A Fresh Start

When I opened my eyes I saw a bright, fluorescent light. Am I dead? I pondered that thought for a moment and pinched myself to determine whether I was dreaming. That was inconclusive. Maybe I’m in the hospital and they gave me painkillers, so I can’t feel much of anything. That would truly be a dream. 

As I came to, the pain in my head began to subside and I realized I was in a hospital bed. How did I get here? A nurse came in, presumably to check my vitals, and saw I was awake. 

“Mr. Adams, you’re awake!” She seemed surprised.

“Uh, yeah I guess. Why am I here?”

“You don’t remember?”

I shook my head. 

“Let me get the doctor.” She scurried out of the room, leaving me feeling slightly concerned.

Soon, a short woman in a long white coat came in, and I asked again what happened and why I’m here. She said, “Well, Mr. Adams, you had an overdose.” Wouldn’t be the first time, I thought. 

“Am I going to be okay?”

“Yes, Mr. Adams, you are going to be okay. You’re very lucky. A friend brought you in just in time. Five more minutes and you would’ve had a massive stroke and likely died. You really need to be more careful.” Is it possible to be careful when you’re injecting heroin? 

“Where’s my friend?” I asked, wondering who it was and why they weren’t here. I don’t think I had many friends left, at least not any friends who were sober.

“We don’t know. They dropped you off, made sure you were taken care of, and left.”

They were reluctant to discharge me from the hospital because they wanted me to go through withdrawal under supervision, but I insisted that I would be fine. I didn’t have the money to pay for the prolonged stay anyway. The hospital was a short walk from the house where I live with my girlfriend. Well, I did live there, until I started doing heroin about a month ago. Or was it two months? Maybe three? Time is a blur and I don’t remember much, but I know that at some point I had a wonderful girlfriend and I had just found out she was pregnant with a baby boy. Our baby. At that moment, I realized I didn’t even know if the baby had been born.

One year earlier

My girlfriend and I were sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting in anticipation to see if we were pregnant. I always wanted a kid, and I didn’t care that we were broke or that we didn’t have a nice house. I was just looking forward to raising a child with the most beautiful woman in the world. We held hands tightly and a few minutes later the test came up positive. We both cried and embraced each other for what felt like an hour. 

A few weeks later, just after my girlfriend found out our baby was a boy, I got in an accident which left me with several fractures and a torn ACL in my right leg. I worked in construction and I couldn’t do my job with a bum leg, so I went on disability.

The doctor gave me Percocet for the pain. I warily asked him, “Are you sure I need these? They’re addictive, aren’t they?”

“As long as you take them as prescribed, you’ll be okay. You can choose not to take them, but then you’ll be living with chronic, potentially debilitating pain. It’s your choice.”

Doesn’t feel like much of a choice. “Okay, I’ll take them.”

The feeling of relief from the pain was incredible. The pills relieved not only the physical pain, but also the emotional pain of not being able to provide for my growing family. In the last hour when a pill started to wear off, but I couldn’t take another one, I was in agony. All I wanted was to keep chasing the euphoric feeling of nothingness. When the pills stopped working, I started taking two at a time. Then I ran out of pills before I was supposed to, and I would feel horrible for a few days, but then get right back on the horse with the next prescription.

The day after I ran out of refills on my prescription I started feeling shaky and sweaty, even though it was the dead of winter. I went to the doctor and asked for more, but he told me it was a controlled substance and he couldn’t write me another prescription. I slammed the table at the nurses station and threw papers on the floor. Immediately I realized I was becoming someone I never knew I could be. I ran home and told my girlfriend what happened. She was appalled and said I never should’ve taken those pills. 

“I didn’t want to be in pain!” I pleaded. 

“Was it worth it?” She asked and crossed her arms in front of her chest.

I left the house and walked (albeit limping) for a long time, contemplating my next move. I wasn’t proud of it, but I remembered I knew a guy who dealt drugs. I went to his house and he could tell I was in a bad way. 

“Hey man, are you okay?” he asked, as I walked through the door. I flopped down on his couch and started shaking profusely. When I settled down, he asked me what I needed.

“Do you have any Percocet?”

“Nah, sorry. I got some H if you want it.”

H? As in heroin?

“I don’t know man, that stuff is serious.”

“Well, it’s here if you want it.”

After the shaking subsided, I started throwing up. I felt like the room was spinning and I could barely breathe. He put a cold towel around my neck and held my head up so I could drink some water.

“Give me the dope if it’ll make me feel better,” I told him. 

He nodded and went into the other room. He came back with a small baggie which he emptied onto a spoon. He used a lighter to heat up the powder into a liquid.

“Don’t worry, this needle is clean,” he said, while filling up a syringe with the enticing syrup. That’s the last of my worries, I thought.

“Okay, hold out your arm.” He grabbed my limp arm, chuckled, and said, “Your veins look great. Way better than most. You ready?”

I nodded and looked at my phone to distract myself. I realized that I had 10 missed calls from my girlfriend and a few angry text messages. I was about to tell my friend to hold off, but it was too late. I felt the pinch of the needle entering my arm and then I was gone. 

Present day

It was warmer outside than I expected, so it must be spring. How long have I been gone? I stood outside the house and stared at it for who knows how long. I didn’t know what to say, if my girlfriend would even let me speak to her. I tentatively approached and knocked on the door. She opened the curtain to peek out and immediately closed it. 

I felt a vibration in my pocket. I checked my phone and there was a message that said, “Leave me and Owen alone.”

Owen. That must be our baby’s name. 

I broke down in tears, realizing I had missed the birth of our baby. I called multiple times, but it went to voicemail. I pounded on the door and yelled for her to let me in. 

I wondered if she was the one who took me to the hospital. I texted her, asking, “Was it you who saved me?”

I saw the three dots pop up and they remained on the screen for a long time. I wonder what she’s typing. Then, the dots went away for a second and I got a text saying, “I wish you the best.”

10 years later

It was my first time being back in Chicago since I left. I was reluctant to return, but my best friend was getting married, so I couldn’t say no. I went to the liquor store to pick up a bottle of wine to celebrate when I saw her. “Sarah?” I thought I said it to myself, but I said her name out loud. She turned at the mention of her name and saw it came from me. She nervously approached me.

“Hi James.” She looked like she wanted to give me a hug, but then backed away. 

We stared at each other for a few seconds and then she said, “Well, it was nice to see you. You look good.” She started walking away when I called out to her. “Are you available tomorrow morning to get coffee?”

She looked as if she was contemplating the offer, said “maybe,” and continued walking to her car. 

I crossed my fingers, hoping I’d hear from her. I went to my friend’s house where I was crashing for the night and I stared at my phone, waiting for her to text me like I was in high school again, waiting to hear from a crush. After a few hours, I couldn’t stay awake anymore and fell asleep on the couch. 

When I woke up, I checked my phone to see that Sarah had texted me. I scrambled to unlock it, and there was a message that read, “Let’s meet at our favorite coffee shop at 10am.”

It was currently 9:45. Shit, I thought, I need to go now. I knew I’d have to drive and find parking. I found a spot close to the shop and walked in at 10:05. I saw her in a corner booth and ran over.

“Five minutes late as usual, I know,” I said, catching my breath. 

She chuckled and said, “Classic James.”

I smiled at her remembering the old me. I hoped she’d like the new me.

As we were waiting for our coffee, she asked, “What have you been up to?”

It was as if no time had passed and nothing serious had happened between us. 

“Well, after…” 

She nodded, indicating I could keep going and skip the bad parts.

“Yeah, after that, I stayed in a shelter for a few weeks and got my head on straight. I couldn’t stay here anymore because it was too painful, so I moved back to Boston and stayed with my mom for a while.” 

“That’s great. So you’re…”

“Not on drugs anymore?” 

She laughed nervously. “Yeah, I guess that’s one way to put it.”

“I’m happy to say I’ve been sober since the last time I saw you. It’ll be 10 years tomorrow.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you. It’s been rough, but when I got to Boston I started attending Narcotics Anonymous meetings. It’s like you see in movies where you go to the front and say ‘Hi, my name is James, and I’m a heroin addict.’ And everyone says…”

“Hi, James.” She responded cheekily. 

“Yeah, exactly.” I laughed. “It was the best thing I’ve ever done. I got a sponsor and learned about forgiveness. I’ve figured out how to forgive myself and not force other people to forgive me. That’s why I haven’t called.”

“You weren’t sure whether I would forgive you?”

“Yeah, kind of. I didn’t want to beg for your forgiveness either. It felt unfair.” I nervously played with the string on my sweatshirt, which I just realized she had given me years ago.

“You were always a little too proud.”

“Yeah, I guess there’s at least one thing about me that’s still the same.”

We spent a few hours chatting about life, and I learned about my son. He’s getting good grades in school, he’s above average height like me, and he loves playing soccer. She also mentioned she married a man named Alan, and they seemed happy. I was happy too, knowing she was able to move on from me and have a good life. 

“One more thing.”

“Okay, what is it?” She started to look nervous. 

“Remember how I texted you when I showed up on our porch - sorry, your porch - 10 years ago, asking if you were the one who saved me?”

She nodded.

“I never got an answer.”

She collected her thoughts for a few seconds and responded. “Yes, I was the person who saved you. You showed up on the doorstep as high as a kite, like I’d never seen you before. You weren’t speaking clearly and you passed out into the bush next to the stairs. I tried to help you up, but you were completely limp. I ran inside to ask my mom for help and we carried you to the hospital. I couldn’t bring myself to stay, but I did wait until I knew you were being taken care of. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. It was the right thing to do, for both of us. I needed a wake up call.”

We both silently acknowledged each other. After paying the check, we stood outside the coffee shop, trying to figure out how to say goodbye.

“I have to go get ready for the wedding.”

“Right,” she said, looking a bit sad. 

We hugged each other tightly and she said, “Don’t be a stranger,” before we went our separate ways.

Owen, 8 years later

Today I turned 18 and it couldn’t have come at a better time, since I was just about to graduate from high school. There was another reason I was looking forward to turning 18 - I could finally take a DNA test without parental consent and find out who my real father is. 

Alan is a nice guy and all, but I knew he wasn’t my biological dad. My mom had tried to deny it for years, but I looked nothing like the guy and, I don’t know, I just had a gut feeling. I felt elated when I got the results. I read the message aloud to myself. “Father, James Adams, currently living in Boston, Massachusetts.”

I ran downstairs to the kitchen where I found my mom making dinner. 

“Mom, guess what? I found out who my real dad is!”

“Did you?” She said, smiling forcefully.

“I want to meet him.”

“Oh, Owen, I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“Well, I’m an adult now, so I can do whatever I want,” I said, smugly. “Do you still have his phone number?”

She reluctantly pulled out her phone and sent me the number. “Are you sure about this?”

“Yes. Thanks mom.” I gave her a kiss on the cheek and ran back up to my room. 

I crafted a message to my father - my real, biological father. I wished I knew what he looked like. I typed, “Hi James,” then immediately deleted it and typed, “Hi dad.” The message went as follows: “Hi dad, it’s me, Owen. I’m sure mom told you about me. I’m doing really well. I’m reaching out because I want to meet you. Mom hasn’t told me anything about you, but I’ve known for a long time that you were out there somewhere, and I was finally able to find out. You can text or call me any time.”

It wasn’t my best writing, but I was nervous. I sent the message immediately before I could nitpick and try to perfect it.

The next morning, I saw a message saying, “Hi Owen. It’s great to hear from you. Maybe we can FaceTime today?”

I was so excited that I almost jumped up and down. When I saw him calling I nervously straightened out my hair and corrected my posture.

“Hello,” I answered.

He immediately smiled and said, “Oh my God, my son.” He teared up. “I can’t believe it, you look just like me.” He laughed through tears. 

I couldn’t stop smiling either, finally seeing my dad’s face. We talked for hours about all sorts of things - how I was doing in school, girls, sports. Then I realized I hadn’t learned anything about him. 

“Why did you leave?” I asked abruptly.

There was a pregnant pause as he sighed, figuring out how to address me.

“Well…”

He told the whole story. How he was so excited my mom was pregnant, how he became addicted to drugs, and how he left Chicago because he couldn’t bear to be in pain anymore. I was relieved to hear he didn’t abandon us - he left to save us, to protect us. I told him I understood, even though I didn’t, not fully. I’ve never lived in his shoes, but I can see why he did what he did. After a while, my mom called me down for dinner. I didn’t realize how late it had gotten. I said, “My high school graduation is next weekend. Do you think you’d be able to come?”

“How would your mom feel about that?”

“I don’t know, but who cares?”

He laughed awkwardly and said, “Let me think about it. Have a good night.”

“You too, dad.”

I didn’t hear from him at all the whole week, so I assumed he wasn’t going to come to my graduation. I was disappointed, but I knew it would be uncomfortable for him, so I wasn’t mad about it. Besides, he barely knew me. My mom was worried that I opened myself up only to get hurt the way she was all those years ago. I said, “It’s okay mom, I knew what I was getting into and I’m happy with my decision.” 

I sat in the audience at graduation in my cap and gown, looking around for my dad, hoping he came to surprise me. They called my name to come up on stage, and just then, I saw him beaming, clearly proud of me. He didn’t know it, but I was proud of him too.