It all started with a Mike’s Hard Lemonade. Erica bought a 12 pack, and while unpacking some groceries in our Madison camp this summer, she said “You should just have one.” So I did. It was my decision. Nearly 45 days later, Louis showed up in front of our new home and as usual, I piled two rod cases, my red River’s Edge fishing bag, and, unlike before, a cube of Coors Light. “That’s a lot of beer.”
“Yeah, I sorta jumped off the wagon with both feet.”
“Well that’s OK” Louis said, as he popped open the cooler. “I don’t think any of us really thought you were an alcoholic to begin with.” I find it funny that so many people have told me that. My dad, my brother, some friends. Anyway, the issue wasn’t the beer, but the quantity, so I put 16 back in the fridge, and brought the rest, not with intentions of drinking all of them, but with intentions of sharing.
When we got to the boat ramp below Highway 89 bridge, Eric went to load his lunch and saw all the beers. He made a comment about how he didn’t need to bring all this beer because it looks like there is plenty.
“I jumped off the water wagon man.” Eric seemed to ignore this, but when Louis said “Yeah, he tried to bring a cube” Eric looked at me and said “seriously?” I felt bad for him for some reason. “Is that ok with you?” he asked.
“Yeah, it’s been fine.”
He was pretty quiet, and I jumped in the rower’s seat with a beer and we started off down the Yellowstone. After about an hour, the talk turned back around to my drinking. Eric and Louis asked about my marriage, and if Erica was in Denton this week because of my drinking. “No, Cole has work to do, and she needs to help her mom out while her dad is out of town.”
“Is she OK with you drinking?”
“Are you getting wasted?”
“Do you drink every day?”
“I remember you said you thought you had a problem because you were isolating and drinking alone.”
The questions kept coming as we anchored next to the high bank below Sheep Mountain’s access road. I answered them honestly; one of the most significant issues with my drinking is not beer 1, 2, or 3, it is 4 through infinity. Once I hit a point, to hell with everything; I just want to drink. I have learned that reaction is described as an allergy to alcohol. Once an alcoholic drinks, a craving (crazing) develops that is nearly impossible to shut off.
Then Eric said “I just remember how proud of yourself you were that you quit.” For me that was the clincher. I just sat in the back of the boat as we talked, and I thought this is what really friends do. They don’t let me just fuck up my life and go on with their own. They ask the hard questions and they listen for the answers, and they share their observations and experiences. They asked me if I had people to call if it gets out of hand. They said they were always there to answer the phone if I called. We didn’t cry or hug or get all mushy. Hell we were fishing for the first time together all summer!
The rest of the day we ate lunch, fished from the boat hard, prepared for a massive thunderstorm that skirted us. We saw bald eagles and osprey and pelicans and swifts. We talked about Louis’ new baby boy and names for Eric’s first son due in a week. We even caught a few trout.
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