Ride or Die

Shannon contemplated the tall glass of clear liquid in front of her as she sat alone in her apartment. It was so still and quiet without the kids here; left alone with her thoughts and regrets. She had been staring at the glass for several minutes, long enough that one of the ice cubes melted slightly, permitting the others to make their familiar clink against the side of the glass. It had been so long since she had heard that sound but yet the melody was familiar and soothing; alcohol was her oldest friend. She had not had a drink in years; in fact, she couldn’t quite recall entering the liquor store and buying a bottle. 

Shannon imagined how it would feel to take that first sip. The vodka, ice-cold, would warm the inside of her mouth and throat on its way to her stomach, a delicious burn.  By the time she finished the drink, she would be happier, less anxious, more confident (all of which had been in short supply recently). And yet, she wasn’t sure she wanted to return to that life anymore. She glanced at her cell phone sitting on the table. She thought about reaching out to someone, though she did not have many friends left these days. Caroline, her steadfast friend, had always been there through good and bad. The type of friend who says, “Call me anytime, day or night, no matter what if you need to talk. I’m always there!” A few friends had said that to Shannon over the years, but few meant it. Caroline, however, did. She was true blue, ride or die.

Shannon recalled her first drink (some horrible off-brand beer) as a bubbly, blonde-haired, blue-eyed teenager; the quintessential girl next door. No different from your average American teenager. The party continued throughout college, where alcohol was in abundance, and binge-drinking from Thursday through Sunday was the norm. Cheap beer turned into cheap wine, which in turn became cheap liquor. Wake up hungover, hydrate and get some greasy food, and do it all over again a few hours later.  

Shannon spent half of her 20s clubbing with roommates or co-workers on the weekend, enjoying fruity mixed cocktails and shots. Not out of the norm for most 20-somethings. She met Mike, an attractive, well-built guy in his late 20s. His good looks complemented her own. They married, had three kids, and settled into the domestic bliss of their 30s. Wild nights out became relaxing nights in with a nice Chardonnay or Pinot Noir, with the appropriate martini on the weekends. High school and college friends faded into obscurity, as they inevitably do once space and time intervene, save for the occasional trite Facebook, “Happy Birthday!” That was when Shannon met Caroline. She lived down the street and had kids the same age as Shannon’s. They became fast friends; their kids had play dates (so did the moms with a bottle of wine) and their families (and several other moms with similar age husbands and kids in the neighborhood) hung out together. Celebrations were always fueled by alcohol. There was a plethora of food to accompany the drinks and everyone had such a great time (jokes are always funnier after a few drinks); everyone got a little tipsy but that was the norm for gatherings at that age. It was the same when Shannon was a child. Her parents through raucous parties filled with booze, food, and laughter. 

For Shannon, the procession from social drinking to gray area drinking was insidious. After all, everyone else at the Fourth of July party woke up the next morning, exchanging texts about being tired and dehydrated. It was normal to be a little hungover. And if she wanted to have a few glasses of wine with dinner, what of it? All of the moms she knew did the same thing; “mommy juice”, they called it. Some had water bottles or flasks with it printed on the side. At some point, though, those two glasses of wine turned into three, and then finishing the bottle. Cocktails on Friday? That morphed into cocktails on Friday, followed by several glasses of wine each day from Thursday through Sunday. Still, not a problem – she wasn’t physically dependent on alcohol, drinking every day, all day. She wasn’t hiding bottles in her closet and drinking alone. She was just winding down, having fun with everyone. Shannon would wake up, refuel with coffee and water, and the cycle would begin again. 

The youthful girl that once existed was replaced by a woman with fine lines around her eyes and mouth, bags under her eyes, and 15 extra pounds, mostly settled around her midsection. Those parties, where everyone got a little too intoxicated? Shannon always became the drunkest one. She would wake up in the morning, head pounding and nausea rising in her throat. But she learned a method for handling hangovers – Tylenol, Dramamine, and Gatorade. They helped her recover in time for her 5:00 glass (several) of wine. Fun times were recalled by others, but Shannon feigned remembrance. She became ashamed and anxious about the times she could not recall, hoping she didn’t say or do anything too embarrassing or out of line. But then the anxiety would fade as no one became angry with her, and the next drink would present itself. She would have continued on that path, were it not for the incident. 

November 13, 2017. Shannon and her husband just had a huge blowout fight. Their fighting had been steadily increasing over the past several months, but mostly garden-variety bickering. This one was different. Never before had her husband mentioned the “d” word. Shannon was still seething from his nasty words. She grabbed a glass of wine, and downed a second in quick succession; she just needed to take the edge off. “Call me anytime!” Caroline’s words rattled around in her brain. Shannon did just that, and vented about the impending end of her marriage. “I’ll be right over”, Caroline’s reply. “No, Mike’s in the basement with the kids watching a movie. I’ve got to get out of here”. “Let’s go out for a drink! I’ll pick you up”. “No, it’s ok, I’ll drive – I need something else to focus on. Give me 15 minutes to get ready”, Shannon replied. She washed and dried her wine glass and put it back in the cabinet. She picked Caroline up and started down Winding Creek Road. It was dark, and she had forgotten to turn on her high beams as she normally did. She didn’t see the deer until it was too late; by the time her eyes recognized the large brown form crossing the road she had already struck it. She tried to swerve to avoid it but her reaction time was too slow. She ended up flying up the embankment and into the telephone pole. 

A witness called 911 and the appropriate emergency personnel arrived and dealt with the aftermath. Shannon was not charged in regards to the accident; the on-scene investigation corroborated the adjuster’s report that she was not speeding or driving recklessly. A deer had simply crossed her path and her overcorrection caused the accident; legally there were no repercussions. Her personal life was a different matter. Within the following months, Shannon and her husband divorced and friends drifted away. She had stopped drinking, so she was no longer part of the social circle. Shannon just couldn’t risk being in an environment where she knew alcohol would be in abundance. 

Still, Shannon missed Caroline desperately and longed to hear her voice again. Her eyes darted between her tumbler of vodka and her phone. Caroline’s words echoed in her brain, “Call me anytime, no matter what, I’m always there day or night!” It was time. Shannon grabbed her phone and pressed voicemail, as Caroline’s cheerful voice greeted her. 

Shannon’s eyes welled with tears. She picked up her glass, walked to the sink, and tossed it down the drain.