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The Old Tavern
D. Thomas Matz “I’m stuck in a rut,” I would say to anyone who would listen without returning some self-indulgent philosophical babble I had no need to hear. I can do this myself, I often thought. I can change my own life, after all, I haven’t had a drink in over a year. This was accomplished without anyone’s help. I quit drinking and that’s that. My family tries their hardest to explain why I should be attending support groups or church. They say I need friends to help me through all of this. They say that failure hangs over me like a dark cloud. Without support, they insist, failure is inevitable. What kind of support is this? I wonder.Sure, maybe I need new friends, but these friends won’t be found at any AA meeting or church group.... I mean, who wants to admit failure and weakness? My old friends are no longer friends because of the simple fact that they don’t understand my need to be sober. Their idea of a good time is exactly what mine had been: getting drunk, causing trouble, and getting laid. I’m better than that. I have a future, and with some time to get my life straight, I will prove this to everyone. Sure, maybe I need new friends, but these friends won’t be found at any AA meeting or church group. In my own time I will find my own friends. I simply need time to adjust. Time to reevaluate my life and surroundings. I mean, who wants to admit failure and weakness? Who wants to admit they need help? Well… maybe lots of people, but I’m not one of them. I’m strong and independent. Time and patience is all I need. Why can’t anyone understand this? One day, I believe it was a Saturday – or was it Sunday? – it doesn’t matter. Whatever day it was, I was watching TV. It was early in the morning, so early the sun hadn’t yet risen. The TV was showing only infomercials and this one advertisement came on for some ridiculous exercise product that looked like a baton. It occurred to me, as I watched, how simple people are and how well this man on the TV explained that this product was absolutely necessary for a proper workout. The product, to me, seemed absolutely worthless. But the man who created it would get rich off of it anyway. His wealth would be made off the ignorance and low self-worth of well-meaning people. It didn’t occur to me at the time how much effort and time was invested in getting such a product on the market; I saw only how easy it was to make money. It seemed as though anyone could just change their life and be a success. So I did just that; I picked myself up and began to change my life. It took only an hour to pack the car and eat a quick and simple breakfast. Then I was on the road. I drove down the two-lane highway headed west. I was searching for something new. New friends, new surroundings, a new beginning. Somewhere out there in the distance was the solitude I was needing to make my future into what I knew it could be. As I drove, the homes became further and further from each other. The old downtown shopping districts became sporadic strip malls. The perfect non-native farm-raised trees became dense and random forests. City noises dimmed as birds and insects increased the volume of their calls. The country looked absolutely beautiful, and I was forced to wonder how long it had been since I had traveled this far from home. I rolled down the window to breathe in the fresh and clean air. The wind blew through the car with a ferocity that was deafening. As my hair fluttered atop my head and the wind slapped the side of my face, I imagined I was riding a horse in an ancient wilderness where only tall grass and dreams flourished. In truth, the reality of driving was as beautiful as the fantasy of the horse. It represented a freedom I had never before possessed. It wasn’t long before my fantasy was disturbed. A terrifying thought engulfed me, filling me with the despair I had so recently escaped. That thought was: I hadn’t the slightest idea what I was actually doing or where I was going. Perhaps I should have formulated a plan. At least the basis for one. But sadly, I had nothing. I was so quick to make a change that I failed to see what change I would make. Now what would become of me? I could only imagine. I stopped the car on the gravel shoulder and got out. In every direction I could only see grass and flowers with the occasional short row of trees that may have been planted as a windbreak on a farm no longer existing. The sun-bleached highway was empty and silent; only the yellow stripes painted down its center reminded me of the civilization I had abandoned. The wind rustled the grass, causing this strange swooshing sound. It was eerie. Maybe this sound is soothing and serene to a farmer, perhaps even normal, so normal it goes unnoticed. But to me, a recovering alcoholic and city dweller, it was unsettling. Instead of running or hiding from my mounting fears of this place, I tried with all my might to embrace it. Beside the gravel shoulder was a shallow ditch. I laid myself down on its slope with my feet resting flat at the bottom, causing my knees to bend up slightly. I placed my hands behind my head and closed my eyes. I’m uncertain if I remained awake or drifted off to sleep – maybe I was in that in-between state – but whichever it was, I began to fantasize. My surrealistic future filled my mind. I now see these visions as nonsensical, but at the time they brought me such comfort. I saw myself living in a vast shingled mansion atop a cliff overlooking the ocean. White-capped waves rushed forcibly toward my private beach. The warm water compacted the soft white sand, littering it with small shelled creatures uprooted from the ocean’s floor. A beautiful woman in her mid-twenties stood beside me, embracing me with her petite hands and slender fingers. Her long blond hair was windblown and glistening in the sunlight like angels’ wings preparing for flight. A subtle smile attached itself to her tanned and youthful face. My own smile, larger and more brilliant, was for my successes and for bringing about this success without the help of others. My greatness was truly my own. When my eyes opened it took a moment to realize where I was. Another moment was needed to see my dead end. Desperately I tried to formulate a plan but nothing came. I wondered if I wanted to go home and begin again. But wouldn’t this be failure? Indeed I had decided to return home. I was convinced this would not be a failure, only a setback. My will and determination would ensure a new life for myself. But as I walked to the car I saw a young boy. He couldn’t have been more than eight years old. He had long red hair and was covered in freckles. He wore only jeans and Reeboks. His skin had been reddened by the sun. He pulled a wooden wagon with chrome wheels. “Where’d you get the wagon?” I asked. “I made it,” he proudly replied. “You made it by yourself?” “Yeah. But my dad helped with the joints. I could’ve done it alone but his way was much better. Now it’ll last forever.” “Well, it really is nice.” Then I looked around and realized there was no house in sight. I couldn’t imagine where this kid could possibly live. So I asked. “Well,” he said, “see that bunch of trees in the distance?” “Yes.” “My house is just behind ’em.” “So your parents allow you to walk around so far from your house all by yourself?” “Sure, why not? They trust me.” “Didn’t they teach you not to talk to strangers?” “No. They said a lot of strangers are good people. I should only watch out for bad people.” “What about me? Am I a bad person?” “No. Not that I can see.” “What if I made you get in my car?” “I would kick you between the legs and run.” “So you do alright by yourself. That’s good. I bet you can’t wait until you grow up and move out on your own.” “No. I like it at home with my family and friends. And my dad is so smart too. It’s like this wagon; I didn’t even know there were different ways to make a joint, but there are. He says there are many ways to do it and he’s gonna teach me about them later. There’s always new stuff to learn.” “So you don’t mind always having them tell you stuff?” “How else could I learn? Besides, I love my family.” “Well, I would like to stay and talk but I have things to do. Maybe I’ll see you again sometime.” “I hope so! Bye!” I climbed into my car and sat for a moment thinking how cool that kid was and thinking of how much I was just like him a long time ago. But the past should stay in the past. Thinking about my past won’t help me now. So with a mighty U-turn I headed east and toward the city I call home. Pulling up to the curb in front of the house I share with my family, I stared relentlessly at it. For the first time I noticed the chipped and peeling paint on the old clapboard siding. A couple of spindles on the front porch rail were loose, and the bottom step as well as much of the porch was rotting away. These things I should have noticed and repaired long ago, but who ever notices the details of their own house? I never have, and frankly I’m a little confused why I do now. But as I viewed the rotting and unpainted house I was saddened. Such neglect existing right in front of my eyes was hard to accept. I decided that the first thing I would do in the morning was call a painter and carpenter to come and repair it. Looking closer at my surroundings, I could see that it wasn’t only my house that had been neglected; the entire neighborhood was in a state of disrepair. In fact everything seemed completely different since I had left this morning. The sight of my own neighborhood was unbearable to look at. It disgusted me. Instead of going in and facing my family I decided to take a walk. The need to get away was even stronger in me now. Previously unseen cracks in the sidewalk were wide and long. The filth in the streets and gutters was piled high and smelled of compost. Everything was different and tragic. But as I turned the corner I saw the old tavern that had once been my hangout. Over a year without a drink, I amusingly thought. It had been that long since my friends and I had sat in that bar drinking and causing trouble. We used to tell jokes, laugh, and shoot pool. As I stood looking at the inactive tavern I saw how little it seemed to have changed. Actually, it looked exactly the same as I remembered it. The same neon sign, the same crack in the front window, the same everything. Every detail had remained the same. I was comforted by this lack of change, its seemingly eternal familiarity. How could only this tavern remain unchanged in such a sea of unknowns? I wondered again what my future would hold. Everything seems unknown. My eyes were fixed upon the lock of the door and the “Sorry We’re Closed” sign that hung beside it. Then, glancing briefly at my watch, I knew I had just under an hour to figure it all out. © Copyright 2009 by D. Thomas Matz |