Irrational

Grab the bottle of liquor off the coffee table. It is lighter than you realize, which puzzles you because the clear plastic half gallon was only opened a few hours ago. Then the light bulb goes off; you’re partially intoxicated and that’s okay. The irrational thought begins again. It only ever does when alcohol enters the bloodstream and that, my friend, is becoming a more common occurrence. Your new daily routine is as follows: Go to work, come home, tear up in the shower, drink and maybe eat. It might be time to act on your irrational thought. What’s the worst thing that could happen?

Darkness has set in and an impending storm is slowly navigating into town. Your mind continues to race as more liquor travels down your throat. The TV is on, but muted; it’s the only thing lighting up the room. You keep eying the car keys hanging on the wall near the front door. The irrational thought becomes more and more rational. Grab a plastic bag from under the sink. Once the liquor label is peeled off the plastic, put the jug in the bag. What’s the worst that could happen?

You grab your raincoat just in case, even though the thought of rain hitting your skin sounds soothing. Keys are now in one hand and the plastic bag in the other. Leave the TV on, that’s your nightlight. You’ll be back…eventually. Lock the door on the way out. It’s the 21st century. No one can be trusted. As you walk, take in deep breaths and maintain composure. With each step, the irrational thought becomes even more rational than it was five minutes ago. Your vision is okay, not the worst, yet not the best. You’re about to act on your irrational thought. That makes you smile. The first one in a while. What’s the worst that could happen?

Navigating at night was always something you were good at, so this 10-minute drive is nothing. This route has been engraved into your brain. Right out of the driveway, follow the main street through multiple stop lights, then a left after 3 miles next to that local restaurant. As you near the destination, you continue to look at the rearview mirror. No police officers so far, but you can’t be too cautious. Take a sip out of the plastic bag. It tastes better than usual. The final right turn is coming up. You straighten, face gets warm, the left eyebrow begins to twitch. It always does when the anxiety kicks in. Take another sip out of the bag, it’ll calm the nerves. The turn is less than 100 feet away, make sure you put your turn signal on. Can’t get pulled over now. Your irrational thought is now turned fully into a rational one. Pull over on the same side of the house, just past the driveway. Put the vehicle in park. Grab the plastic bag. What’s the worst that could happen?

The wind is now blowing heavily. Thunder is echoing in the background. After putting the raincoat on and with bag in hand, you lock the car from the driver’s side. No need to wake up the neighbors with an audible honk. The house still looks the same. You hadn’t seen it in some time. Not since that afternoon months back. A gust of wind knocks some leaves off the surrounding trees as you walk up the driveway. Just like you remember. Now you’re standing at the front door. Jiggle the doorknob. Silence on the other side. You are looking for something that’s not there anymore. Take a swig of liquor. The irrational thought is now right in front of you. What’s the worst that could happen?

The door is old. With some force behind your right shoulder, it budges without cracking the door frame. Pretty pathetic. You’re not that strong. Hadn’t been for a while. Darkness stares you in the face. No lights, no candles, not even flashing light from a TV. You step inside and pull your smartphone out. The flashlight app is about to come in handy. Shutting the door behind you, stare at the empty space. The house smells the same, now just warmer than before. Dust has collected throughout the flooring. You begin to bend down to start to clean it up, then stop. An old habit that wasn’t lost. There’s suddenly a lump in your throat. Grab the plastic liquor bottle and take two heavy chugs. What’s the worst that could happen?

The lump goes away. You walk to the back of the house. It’s not very big. Look out the back window; it’s still the same. Weeds have overtaken the sitting area. No more mini pool. Take a swig of liquor. The bottle is now in your left hand, plastic bag on the floor behind you. Now you’re drunk. Rainfall begins bouncing off the roof. You better pick up that bag or you’ll get scolded. Turn around and look at the room you just left. Emptiness. Just like the way you last saw it. Your phone buzzes and your heart skips a beat. Could it be? After all this time, could it finally be? If it is, you shouldn’t answer it, but you want to. If it is, you decide, you’ll answer it. What’s the worst that can happen?

You can see through the front window shade that lightning is dancing around the house. Good thing the electricity is off. Head into the bedroom, it’s just off the main room. Dust is on the floor here too. Don’t clean it up. It doesn’t matter anymore. Stand in the doorway for a minute. You’re looking at an empty room, but the memories flood back. Soon the room is full of life. Full of laughter. Full of love. Then full of anger. No, no bad thoughts. Only happy ones. You have to remind yourself as you punch your thigh. Shaking the bad out of your head, you walk to the window that’s slightly taller than you. Sit below it. Nothing is making noise. Not like before. Turn off the flashlight app. This makes you check to see if its’ what you’re hoping for. Your hand shakes. Partially from the booze. Partially from anxiety. Take a sip of alcohol. Sitting below the window, you finally check the notification. Your heart sinks. The lump forms in your throat again. Not what you wanted to see. Tears begin to form. Just let them out this time. Don’t hold back. You’re not in the shower. You’re alone. The house is empty. Start crying. Cry like you did the last time you were here. Let the snot run down your chin onto your jacket. Pull your knees to your chest. Let it all go. What’s the worst that could happen?

It feels good to cry like this. Drunk crying makes this whole ordeal feel a little bit better. As you continue to rock back and forth, you’ll start saying “I’m sorry.” Repeat it. Over and over again. Tell the room how wrong you were. No one else will hear it. Only the memories. Call yourself stupid while you’re at it. Because, well, you are. A fucking moron actually, but stupid works for now. Suddenly you’ll be interrupted. There’s a knock at the door and it slowly swings open. You look up from the floor and see flashing lights from the living room window. What’s the worst that could happen?

The two officers shine their flashlights into the empty room. Their guns will be drawn. You triggered a silent alarm. It wasn’t their when you left, but guess what, it’s there now.

One officer will yell: “Police, anyone here?”

You have to reply, “Yeah.”

That’s all you can muster up. Tears still run down your face as the beams of light move gradually to you. What’s the worst that could happen?

They stand in the doorway and look at you. They see the tears and the jug of liquor.

“Is that your vehicle outside?” one officer will ask you.

Just nod. He’ll then ask how much you have been drinking tonight.

Just respond and say “A lot.”

Tears will form in your eyes again. The other officer will soon join him and they both look at you. They’ll see the pain on your face and in your eyes.

After a moment of silence, say “I. Fucked. Up.”

You’ll hyperventilate between each word. You can’t help it at this point. One then goes back to the front door. He’s going to radio in that the threat (you) has been neutralized. The first officer walks closer and sits down.

“We gotta take you in.”

You will nod in compliance. Silence begins again, as the thunder and rain drown out the crying.

“Is there anyone you want to call?”

You look up at the man. You grab your phone and click a side button to light it up. You point at the lock screen photo. What’s the worst that could happen?