The drunken poet
(a genius by daylight)
who places long-distance calls
at three A.M. and then lets you sit
holding the phone while he vomits
(he calls it "The Night of the Long Knives")
getting his kicks out of the death call,
would understand.
Anne Sexton
The last time I drank was in Colorado. I drank in Colorado, December 2006. An entire bottle of vodka (1.75 liters). I blacked out in the evening, woke up in the morning to a roaring hangover and my father, bleary eyed and somehow older looking, asking me to leave. Demanding that I leave. I screamed, kicked, fought; he persisted. So I left.
My sister, Cassie, drove me to the airport shuttle in the morning. I remember looking at her - gripping the steering wheel like a pilot in a plane - coasting between story high snowbanks, jerking to a stop at lights, trying hard not to judge me. I watched my breath sit in front of me like a fog.
"Don't worry about it. He'll calm down. Gosh, I didn't know you... well, get like that when you... drink."
"Yeah. Fuck Dad for kicking me out."
"He's just worried."
"Yeah."
We stopped in a parking lot. I told her about living in California. Then I made a (what now seems like) an outlandish request:
"Cassie, can I have your shoes?"
"What?"
"Your shoes. I have to go visit Pete's family and I only have this mismatched pair of Uggs."
"Come on, I run in these."
"Please?"
She slipped off her sneakers and handed them to me. Then she told me she loved me and kissed me goodbye.
So many things happened that day, and the night before, but the one thing I will always remember is Cassie giving me her shoes. My sister has a huge heart, the effects of which resonate in my life again and again. Her generosity and kindness never fails me.
ANYWAY, I took this photo while shopping tonight and it reminded me of her.
C, can't wait to see you this weekend! xoxo
