New Year, New Me

Day fourteen of sobriety. Cheers to the two week mark.

The bartender with a shiny head and gray beard pours tequila in two small shot glasses rimmed with thick layers of crystalized salt. He aggressively jams a lime slice on the lip of each before pushing them over the gray marble counter to Elijah and his girlfriend, Lupita. 

“Sure you’re not gonna take one?” Lupita asks, instantly grabbing her shot and bringing it to her tomato-red lips. “I think you need it more than anyone.”

“Ay, chill Mami.” Elijah’s muddy brown eyes follow the ghost-trail of tequila from the counter to her manicured blue nails. He shakes his head, bushy hair bobbing slightly back-and-forth, as he pushes off his elbows, grabs his shot, and clinks his glass with hers. 

“Yeah, I don’t drink.” I twist the cap off my water bottle and take a sip for emphasis. I can’t. For him…never again. 

Darkness washes over us aside from some disturbingly yellow, green, and red strobe lights that roam over our arms to the beat of the music in some sort of half-assed, drunken sort of way, and I do my best to hold my breath as Lupita and Elijah throw back their third shot of the night. 

Tequila. His breath reeked of it… Bottle found at the scene…empty…

Clack! 

I jump, spilling water down the sides of my mouth. 

Shards of glass burst into the darkness, glinting like glitter beneath the light…

“Shit!” Elijah looks at his pristine, snow-white Nikes. Several pieces of glass lie scattered around his feet. A few people mere inches from us all stop dancing to look down at the shattered glass. “Guess that’s enough drinking for tonight.”

Guess that’s enough drinking for tonight…

“Yeah, I think I’m gonna head home.” I grab my keys off the counter and stuff my hands in my jacket pockets. “I don’t think this is helping.”

Jay’s friends both study me sadly, pitifully, eyes glossed over with what appear to be dormant tears resurfacing. An apology hovers between us, but I don’t want to hear it. I turn away so they can’t see my own eyes, or the slight twitch in my lip.

Whose stupid idea was it to go drinking, anyway? Idiots.

It’s been two painful weeks since tragedy struck. Everyone around me simply pats my shoulder, offers pointless reassurances, invites me out for drinks to numb the pain. But none of it changes the fact that Jay, my brother, my only sibling, is gone.

I let him down that night. I should’ve been the supportive, protective brother he always was to me. He only made it to twenty-two, just a year older than me, but acted like a guardian throughout high school and the early years of adolescence. Nothing slipped past him; he was always watching, always present, always taking the wheel when I couldn’t. When I flunked Freshman year of High School, he was by my side in the front office suggesting all the ways I could get back up and push through so I’d still graduate. When I didn’t get into the college he and I planned on attending together, he got me a job at the mechanic shop he used to work at. When I got fired, he helped me get into construction. And when my girlfriend dumped me last month, he and his wife took me up to the hot springs with them for New Year’s.

My stomach twists and turns and lurches so violently, I rush over to a trash can next to the bar parking lot. Gripping the cold metal edges, I dry heave over the piles of styrofoam boxes, crushed beer cans, and crumpled up napkins. Cars speed past me so fast, cold wind hits my face and forces the sickness back into submission. I straighten, wipe my dry lips, and stare at the buildings ahead of me.

Several blocks down, a dark blue building gleams at me with its blinding blue and red strobe lights, much brighter, much livelier than the ones in the bar. Several paramedics are parked in front, but the sidewalks that way are empty tonight. It’s only nine. How many casualties will that hospital see by midnight? How many for drunk driving?

My tires screeched to a halt… Sirens wailed outside the hospital…

You can’t park here, they shouted.

But that’s my brother…that’s my brother….

My heart speeds up with adrenaline. 

Tomorrow marks day one of training. What’s the cheesy saying? New Year, New Me? Tomorrow, I’ll be a paramedic in training. Tomorrow, I’ll start a path towards saving lives. 

I’ll make my brother proud. I’ll accomplish everything he did…and more. 

My phone buzzes with a text. When are you coming home?

That’s my cue.

I catch a Lyft home to my parents’ house, and the whole twenty minute drive, I allow the pain to consume me. I rehearse the lines I’ll say to my parents…the same lines I’ve spoken every single night to ease their minds:

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there… How are you two doing? He really was a good paramedic… But good news: tomorrow’s my day one. I’ll pick up where Jay left off. He made a terrible mistake that night… But we won’t talk about that. Did you hear? Tomorrow’s my day one doing what he did: saving lives.”

Except…when my Lyft driver pulls up in front of the house, a thousand bricks drop in my stomach. Why is she here?

“Have a good night,” the driver says. I wave and step out briskly, avoiding the fail figure to the right of my parents. I train my eyes on Mom and Dad standing in the driveway, hugging themselves tightly. Worry coats their faces, but relief fills their eyes when I approach them.

“Thank God,” Mom says, cupping my cheeks in her hands. I hug her and inhale her usual Lavender smell.

“Have a good time?” Dad says, hands in his pockets. 

Ever since Jay’s accident, they wait outside until I come home. Hell, if one of my sons died in a tragic--yet, preventable--accident, I’d be worried, too. I’ve been staying with them until some of their pain alleviates. 

“Hey, can I talk to you?” the female on the right says quietly.

No. Not now, not ever. I can’t face her. It’s only been two weeks. I haven’t made eye contact with Jay’s wife since the accident. The devastation in her eyes that night still haunts me. They were so blue…so empty…so heartbroken…so…skeptical.

“Not now. Let’s head inside. It’s freezing out here.”

Inside, Mom makes us all tea. Dad heads to bed. I sit on the couch and scroll through my phone. Several texts congratulate me: Happy Day Fourteen of Sobriety! Keep it up! You’re a role model. Jay would be so proud.

I smile. 

“Hey…I’m sorry…” 

Ugh. Her again. She sits on the couch across from me. 

“I just thought we could help each other through this,” she says in almost a whisper. “I mean…I can’t sleep at night. I can’t stop crying. I miss him so much.”

I stare at the time on my phone. It’s ten.

“It’s just…”

Stop talking.

“He had so much alcohol in his system...”

Shut up…

“I know he was celebrating his salary increase, but--”

Here, have another shot. It’s your night!

“It’s so unlike him…”

I passed him the bottle. 

“Are you sure he left your house alone? You didn’t go with him?”

I look up. Her blue eyes study me, but they’re not sad right now. They’re…skeptical. 

She knows.

“You saw me drive to the hospital. That night, I didn’t even drink. That was my day one of sobriety; all my friends know this. He must’ve lost count of his sips. And when he insisted he could drive, I trusted it would be okay. He was a paramedic. I didn’t expect him to be so irresponsible, either.”

She continues staring. Then she nods.

“I’m going to bed. Try to sleep.” For good measure, I pat her shoulder on the way out of the living room.

Hopefully she didn’t catch my smile.

Once I’m in my room upstairs, I finally relax. I exhale heavily. God, it’s so exhausting staying in character.

But hey, day fourteen. Fourteen days without that piece-of-shit try hard. Fourteen days of no alcohol in my system. It’s been smooth sailing, to say the least.

Tonight was one of the harder nights, though. Hearing Jay’s friend’s talk about him so highly when he’s not even here anymore…sickening. Seeing their eyes fill with tears…that was the first time I had to fight a smile tonight.

Jay was the brother anyone would hate. He was always telling me how to be better. How to be like him. He made it through high school with ease, earned his degree, got the girl, and saved lives. Mom and Dad always said I should be more like him.

Well, Mom and Dad, you got it. But there can’t be two Jay’s, can there?

I know what his wife wants to hear: that I drove Jay home that night since he was too drunk to drive. That I didn’t encourage him to drink so much. That I loved my brother so much, I’m just as devastated over his loss as she is.

Ha. 

Too bad she’ll never hear the part she’s so desperate to hear: that I did drive him home. That I also caused the accident. I drove us into a tree. His body flew through the windshield, an empty bottle of tequila shattered next to him. Jay wasn’t drunk driving, he was just drunk. I got him drunk.

But it wasn’t the accident that killed him…not exactly. He was still breathing when I got out. I walked home, showered, cleaned up, and waited for the call. He died on the scene from excessive bleeding.

It’s true though: New Year, New Me. Except I’m not sober because I drank too much alcohol that night. I’m sober so I can ensure the truth never slips out.