Hidden Cravings

As Manny spoke, Hannah could not help but glance at the bar.  That single bottle of opened red wine across the room was calling her name.  She wanted to grab that bottle as though it was the last bottle on earth, pour a healthy amount into any cup she could find and guzzle it.  But she knew better.

Last year’s Thanksgiving dinner did not end well for Hannah.  By her sixth glass of wine before dinner, she had already cut into the perfectly roasted turkey; she spilled red wine over great aunt Margaret and fell asleep snoring loudly on the couch before dinner had been served.  Hannah was determined to do better this year.  She had not had a glass of wine, or any other alcohol for over nine months.  

She was proud of herself, but she didn’t know what to do with herself without alcohol.  She had been learning but she still felt bored in social situations.  Without the alcohol, conversations with other people were dull, and Hannah was too self continuous to stir up any new conversational topics.  She stuck to the tried-and-true types of conversations like weather, children, pets and the drive over to her brother, Manny’s house.  

As Manny continued with his story, Hannah was only half listening.  She pictured the taste of the sweet red nectar on her lips, and although she knew they would both stain her lips and her teeth almost immediately, she would wipe them clean, or mostly clean, on her regular trips to the bathroom.  Until she was too drunk to do so and would walk around with red lips and teeth the rest of the night.

No, this was not the plan for this dinner and so Hannah pushed it out of her mind.  What was Manny saying again?

“You should have seen Gurtude.  She had chocolate cake all over her face.  I wanted to yell at her but she was too cute.  Although chocolate is poisonous to dogs.  I probably should have disciplined her, but let's be real, I am the good cop and Tim is the bad cop, always disciplining her.  Anyways…”

“I’m sorry.  I need to use the restroom,” Hannah said, walking away from Manny without a response.  God, was she bored.

The guest bathroom door was locked when she approached.  She glanced down the hallway.  Manny wouldn’t mind if his only sister went in search of a nonguest bathroom, right?

As Hannah heard the guest bathroom door behind her, she had disappeared into the master suite, which Hannah had been in millions of times before.

Manny was not stylish.  He adorned his teenage room with posters of metal bands and dirty clothes on the ground.  It appeared his style had changed since then, with tones of white and gray with splashes of green and throw pillows.  Who would think Manny would ever think to purchase, let alone use a throw pillow?  Hannah figured it was all his husband, Tim’s doing.  

Hannah found her way to the suite’s bathroom, closing the door and locking it behind her in case another guest had the same idea.  Her urine smelled potent and she made a note to herself to drink a glass of water after she retreated back to where the other guests mingled. 

She washed her hands and dried them on the bath towel hanging by the shower.  As she turned to leave her curiosity got the best of her.  Snooping was her favorite hobby and she had a hard time passing it up when the opportunity presented itself like a pony on Christmas morning.

She opened the cabinet below the sink and found sponges and cleaning products.  Nothing surprising there.  She opened a drawer to find crisp white towels folded and appeared to be ironed before placed in perfect fitting to this drawer.  The drawer above held an identical drawer of smaller but perfectly placed towels.  The next drawer held various small items, q-tips, cotton swabs, nail clippers, band aids.  The usual stuff expected in a bathroom.  There was a box of laxatives but other than that, nothing juicy. 

As she looked up, she realized it was time to search the holy grail of bathroom snooping.  The place everyone put their most personal bathroom items, yet the most predictable place:  the medicine cabinet. 

She reached out, pausing before pulling the mirror towards herself.  Inside she found toothbrushes and toothpaste, a few fragrances, and the jackpot of her search, round orange bottles with white tops and generic labels printed by CVS.  

She picked up the first orange bottle and read the label searching for the types of pills inside: Prozac.  That was no surprise.  Her brother had been on Prozac since he was a teenager.  She read the label of the next one: Amoxicillin.  An antibiotic, sure there was a story there but she didn’t care enough about what it was. 

She looked at the label on the last bottle.  A doctor had prescribed it to Ken so the container could hold many types of pills inside.  Then she found the name: Oxecta.  Bingo!  A brand name for oxycodone.   She had now remembered Manny telling her about Ken having an appendix rupture last week. 

She swiftly opened the bottle, listening for any movement outside the bathroom door.  She poured the little white tablets into her hand.  There were plenty of them in the bottle, so she figured a few missing would go unnoticed.  She placed her thumb over the pills to count them.  Eight were in her palm.  Where would she put these?  Her dress didn’t have pockets.  She stuffed the eight into her bra making a mental note of stashing them in her purse on the floor of the living room as soon as she returned to the social spaces.  

Was she really risking her sobriety for these little pills?  But the pills were not alcohol.  She knew she could function on the pills.  She wouldn’t be telling people mean things, falling on people, or running her car into a tree like she did before she was sober.  Pills were not alcohol, she reassured herself.  

She picked up the top of the bottle but had a second thought.  She poured a single pill into her palm holding the top of the bottle and then placed it to her lips, dry swallowing the little pill.  It felt rough as it pushed its way down her throat.

She replaced the bottle and left the bathroom.

“Where are you coming from?” Manny asked.

“I had to use the bathroom.” 

“We have a guest bathroom, you know?” 

“I know,” Hannah was sheepish and turned to look for her purse. 

At dinner, Hannah ate half a roll and three bites of mashed potatoes.  She couldn’t stomach anymore than that now that the Oxecta had kicked in.  The conversation was much more interesting but she didn’t contribute.  She was too relaxed to contribute.  She then excused herself to go home as soon as it was appropriate stating she had to tend to her roommate’s cat.  When she got home, she changed and crawled into bed and had the best sleep of her life. 

The next year, the family Thanksgiving dinner was scheduled to be held at Manny’s house again.  Once again, Manny made the oven roasted turkey and Tim made all the traditional sides.  

“How many do I need to set the table for?” Tim asked. 

Manny counted on his hands whispering to himself then announced, “nine.” 

“Nine?  Didn’t we have ten last year?” 

“Yeah.  Hannah can’t make it.” 

“You mean this year will go smoothly?” 

“Last year went smoothly.”

“Really?  Is that why nine of my Oxecta went missing?  I know it wasn’t great aunt Margret who took them?  I counted them, you know.  You know why?  Because I was afraid of Hannah taking them.” 

“Why do you always come down hard on my sister?  She really is not a bad person,” said Manny. 

“Oh really, why is she not coming?” Tim asked. 

Manny paused.  He knew in answering this question he would prove Tim’s point.  And although Tim’s point would be made, Hannah, deep down, was not a bad person.  She was a good person with a terrible disease.

Above a whisper, Manny answered Tim’s question, “Hannah is in rehab.”