The Baggie

The shower started in the bathroom.

It’s off the kitchen, an odd design.

Sitting at the kitchen counter, the bathroom door is 3 feet from the end of the counter. 

It’s just sitting there on the floor between me and the bathroom door.

His backpack. 

He takes it to work. It holds everything he might need throughout the day; drawing pads, various drawing mediums and his laptop. And of course a hoodie. Unless it’s Friday. They dress up on Fridays at the shop, since they are casual all week. Sort of a play off what corporate America does.

He’s worked hard to be able to open his own tattoo shop in town. He wouldn’t have been able to do it without my support. I worked and got a paycheck while he apprenticed and worked for free until he got his tattooing license and could earn money. That process took 3 years. 

But his pay isn’t steady. That burden is on me.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I pull the black bag towards me. 

Did you know you can open a zipper and not make a sound?

I learned this on my own. It’s not the first time I’ve snooped through his bag. 

I pull the zipper towards me, so it is strained and slowly open up the small front pocket.

Of course.

A baggie with a bunch of white round pills.

Couldn’t he have at least used an old Tylenol bottle or something? No let's keep the drugs in a baggie in the front pocket of a backpack, not even trying to hide it. I might as well have the same baggie sitting in my purse.

I can still hear the shower, but it seems so far away now, because of the loud ringing in my ears, and the blood pulsing in my ears. 

My adrenaline is in high gear.

Just like every other time I find drugs in his bag and have to confront him. 

I knew what I was getting into, that's what I have to tell myself every time I find myself in this very position. It’s what one of his oldest friends said to me the first time I caught him in my car at a bonfire party, ready to snort some lines of coke off the map from my glove compartment.

Par for the course when you marry a drug addict. Yea…I married him. Even after that incident. Even after many more that came after the first one.

I commit the pill to memory, so I can google it later. He may be honest about what kind of pill, but he will definitely lie and say he’s holding it for someone else. I guess that’s how you can lie and still look a person in the eye, because part of what you said was the truth. 

Or maybe it’s just a talent addicts have; the ability to lie straight to your face and not feel any remorse.

How much more am I willing to put up with? 

This is a question I ask myself often. 

I’ve done things for him I’m not proud of. 

Like having our daughter pee in a cup at three years old so he can show a clean drug screen. 

See, I don’t even think straight when it comes to him because if I did, I would never have allowed that to happen. And now I have to live with the guilt of knowing I allowed my own daughter to pee in a cup so her father could lie. 

I think they call it codependency.

The shower stopped.

My heart rate increases, if that’s possible.

Do I put everything back like I found it?

Do I leave the drugs on the counter and leave the room before he gets out of the shower, so he knows that I know? I’ve done that before.

But then he will know I snooped.

And why was I snooping?

He hasn’t given me any reason to snoop.

And I haven't confronted him about anything. 

I just took it upon myself to go through his bag. 

He’s going to turn it around on me. 

Surely not everyone lives like this…right?

In this constant state of mental stress and anguish. Trying to stay one step ahead of your drug addicted husband.

I’m tired. But my body feels like it’s ready to run the Boston Marathon, and sprint up Heartbreak Hill.

I have a few minutes to decide, he likes to get dressed in the bathroom immediately after his shower. 

I think it has more to do with transferring whatever he has stashed in the 5th of his pants into the new pair, and not be seen while doing it.

The knob to the bathroom door clicks. 

He had the door locked. 

I watch the knob turn, like it’s happening in slow motion. 

I still haven’t decided.

The black backpack is still on the counter, and the bag of pills still in my hand.

The door opens, he appears in the door frame, his head pointed to the ground. He slowly lifts his head as the door opens completely and he takes a step over the threshold.

He stops when he sees me…and what's in my hands.

I actually watch the color drain from his face. His face was flush from the overly hot showers he likes to take.

Until his eyes met mine.

I feel like I’m in one of those scenes from The Matrix where everything happening in slow motion, like time froze in place. 

I’m speechless. 

He just looks at me, presses his lips together, and shakes his head.

Exactly like a parent does when a child does something disappointing.

I’m the child getting the look of disappointment.

Ready for work, he snatches the backpack off the counter and heads for the door. 

He stops for a second. 

Turns to look at me. I haven't moved. Not one muscle.

He is walking towards me again. 

I didn’t think my heart could beat any faster, but it does the closer he gets. 

He hasn’t said a word. But neither have I.

I’m still clutching his baggie of drugs and that's when I realize what he came back for. 

I might as well have just handed the drugs to him, because I don’t resist when he grabs the baggie out of my hands. 

His green eyes locked on mine the entire time.

I feel my eyes start to fill up with tears, while his feel like they are searing a hole through my heart.

He turns to leave and the front door slams shut before I realize I was holding my breath.