket. This scares me.A whole bottle of wine, I drink whenever I want.If I got there, I wouldn't be done with a drink or two, I'd drink the whole bottle, and as long as I'd drink it, I'd drink bottle after bottle.

I still called. she is sleeping.I knew it from the sound of her answering the phone. I said, "This is Matthew. Sorry for calling so late." "Never mind. What time is it? Jesus, it's past two." "Feel sorry." "It's all right. Are you all right, Matthew?" "not good." "drink?" "No." "That's fine." "I'm having a meltdown," I said, "and I'm calling you because it's the only way I can think of not to drink." "well done." "Can I go there?"

There was a dead silence.Forget it, I was thinking.Grab a quick drink before closing at Farrell's and head home.If I had known earlier, I would not have made this call. "Matthew, I can't tell if this idea is right or not. Remember that as long as you stay up for an hour and an hour, you can come by minute by minute if you have no choice. You can call me at any time. It's okay to wake me up, but -" I said, "I almost died half an hour ago. I beat the guy so hard and broke his leg. I've never been shaking so badly in my life. I think the only way to stop it is to drink, but I don't I dared to drink, but I was afraid that I couldn’t help but still drink. I thought I could only get through it if I found someone to chat with, but it’s hard to say. Hug, I shouldn’t bother you. It’s not your responsibility, sorry, "

"etc." "I am still here." "There's a place in St. Mark's Square that has all-night parties on weekend nights. The address is in the address book, and I'll look it up for you." 'OK. " "You don't want to go, do you?" "I can't speak at every party. Come on, Jane, I'll be all right." "where are you?" "Fifty-eighth Street and Ninth Avenue." "How soon can you be here?" I glanced at Armstrong's Bar.My gypsy taxi is still there. "There's a taxi waiting for me," I said.

"Remember how you got here?" "Remember," The taxi took me to the front of Jane's six-storey warehouse-like building on Lisburnard Street, and the meter had already eaten up the original twenty yuan.I gave her another twenty dollars.It's a bit much to give, but I'm grateful, and I'm generous enough to afford it. I rang Jane's bell, two long and three short, and walked out the door, waiting for her to drop me the key.I took the elevator to the fifth floor and climbed up to her attic cabin. "Quite fast," she said, 'you do have a taxi waiting. " But it was enough for her to change clothes.She had changed into old Lee jeans and a red and black checked flannel shirt.She was an attractive woman, of medium height, well-proportioned, and comfortable.She has a heart-shaped face and dark brown-gray hair that falls to her shoulders.Large, moderately spaced gray eyes.She doesn't wear makeup. She said, "I made coffee. You don't like extras, do you?" "Just bourbon." "Just kidding. Sit down and I'll get my coffee." I was standing next to her sculpture of the Medusa when she came over with a cup of coffee.I run my fingertips down her snake-like braids. "Her hair reminds me of a girl," I said. "Her blonde hair is braided around her head, just like your Medusa." "Who?" "She was stabbed to death, I don't know where to start." "Anywhere." I talked for a long time, incoherently, from the beginning of the incident to the process of being robbed that night.Then rewind to the front, and then to the back.Occasionally she got up to get her coffee, and when she came back I would pick up the conversation.Maybe I'll start another thread.It doesn't matter. I said, "I don't know what to do with that bastard. After I beat him, I searched him. I couldn't take him to the police station, and I didn't want to let him go. I wanted to kill him, but I couldn't." Hand. I don't know why. If I scratched his head and hit the wall a few more times, I might have killed him. To tell you the truth, I'd be happy to see him die. But seeing him lying unconscious There, I just couldn't pull the trigger." "certainly." "But I can't just walk away, I can't let him walk back into the street. He's going to find another gun and find someone to kill him. So I broke his leg. After his bones heal, he will continue to do evil. , but at least there is one less gangster on the street now." I shrugged, "It doesn't seem to make sense, but I really can't think of any other way." "The important thing is that you didn't drink." "Is that the important thing?" "Yes indeed." "I almost drank it. If I get back to the house, or if I don't get in touch with you - God knows how much I want to drink. I still want to drink." "But you won't." "Well, no.' "Do you have a counselor, Matthew?" "No." "It's time to find one. It will help a lot." "How do you say?" —Mammer School·E Book Group— "You can always call your counselor and tell him anything." "you have one?" She nodded: "I'll call her after talking to you just now." "why?" "Because I'm nervous. Because I calm down every time I talk to her. Because I want to know what she's going to say." "What did she say?" "She said I shouldn't have called you here." She laughed, "It's a good thing you were on your way then." "What else did she say?" The big gray eyes avoided my sight: "Say I can't sleep with you." "What did she say this for?" "Because it's not good to have sex with people in the first year of sobriety, and because getting involved with someone who's just starting out can get you in a lot of trouble." "Jesus," I said, "I'm here because I can't stand it, not because I'm horny." "I see." "Do you do what your counselor says?" "As much as possible." "Who is this woman who claims to be the spokesperson of God?" "Just a woman. She's about my age... In fact, she's a year and a half younger. But she's been off for almost six years." "It's been a long time." "It's very long for me." She picked up the cup, saw that it was empty, and put it back. "Can you find someone to be a counselor?" "Go find it yourself?" "Yes indeed." "What if I find you?" She shook her head: "First, you have to find a man. Second, I haven't been sober long enough. Third, we're friends." "Can't counselors be friends?" "It can't be friends like us, but comrades from the Alcoholics Anonymous Association. Fourth, you should find people from groups near your home, so that you have the opportunity to have frequent contact." I thought of Jim reluctantly. "There's that guy, I talk to him occasionally." "It's very important to have someone to talk to." "I don't know if I can talk to him. I think maybe." "Do you respect him for teetotalling?" "I do not quite understand what you mean." "Quack. Did you-'' "I told him last night that I was upset by the news in the papers. All the crime in the streets, and people going on killing each other. I can't stand it, Jane." "I understand." "He told me to stop reading the newspaper. What are you laughing at?" "That sounds like programmed programming." "They're all trash talking. 'I lost my job, my mother died of cancer, I had my nose removed, but I didn't drink today, so I won the battle.'" "They really all talk in the same tune, don't they?" "Sometimes. What's so funny?" "'The nose needs to be removed', are you sure it's the nose?" "Don't laugh." I said, "This kind of thing is very serious, you can't joke." After a while, she talked about a member near her home: her son was hit and killed, and the driver ran away.The man went to AA, talked about it, and drew strength from the crowd's support.Obviously, he gave us a lot of inspiration.He has been a teetotaler. Therefore, I have the ability to cope with the accident, comfort and encourage my family members to tide over the difficulties together, and at the same time, I am able to overcome grief and change, and no longer feel depressed. I wondered what a big deal it was to go through my own grief, and then the thought flashed to an accident years ago: my stray bullet ricocheted and killed a six-year-old girl named Estelita Rivera, and if I didn't touch alcohol afterward If so, how would things be different? The way I coped with how I felt was by pumping bourbon, or I couldn't handle the feeling afterward.It certainly seemed like a good idea then. Maybe not.There are no shortcuts, no convenient doors.Maybe you have to force yourself to go through the pain. I said, "New Yorkers generally don't worry about getting hit by a car. But accidents happen here, as everywhere else. Did they catch the driver?" "No." "He may have been drinking. Usually that's the reason." "Maybe he lost consciousness. Maybe when he regained consciousness the next day, he didn't remember what he did at all." "Grandpa," I said, thinking of the speaker that night—the man who stabbed his lover to death. "There are eight million stories in the Emerald City, and eight million ways to die." "Naked city." "Is that what I just said?" "You mean the Emerald City." "Oh? Where did I hear that?" ".Remember? Dorothy of Kansas and her puppy Toto. Made into a movie starring Judy Garland, Little Girl Runs for the Rainbow." "Of course I do." "Follow the yellow brick road. It leads to the Emerald City, where the great wizard lives." "I remember. The Scarecrow, the Tin Man, and the Cowardly Lion, I remember them all. But how did I remember the Emerald City?" "You're an alcoholic," she reminded. "You've lost a few brain cells, that's all." I nodded: "Sure." I replied. The sky was already light when we went to bed.I slept on the couch, wrapped in two of her extra blankets.At first I thought I must not be able to sleep, but the tiredness came in like a high tide, and I gave in and let it go. I cannot tell where it leads me, for I sleep like a dead man.If I had a dream, I have no memory.I woke up to the aroma of brewing coffee beans and fried bacon.I shower, shave with the disposable razor she gave me, get dressed, and sit with her at the pine table in the kitchen.I drink orange juice and coffee.Scrambled eggs with bacon and toasted whole grain muffins topped with dried peaches.As far as I can remember, my appetite has never been better. There was a group of people meeting a few streets east of her house on Sunday afternoon.She told me it was a party she regularly attended and asked me if I wanted to join. "I have something to do." "Sunday?" "So what about doing it on Sunday?" "What can you really do well on a Sunday afternoon?" From the beginning, I really didn't do anything well.What can I do today? I opened Notepad and dialed Sunny's number.No one answered.I called my hotel, and Sunny didn't leave a message, nor did "Boy" Danny, or anyone I'd talked to last night. Well, Danny "Boy" is probably still asleep at this point, as are most of the others. There was a message asking me to contact Chance, and I started dialing his number, then stopped. If Jane is going to a party, I don't want to be alone in her warehouse-like house waiting for him to answer.Her counselor may object. The venue was on the second floor of a synagogue on Forsyth Street.No smoking.This is the first time I've ever been to an AA meeting and not smelled smoke all over the house. There were about fifty people there, and she seemed to know most of them.She introduced me to certain people, whose names I forget as I listen.I'm highly self-conscious, and I'm uncomfortable drawing attention to myself.My looks didn't help much either.Although he didn't sleep with his clothes on, his clothes were sloppy, which was the result of last night's alley fighting. Another sequelae of Lane Dou also began to emerge.It wasn't until I left her house that I realized that my whole body was in severe pain.My head was extremely sore from the many impacts, one upper arm and shoulder was bruised and bruised, and I started to protest when I moved other muscles.I felt nothing at the end of the fight, but all the pain I deserved was on my debt the next day. I grabbed some coffee and cookies and sat until the party was over.It's actually not bad.The speaker's testimony is short, leaving a lot of time for discussion.You have to raise your hand to comment. Fifteen minutes before the end, Jane raised her hand and said that she was lucky to never drink alcohol, and most of this was due to her counselor, who comforted and encouraged her when she was upset or lost.She did not give details of the evidence.I think she said it to me, but I don't appreciate it. I didn't raise my hand. After the meeting, she planned to have coffee with others, and asked me if I wanted to go too.I don't want any more coffee and I don't want company.I made up a reason for my refusal. Before we went outside and we broke up, she asked me how I was feeling.I said it was fine. "Do you still want to drink?" "No." I said. "Glad you called last night." "I'm glad too." "Call anytime, Matthew. It doesn't matter if it's necessary, even in the middle of the night." "Hopefully it won't be necessary." "But remember to call if you need to. Okay?" "certainly." "Matthew, promise me one thing?" "What's up?" "When you want to drink, you have to call me first." "I won't drink today." "I know. But if you decide, if you want to drink, you have to call me first. Can you promise?" "Okay." - Stick School · E Book Group - As I took the subway uptown, I thought about this conversation and felt how foolish I was to promise so easily.But—she was glad to hear that.What harm was it in lying if she liked it? Chance left another message.I called his service from the lobby and said I was back at the hotel.I bought a newspaper and went upstairs to while away the time waiting for his answer. The headlines are very compelling.A Queens family — father, mother, and two children under five — traveled in their shiny new Mercedes.Someone drove up to them with a shotgun and fired two full barrels into the car.All four were dead, and the police searched their apartment and found a large sum of cash and unpacked cocaine.The police deduced that the massacre was drug-related.No kidding. The newspaper didn't mention the guy I left in the alley.Well, not as I expected.The Sunday papers were out when he met me.It's not that he might be in tomorrow's or the day after tomorrow's newspaper.If I killed him, he'd still be claiming a piece of his ass, but what's newsworthy about a nigger with his legs broken? I was thinking about it when I heard someone knock on the door. Oddly, the cleaning ladies are always off on Sundays, and my few visitors usually call up first from downstairs.I picked up the coat on the chair and pulled a .30 from my pocket.I haven't thrown it away yet.The two knives that were removed from the friend with the broken leg were still there.I walked to the door with the gun in my hand and asked who it was. "Chance." I put the gun back in my pocket and opened the door. "Most people would make a phone call first," I said. "The man at the counter is reading a book, I don't want to disturb him." "So thoughtful." "This is my registered trademark." He looked at me and estimated how many catties I weigh. Then look away and start scanning my room. "Good place," he said. It was ironic, but his tone was not.I close the door and point to the chair.He was still standing, "to my temper." I said. "You can tell. Spartan, no frills." He was wearing a navy blue jacket and gray flannel trousers.No coat.Well, it's going to be warmer today and he's been in the car all the time. He went to the window and looked out. "I called you last night," he said. "I know." "You didn't call back." "I just found out that you left a message, and besides, I was going out again." "Didn't you sleep here last night?" "right." He nodded.He turned to face me, his expression elusive.I had never seen him look like this before. He said, "You talk to all my girls?" "Well, except for Sunny," "Yeah. You haven't seen her, have you?" "Yes. I tried a few times last night, and I called again at noon today. No one answered." "She saw you last night." "That's right." "when?" I tried to recall: "I left the hotel at about eight o'clock and came back shortly after ten o'clock. The message was already waiting for me, but I don't know when she left it. The front desk should write the time. But they often put it in a perfunctory way." It's over. In short, I probably lost the message." "There is no need to keep it." "Yeah. It's good to know she's calling, why keep it?" He stared at me for a long time.I saw gold dots in his dark brown eyes.He said, "Fuck, I don't know what to do. It's not like me. Most of the time I at least think I know what to do." I didn't say anything. "You're mine because you do things for me. But God only knows, I guess." "What are you trying to say, Chance?" "Damn it," he said, "the question is, how much can I trust you? I keep wondering if I can trust you at all. I trust you. After all. I brought you to my house, man. I can't Nobody ever took anyone to my house. Why the hell would I do that?" "have no idea." "I mean, do I want to show off? I mean, look at the nigga's classy enough, right? Or did I invite you in so you could see my soul? Shit, whatever, I Started thinking I could really trust you. But is it the right thing to do?" "I can't help you decide." "Well," he said, "I can't." He squeezed his chin between his thumb and forefinger, "I called her a few times last night, Sunny, and no one answered, just like you. Uh, okay Well. That's okay. No answering machine, that's okay, because sometimes she forgets to plug it in. Then I call again, at one-thirty, maybe two, still no answer, so I drive over to check. Of course I have the key. It's my apartment. Why can't I have a key?" I was beginning to understand what was going on, but I let him tell the story. "Well, she's there," he said. "She's still there. You see, she's dead."