Harry:
Sitting in the back booth of the diner, reading a book, I waited for my sponsor, Jon. I wasn’t really reading, more like staring at the words and watching them blur together. It was a dreary metaphor. That’s all my life was—a serious of moments that blurred together.
“Well, you look like shit.”
I looked up from my book and saw Jon sliding into the seat opposite me. I smiled. Jon said it like it was. I needed that in my life. Lifting up my glasses, I rubbed my eyes and ran a hand through my hair. I had literally rolled out of bed to come here. I didn’t shower or shave. I didn’t care, and that’s how I knew I needed him. “You, on the other hand, look like you’re ready to tackle the world.”
“I’m seeing my girls today.” His smile was broad, a row of ivory teeth gleaming back at me. Jon’s wife had left him during the low point of his drug days. His girls were young. Three and one. Now, they were ten and seven. It took him years of rehab and recovery to be able to prove to the courts and his ex that he was responsible enough to be with them unchaperoned. I couldn’t even imagine that kind of pain, having a person who doesn’t know you wondering if you hug your kids if that makes you a fucking pervert.
“Fantastic. What are you doing with them?”
“Yeah, I’m taking them into Philly to see a show, then we’re having dinner. They’re staying the whole weekend. I’m psyched.”
“That’s awesome, man!”
“Well, Stacey is heavy in wedding mode, so it’s bittersweet, you know?” Jon had wanted to get back with his ex-wife for a long time, but she told him she had come too far to risk having that kind of pain again. Now, she was getting re-married, and I really felt bad for him. He clearly still loved her.
“You have your girls, that’s the important thing,” I reminded him. He had come so far. Fuck, he was the guy I went to when I didn’t think I could stand my own reflection anymore. If he fell apart, what hope was there for me?
“Amen to that, brother.” He signaled for the waiter to bring him a cup of coffee then turned back to me. “So, how are you?”
“Good… my three course presentation went fine—”
“Harry, don’t give me some BS story about your class project. You called me. I’m your support team. How are you?”
“I’m…” I looked into his dark brown eyes. They were almost black and set intently on me as I found the right words. “I’m a mess, but I don’t want to use. That’s not even on the table.”
“Okay. That’s in the victory box. So, what is it then?”
“I told Tiffany.” My words were flat.
“Shit. Well, I’m proud of you. Part of moving forward is admitting to your past. How’d she take it?”
“Pretty much the way I expected her to. I mean, it’s been two days, and I am going out of my mind. She hasn’t reached out to me and—”
“Have you reached out to her?”
“No.”
He shook his head and chuckled to himself. “Well, you’re half of the problem. You want this girl in your life?”
“Well, yeah, but I can’t force my way in.”
“No one is telling you to do that. But, you gotta be in the game to win the game. How’d you leave things?” The waiter put the coffee in front of him, and he started drinking it right away. Black.
“I uh… I apologized again and thanked her for our time together.”
Jon put the coffee cup down, reached over, and smacked the side of my head.
“Ow! What was that for?”
“You ended it and then wonder why she didn’t reach out.”
“I didn’t end it. It’s not like she was my girlfriend.”
“No, you just wanted her to be your girlfriend.”
“She can’t be my girlfriend.”
“Says who? Did she say that? No. You didn’t even give her the option.”
“I can’t risk hurting her.”
“I think you may have already done that.”
I took my glasses off, tossed them on the table, folded my arms and dropped my head onto them. “You’re right,” I mumbled into my sweatshirt.
“Give me your phone.”
I looked up at him. He was blurry. “Why?”
“Just do it.”
Leaning forward, I pulled my phone out of my back pocket and slid it over to him.
“I need your password.”
I told him the four digits and leaned against the back of the seat. Jon was tapping buttons and typing away. Then he slid the phone back to me. Putting my glasses back on, I was able to see that the phone was opened to Tiffany’s contact. He had typed a text out for me.
If you’re open to it, I’d really like to see you. In one sentence he had summed up all I had been racking my brain to express. It was simple, and it was terrifying.
“Look, I gotta meet my girls.” He tossed a few dollars on the table and got up. “You can delete it or hit send. It’s up to you. Bro, you are in control of your own destiny. You make the choices every day whether you’re going to reach for the crutches or kick them away. You have been a goddam warrior since the moment I met you. Take my advice. Hit send.”
I nodded. “Thanks, man. I’ll let you know.”
“Try not to fall apart while I’m visiting with my kids.” I nodded again, still staring at the text. He smacked my arm. “I’m kidding. You know I’m here for you, anytime.”
“Thanks a lot, Jon. I mean it.”
“That’s why I’m here. Hit send, man,” he repeated then walked away.
I picked up my phone. My thumb hovered over the send button. Then it hovered over the delete button. Tiffany’s face flashed in my mind, and I tapped one before I could change my mind.