Am I Here?

Darkness engulfed the men in front of me to the point that all I heard were silhouettes chattering, only pausing to take quick breaths, and get back to the greatest issue at hand. The smartest men I knew were chattering away. Three problem solvers in front of me and yet, they felt no need to deal with our lack of light, now that the sun was making its exit.

Of course, they wouldn't because it was always Sarah who remembered to put on the porch lights. She would always add twinkle lights with colors that matched the season for some extra warmth. She made sure citronella candles were lit to chase away the bugs. Sarah made the tastiest snacks magically appear too. Conversation would surround me and then there would be a bowl of nachos with extra salsa, or some banana bread, and always bowls of fancy nuts. There was never a need to ask. Sarah loved taking care of her guests.

Today though, Sarah didn’t welcome guests.

A glance to the bedroom window showed that she still remembered the light. Her hunched shadow cocooned in a marshmallow shaped blanket and a cigarette in her hand told me that I was better off staying in the backyard with the chatterboxes. 

I couldn’t see her face. I wished I could see her eyes and know how she was feeling. Would she be okay? But the way she walked said a lot. She dragged herself back and forth, like us being this near was disturbing her. She didn’t want us there.

Her husband was reliving the nightmare from two nights ago while her brother, who was also my boyfriend, and their best friend from high school tried to be supportive with their own diagnosis. Each one of them had their own little comments. Each one of them talking about how that night had such an impact on her husband and how on earth were they going to fix it.

So many words were flying around in the darkness. The events of that evening became so clear, I could see it. I felt like I was there, witnessing a sweet woman falling apart.

The evening started with dinner at the local bistro and another couple they hang out with sometimes. Everyone was dressed up and cheerful. They all indulged in drinks, but Sarah always had a drink in her hand. When her husband counted off the drinks he remembered her ordering, he had gotten to his seventh finger before his memory failed.

It was like a sad countdown to oblivion.

She seemed good. She seemed happy. She wanted to ride with their friends since they hadn’t seen them for a while. No one protested. It was a good night.

During the drive, she changed. She became a stranger and got angry. The friends reported that they didn’t understand what Sarah was talking about and she yelled and grabbed the wheel.

The driver struggled to keep control of the car. He begged Sarah to stop. He didn’t know how he managed to avoid the other cars, how he avoided crashing.

When he came to a stop, Sarah jumped out and ran.

The couple called Sarah’s husband and soon, all of them were out looking for her.

They followed honking and the sound of a fender bender. People were yelling.

When they finally got sight of Sarah, she was walking in traffic like she was the only one on the road.

They tried to catch up, but with cars strewn all over the road in chaos, there was no way that they could run and catch up to her.

She disappeared again.

They tried to follow the honking again. Her husband got a call from a strange number.

Sarah ran into someone’s yard and told the first person she saw that the bad people were trying to get her.

"The bad people?" I interjected. All three men jumped at my question. Did they forget I was there? Did I leave? For a moment, I thought I was staring at headlights, so maybe I did leave.

Her husband answered, "Uh, yeah, when she ran into a stranger’s backyard. She met a woman and asked her to call me. She said, 'Her husband would protect her from the bad people.'"

"So, Sarah doesn't see you as one of the bad people."

He frowned like I was insulting him.

“I was noting that Sarah still felt safe with you,” I explained, but it didn’t seem to help. He avoided looking at me, not that he could see me. How could the evening get any darker?

Her episode sounded familiar, but they kept on throwing around words like drinking problem and addict.

It seemed like more. It sounded like Sarah did not know what reality was anymore.

Sarah saw bad people.

Sarah walked around moving cars with no regard for her safety. Did she even see the cars as cars?

Yes, the amount of alcohol probably exacerbated the situation, but it was worse than being drunk.

Where did Sarah think she was?

They continued, "Drinking problem."

"Get help." 

"I don't know what to do."

"Get help," I spoke up.

They stared at me again.

"You said, ‘What are you supposed to do?’ Get help," I emphasized.

Her husband's voice wavered, "But what if she doesn't...I might need to get a...I mean..."

"A divorce?" I challenged.

His head tipped forward in a slight nod.

A divorce does not fix anything. Maybe it frees him from guilt or the work of helping Sarah get better. A divorce leaves Sarah alone to fight whatever beast she was fighting two nights ago.

I’m usually fine being in the background. I’m a quiet person who feels comfortable observing. I like to listen, but that does not mean I never have something to say. 

I needed my words to cut through the darkness and wake him up, "If you do nothing, you don't have to worry about a divorce. If Sarah doesn't get the help she needs, she's going to end up dead."