Natolie Webb

It was only one drink, Francesca thought, filling her glass (a little too full) from the decanter. It was a special occasion after all. The holidays only came once a year and her daughter, Sarah, was home. If ever there was a time to be festive this was it.

She carried the glass through the house with care and joined the family in the living room. She felt rather than saw George’s judging eyes upon her. No matter. He would see, she was fine. She sat in the wing chair and sipped her drink delicately. She was careful to appear to savor it, like any casual drinker would.

When it was gone, she wondered when it would be ok to go for another. Sarah was telling them something about her new boyfriend. She was trying to concentrate on appearing normal and smiled and nodded with the others but it was hard to concentrate. Her glass was empty and she felt anxious. If only George wouldn’t scrutinize her so. He was becoming so judgy about her drinking.

It was silly, really, she thought. At her age a few falls and the occasional incontinence were reasonable, if disturbing. She was glad she had taken the precaution of wearing her Depends. It made things easier and no one needed to know. Especially George. She glared at him openly for a moment, forgetting herself.

An eruption of laughter interrupted her thoughts and she joined in racously. After moment, though, it appeared she had overdone it, as she noticed everyone looking at her weirdly. She cut her laughter short and stood up to refill her glass.

She felt herself stumble slightly as she pushed through the kitchen door. Fortunately, no one had seen. She uncapped the decanter and poured, slopping a bit of the amber liquor in the counter. She wiped it with her sleeve, which became quickly sodden. Oopsie, she thought, bringing the sleeve to her mouth and suckling it. Waste not want not.

She took a few strong gulps of the liquor, slopped a bit more, mostly into the glass and teetered back to the living room, not remembering to sop up the mess this time. She flopped back into the chair and had an moment to be grateful for her Depends as she felt a bit of urine leak out. She took a long drink from her glass, set it down and stood again, intending to head to the bathroom but standing was too much for her drunken bladder. She would need to go upstairs to change her Depends.

Everyone was staring now, not only because her gait was so unsteady but because her accident had been too much for the diaper and the legs of her pants were wet to her knees.  She walked to the staircase, pretending not to notice but George was already on his feet to follow her. It was a good thing. She missed the fifth step and fell backwards into his arms. It was the last thing she remembered until she woke up again.

Sunlight streamed through the gauzy curtains, making her head throb. She blinked stupidly for a moment, as her brain re-oriented. She would wish, in a moment for a return to un-knowingness as the memories flooding her brain were relentless and mortifying. Had she really gotten drunk and wet herself in front of Sarah?

A wave of self-hatred washed over her,  leaving her in a state of craving. She needed a drink to face the day and yet, she was vaguely aware that the drinking was the problem… No. She couldn’t think straight… That was the problem.

She sat up slowly, letting her feet slide to the floor and stood up, holding her bedside table for support. She made her way from table to dresser to the wall, grasping each item as if her life depended on it. She had to get to the back of the closet, where her scotch was hidden. She was desperate to shut down her brain’s relentless self-judgement.

It was hidden at the very back of the shelf. She would have to step up on one of the storage bins to get to it. She placed her foot tentatively, testing her weight. The top of the bin folded ominously. Francesca was undaunted. She moved her foot slightly to the left, took a deep breath and stepped up, holding the shelf for balance.

Several things happened at once. Her foot broke through the top of the bin, the shelf pulled away from the wall and she lost her balance falling backward with a loud thud, while the contents of the shelf (including the scotch), showered her where she landed. A moment later, George and Sarah slammed through the door in a state of panic.

“Mom! What happened?”

“Francesca! Oh my God!!! Sarah call 911!!!”

Francesca heard Sarah on the phone as George bent over her fearfully, “Francesca! Talk to me! Are you ok?”

“George…” Her tears became sobs, “Oh, George. I couldn’t face you. I couldn’t… Sarah… I couldn’t… She knows about me. I can’t… I can’t be normal.”

“Shhhh, Francesca, we love you. It’s ok. We’ll get some help.”

“No,” her sobbing intensified, “No, George. I need my scotch. I can’t get up. Please…”

“Oh my God, Mom!” Sarah was looking over George’s shoulder, “The ambulance is coming. No drinking! You need to stop.” She looked at her dad and Francesca wished she could miss the horrified looks they exchanged, but Sarah’s next words were even more horrifying, “Dad, I had no idea she had gotten this bad.”

“No. Sarah, honey. You don’t understand. I’ve just… I’ve been under a lot of pressure… I just,” she broke off, sobbing again, “I can’t… I… I need a small nip. You… You can’t… understand. If I don’t have a drink it will be worse. Please. Help me. Please! I need help!” She could feel her hands already beginning to shake. “Sarah… George… Oh God. You’re going to kill me. Please!”

The ambulance came and the paramedics scooped her from the floor, as she screamed and begged. She continued to scream until the needle punctured her vein and filled it with sweet relief. She slept, unaware of the drama unfolding as the doctors tried and failed to save her. Her body was too weak to recover… Her blood too sick to clot.

Heartbroken and unable to cope, Sarah found her way to the nearest bar to drink herself onto oblivion, the ghost of her mother following closely behind. She would remain, thereafter on her daughter’s back… It was her final resting place.