It was 7:30, and Peter found himself lying in bed, his life falling apart. He sat up, covered his face with one hand, and violently grasped his keys with the other. He slid his free hand down his face and looked around the room, shaking his head in disbelief—sitting on a motel bed, alone. What he would give to mask the pain and escape reality; to toss away his sobriety; to get up, drive to a store, buy a bottle of Jamison (his favorite), drive back to the motel, and drink it. But he didn't. They said it would happen this way. That the drink would become a hot flame. Even when he wanted it, his mind told him he would get burned. He chuckled.
Peter gave up trying to understand. He gave up the thought of a drink, and, in that moment of surrender, a sharp pain radiated through his hand. The keys bounced off the bed and jangled to the floor. Something triggered his emotions. He sat and cried. Some time passed before he looked over at the clock—8:02. The tears dried, but he remained in a place of defeat and helplessness. A place his father used to beat him for entering. "Real men don't cry," he would say. "Real men control their emotions. If you want to cry, I'll give you a reason to cry." Peter clenched his fists, reaching for the painful memory. He wanted to take his mind off the present. There was no changing what his father did, but somehow, he found it easier to wallow in the past.
Past and present bounced back and forth in his head, but neither side won. He needed to do something. Maybe a dirty movie? More temptation. He settled on an episode of Friends.
A knock startled Peter. The clock—8:57. He turned off the TV and approached the door, looking through the peephole. He didn't know the guy but opened the door and gave the man a questioning look. The guy wore khakis and a short sleeve dress shirt with a tie. He focused on the man's glasses. Peter said nothing, and the man didn't either. He began to shut the door.
"Wait, can I come in?" The stranger asked. Peter began to question why, but before he could speak the man spoke again. "Dude, I'm freezin' out here."
Peter gave a hard look. "Sure, whatta I care?" He motioned him in.
"Great, thanks," the man brushed past Peter. "I appreciate it. Just walked what musta been two miles."
Peter stood dumbfounded. "Why the heck you do that?" He asked with an uncomfortable laugh.
The man looked him in the eyes. "Oh, you know, just thought the weather looked inviting." He looked around the room. "Just peachy. You got a drink around here?"
Peter smirked. "Best I can offer is water from the tap."
"That'll do." The man stepped over to the heater.
Peter eased up a little. The man seemed normal enough. He grabbed a plastic cup from the counter above the mini fridge and walked to the sink to fill it. "What's your name, if you don't mind me asking."
"Dan," the man answered.
"So, Dan, why really did you walk two miles at night?" Peter looked him up and down. "In that."
"Well..." he looked at Peter.
"Oh, Peter. Sorry."
"Well, Pete, I have to tell you I'm in a bit of a pickle." He motioned for Peter to take a seat. "Sit down. This may take a while."
Really? Now he wanted to tell him his problems? Peter sat and listened to Dan's tale. Dan told him his car went kaput for no reason at all, that he had hit it off with this girl, and he had a killer house and job lined up for him. Then the kicker. He needed a ride to LAX. Peter's life had become a sitcom. An episode where one of the characters gives a ride to a stranger and comes back home wearing only his underwear. It must've been a joke. He looked at Dan. "You're kidding right?"
"Wish I was. Trust me, this is as insane to me as it is to you."
Peter doubted that. He looked at the clock—9:25. This could distract him for a while. "What time?"
"Departure's at midnight. Should give us plenty of time I think."
"Yeah, well, we better hurry. Never know what the traffic's gonna be like."
Dan smiled. "Thanks man. You a saint." Both hopped in Peter's Subaru Outback and buckled up. "Mind if we stop by my car first? I have my luggage to pick up."
"Sure, no problem."
# # #
"There it is. The piece of crap Toyota. To think, they're supposed to be reliable," Dan said.
Peter pulled up next to Dan's car. "Usually are."
Dan got out to get his luggage and Peter went around to open his trunk. Peter saw Dan bend over into the backseat of the Toyota and heard him shout. "Well, as soon as I get settled in Alaska, I'm gettin' a BMW."
"Alaska? Don't think that's a place for one of those."
"They got SUVs, don't they? I'll get me one of them." Dan handed the last bag to Peter. Peter took it, stuffed it in, and slammed the trunk shut. They both got into the car and continued toward the airport.
Silence filled the car. Peter glanced over at Dan. "So, Alaska? Pretty lonely out there isn't it?"
"For some I imagine, but this girl I tell ya," Dan said.
"Pretty special huh?"
"Don't know where I would be without her."
"Nice," Peter sighed. "All I can say, is cherish it while you can. It may not last."
Out of the corner of his eye, He saw Dan turn toward him. "Dude, a little pessimistic don't you think?"
"I guess so, it's just—my wife left me, man."
"Ouch. What'd you do?"
The question startled Peter. What did he do? "Never mind," he said. "I shouldn't have even brought it up."
"Seriously, there has to be some reason."
Peter looked straight ahead, didn't answer.
"Bro, women don't leave you for no reason. I'm just saying."
Peter slowly turned his head toward Dan, angry and oblivious to safety. "'Dude,' I told you—" easy does it. Serenity, acceptance, courage, and wisdom. Peter couldn't let himself lose it. He wanted to pull the car over, yank Dan out of his seat, and smash the man's glasses into his face. But, by the grace of God, he wouldn't. If Dan sat in this exact place seven years ago, before Peter joined Alcoholics Anonymous, Peter would have knocked him out and left him on the side of the road to freeze his ass off. And, for what? Because the guy was a little nosy? Instead, Peter exhaled and gave him a long smile. "I mean. I have no clue." Peter looked out the windshield and saw an exit with a Chevron. He pulled off. "Think we need some gas."
# # #
At 10:41, the Chevron buzzed with fluorescents. Peter left Dan in the car and headed toward the station. He handed the clerk some gas money and found his way to the bathroom, splashing water on his face and staring into the mirror. This road trip accomplished the exact opposite of what he wanted; it intensified the reality of his situation. He patted his pocket. The keys were still in the car. He didn't dry his face or hands and darted out of the bathroom. Dan still sat in the passenger seat. Peter let out a sigh, shook his head, and laughed at himself. He headed toward the car, approached the pump, and placed the nozzle inside the tank. Dan popped a corn nut in his mouth. "Get hungry?" Peter asked.
"Yeah, I guess. Corn nuts are my comforter, I suppose." Dan turned his head. "Look man, I didn't mean anything by what I said." Peter saw Dan reach for something on the floorboard. "Here, I got ya a peace offering."
Beer. Peter couldn't blame him. That's what normies did. When two men got in a fight, they'd talk it out over a couple of beers. Not an option for him. He smiled. "Thanks, but I'm good."
"Oh, come on, don't be like that. I really am sorry. Let me make it up to you. We got plenty of time."
The nozzle clicked off. "Naw," Peter said. He removed the nozzle, placed it in its holder, and made his way to the driver's seat.
"Are you sure?"
Peter sat in his seat and opened the center console, pulling out a coin. "Seven years sober." He flipped it up in the air and caught it. "Almost eight." Peter saw the horror wash over Dan's face. It never ceased to amuse him when someone offered him a drink and found out he belonged to AA. Their faces were always the same.
"Sorry...um here...just let me toss it real quick." Dan reached for the pack.
Peter stopped him. "It's fine, keep it. You paid for it." He started the engine. "Pop one open if you'd like. I don't mind."
"Oh, okay. You sure?"
"Of course. It don't bother me." Peter let his foot off the brake and began to roll out of the station.
"All right. If you say so," Dan laughed. "No need to let 'em go to waste right?"
"For sure."
# # #
Peter pulled the car onto the LAX exit at 11:33. He never did like LA. It put him on edge. He envied Dan, moving to Alaska where the wildlife outnumbered the human population. But, Alicia would never have agreed. She loved the city. Peter remembered how he was an obedient slave to alcohol and thought that his life now wasn't much different. Alicia replaced the alcohol. Everything he did was an attempt to please her. He pulled into the drop off zone.
"You wanna park somewhere and come talk to my girl? I think she could help ya figure some things out. At least give you some ideas of why maybe?" Dan said.
"Naw, it's fine. It'll be more trouble than it's worth. I'm sure we'll work it out. We always do."
"Positive?"
"Yeah."
"All right...well here," Dan reached into his pocket and pulled out the receipt for the corn nuts and beer. "You got a pen?"
Peter opened the center console and dug around. No pen. He cringed. "Will this work?"
"What? Is that...lipstick?" Dan laughed. "Uh, I guess it will." Peter handed the lipstick to him and Dan did his best to write out his number. "If things don't get better on their own, give me a call. We'll help if we can." He handed the receipt and lipstick back to Peter.
Peter took them both, returning the lipstick to the console and cramming the receipt into his pocket. "Thanks. Hope I don't need it."
"Me too...well suppose this is goodbye. The trunk unlocked?"
"Should be."
Dan slapped the top of the car. "Cool. Thanks for the ride."
Peter gave him a wave and Dan went around, collected his bags, and headed for the lobby. Peter watched Dan walk through the doors and out of sight. He felt good. Being of service always made him feel so, and the guys at AA would get a kick out of this one. Peter put his foot on the brake and put the car in drive, when he noticed Dan's phone.
The story to tell wasn't over yet. He thought about going to park somewhere else, but this wouldn't take long. He'd be fine. He put the car in park, took Dan's phone, slammed the door behind him, and headed for the entrance.
They were the first ones he saw. Alicia and his son William. The realization hit him as he saw Dan walk up to his wife. Even as they kissed Peter wanted to deny it. Only lookalikes, doppelgangers. He kept his eyes on them and grabbed his phone from his pocket, searching through his contacts, hands shaking, as he tapped on Alicia's name. The phone rang, rang, rang again. Then it happened. The woman standing next to Dan, and the boy, took out her phone. She tapped the screen and the ringing stopped. Peter couldn't believe it. It was Alicia. He drove the bastard to the airport to take his wife and child away. He screamed and chucked Alicia's phone hard on the ground. There weren't many people around, but enough for him to seem crazy. He didn't care. Anyone of them would have reacted the same.
Peter rushed to his car in anger and squealed away from the drop off zone. His rage grew. He was in no state to drive, but, like an alcoholic, he did.
Peter rounded a corner and drove straight through a chain linked fence into a field of weeds. He pulled his foot off the gas and idled till the car came to a stop. Placing the car in park, he killed the engine. The door flew open and Peter jumped out. He lifted his hands to the sky and screamed. He screamed at Dan, at Alicia, at God. He knew it wasn't His fault, but he needed someone to scream at, and He always took it in the past. Tears streamed down his face. He felt exhausted. He didn't know what to do. The beer. On the passenger floorboard. He rounded his way to the passenger side of the car and opened the door, grabbing the handle of the pack. The pack didn't burn his hand. He hoisted himself onto the warn hood of the car, setting the pack next to him, and, reaching into his pocket, pulled out the receipt. Dan's number written in Alicia's maroon lipstick. He reached over and grabbed a bottle. Still no burn. He looked at the number in his left hand, the beer in his right, then at the sky. He watched a plane take off and disappear in the distance. It was 12:05.