Change in Scenery
Maggie
I haven’t spoken with Brayden since the hospital. He has texted me multiple times, but I haven’t responded. I don’t know what to say to him, and now Dina and I are packed to head to her beach house.
Dina’s lawyer, Wendy, stepped in to represent Brayden for his DUI charges. She has also arranged for him to go to an eight-week treatment facility in Arizona, which he leaves for on Tuesday.
I can’t believe he requested to go so far away. The facility is much larger than the ones we have here. I just feel like he’s doing this to get as far away from me as possible.
In the four years we have been together, I have never gone more than a week without seeing him.
I don’t know how I feel about all of this. I know he needs to go to rehab and get clean. Can we survive this? I don’t know how I didn’t recognize that he was even using. Am I that naive and blind? I never saw pills, pipes, even a straw out of place. Sure, his behavior has been strange, but I assumed it was stress. I never thought to check the money.
The insurance company totaled my car. I have a nice check, yet I can’t decide what I want next. And although Dina offers daily to take me car shopping, I’m not in the mood.
Honestly, Dina would rather go look at cars than shoes and has always been like that. She’s the chick who proudly pumps her own gas, changes the oil in her car, and knows how to change a tire, all without the aid or influence of a man.
When we were sixteen, our dads made us take Dina’s 1986 Camaro out in the driveway and change the tire. They also taught us to carry a small hammer in our purses on dates. We knew just how to tap a starter on a car with that hammer. I just learned the stuff because I had to. Dina, on the other hand, has always had a passion for cars.
In high school and college, she always talked shop with the boys. She may have even known more than some of them. I think that’s why she and Ryder are such a fit: they both share such a passion for old, American muscle cars.
We knew how to jump a car’s battery, and our dads always handed a full gas can to our dates when we would go out. This would eliminate most causes for a car not to start. There was no getting stranded with a boy in a car for the two of us.
And boy, the one time I was late for my curfew, my dad went to Dina’s house to get her dad, and the two of them took their Harleys out and went to find me. Needless to say, that was the last date I ever had with that Landon kid.
When we graduated college, Dina took me to the Chevy dealership where she had already picked out a really nice, new sports car for me. I know her heart sank when I couldn’t get comfortable driving it. Much to her and my dad’s disappointment, I have always liked foreign cars.
Dina, seeing the fear in my eyes for the Chevy, told me to pick out whatever car I wanted for college graduation. They had an Audi dealership next door and an A4 with my name all over it. Now that baby is gone, and I can’t even think of driving anything else.
We get everything loaded in Dina’s Mustang, ready to be on the coast with our toes in the sand. But first, we stop by the garage so Dina can say goodbye to Ryder.
Brayden is there, looking dreadful. He’s pale, has lost weight, and his eyes look sunken in. Ryder was telling the truth about the withdrawals taking their toll on him. He looks lost and completely disheveled.
He’s approaching the car, so I decide to get out and meet him.
When it looks like he is about to hug me, I put my hands up. I don’t know how I feel about everything, and I don’t want to have a moment of weakness, causing me to melt into him.
“Hey, Maggie,” he says, stopping in front of me. I can sense trepidation in his voice. “I know you need time”—he looks down—“to sort through the mess I’ve made for both of us. It’s just … I leave Tuesday for rehab, and I’d really like to talk to you.
“Just think on this: you don’t need to answer me right now, but what if I come to the coast with Ryder tomorrow night?” He looks back up at me. “I need to face you and your family for my mistakes. We can talk, clear the air, and see what to do next.” He sighs stuffing his hands in his back pockets. “I love you, Maggie. Just think about it, please. Text me later so I know whether to pack or not.”
Before I can form a thought or answer, he turns and walks off, leaving me confused. Part of me wants him at the beach house in order to feel the comfort of what I know I have with him. The other part of me says, Here’s my middle finger, asshole, and wants to move on.
Dina comes back to the car, and we both climb in. We spend the five-hour drive in deep discussion on the pros and cons of continuing my relationship with Brayden. However, even after that conversation, I still don’t know what to do.
I decide to text him that, yes, we need to talk. I leave it at that, not telling him to come to the beach, yet not denying his request. I need to talk with Dina about it. First, I want to see my parents.
The change of scenery is exactly what I need to get my mind wrapped around everything. Maybe it will also allow us to talk if I do let him come.
***
Brayden
What was I thinking to intrude on her weekend plans? Here she is, going away because of me, and here I am, the selfish bastard, asking her to let me come. Well, I put it out there. Now I guess I will have to wait to see what she decides.
Ryder has been supportive since I got out of the hospital. I’m thankful for his friendship. He hasn’t given me a moment alone. I know this is so I don’t have an opportunity to get high. And now I know Ryder is concerned about going away this weekend and leaving me behind. There is good reason to be. I don’t know if I can resist and stay clean with Maggie and him away. The withdrawals already began, and it’s been awful. I have become quite acquainted with the bathroom floor.
He has never seen this side of me. By the time we met and became friends in college, I was clean from my high school drug use, determined to make something of my life. I was clean for a while, but I could never escape the nightmares of my past for long, so I caved, and the drugs numbed me for a little while.
I know I need to get clean, and that it’s not something I can do on my own. I admit I need to go to a facility, but I don’t need this lawyer breathing down my neck the entire time.
Having to walk away from everyone and everything for eight weeks so I can be sick from long-term withdrawal and psychoanalyzed is just what I have always wanted to do - NOT. I don’t have flipping daddy issues. I have a damn ghost chasing me. You can’t escape ghosts, no matter how hard you try. I know that for sure.
Rehab won’t cure my chemical dependency, and I don’t want to give up my crutch of drugs without having my life back in order. At the same time, my life won’t be in order without my crutch, and with my crutch, it’s still falling apart.
When I’m sober, I don’t want to give in to the power of the drugs, but the reality of my failures stares me in the face. During the high, I can forget that it should have been me. I can forget that I have spent all my money on dope. I can forget that I tarnish everything I touch. During the high, I’m finally free from the burdens of simply existing.
I’m stuck on the hamster wheel called addiction, the vicious cycle that won’t end.