I thought I was going to get a technicolor dream sleep through some powerful tranquilizers but instead he planned a camping trip.
The camper at the end of the yard, near the fence but back far enough to still have a view, as it's at the top of a gentle slope so you can see the water over the fence another fifty yards away.
A little campfire, the tiny lights strung up everywhere and the heaviest blankets we own. No wi-fi. Hot dogs over the fire and wine. No condiments. Just like the old days where we had to go to a diner for ketchup except instead of half a can of flat ginger ale for me (too young to drink on the road) I got to have wine too.
What happened to the benzo train?, I ask him finally, in the morning, once he stopped talking until I stopped freaking out and was able to sleep, in his arms, under the blankets. Under the stars, except the stars were outside the camper and we were inside.
I can handle this. You just need a change of direction and a voice to lead you back away from the edge.
I nod. I need to be morning-drunk like this, is what I need. To remain in this tiny insular uncomplicated world where there are no clocks and there's no wifi. This is glorious. As long as we can make a fire, store and cook enough food for two and the weather holds (but even if it doesn't) this is good. He's right. I listened to him all night. We passed the wine bottle back and forth. He talked until his voice started to catch on memories and then we put the fire out, went inside, locked the door and slept until past noon.
It didn't need to be a show, he said finally and I know this. I'm here for you, he said and I know this.
I love you, he said.
And I know this.
The camper at the end of the yard, near the fence but back far enough to still have a view, as it's at the top of a gentle slope so you can see the water over the fence another fifty yards away.
A little campfire, the tiny lights strung up everywhere and the heaviest blankets we own. No wi-fi. Hot dogs over the fire and wine. No condiments. Just like the old days where we had to go to a diner for ketchup except instead of half a can of flat ginger ale for me (too young to drink on the road) I got to have wine too.
What happened to the benzo train?, I ask him finally, in the morning, once he stopped talking until I stopped freaking out and was able to sleep, in his arms, under the blankets. Under the stars, except the stars were outside the camper and we were inside.
I can handle this. You just need a change of direction and a voice to lead you back away from the edge.
I nod. I need to be morning-drunk like this, is what I need. To remain in this tiny insular uncomplicated world where there are no clocks and there's no wifi. This is glorious. As long as we can make a fire, store and cook enough food for two and the weather holds (but even if it doesn't) this is good. He's right. I listened to him all night. We passed the wine bottle back and forth. He talked until his voice started to catch on memories and then we put the fire out, went inside, locked the door and slept until past noon.
It didn't need to be a show, he said finally and I know this. I'm here for you, he said and I know this.
I love you, he said.
And I know this.