Lila

JJ in the 21st Century: (1989) JJ and Lila Meet at College

/ David Ferland / 3 Comments

He first saw her across a smoke-filled dorm room.  She danced (swayed) to Eric Clapton.  They all swayed since there was no room to dance in a 12×12 double.  Who the hell could dance to Eric Clapton, anyway?  That smooth urbane angry broken-hearted Slow-hand.  “Going through your whole life miserable.  That’s no good,” thought JJ.

“Do you like her,” Brent yelled in JJ’s ear.

“Who is she?”

“Lila.  My sister.”

“What the hell is she doing here?”

“She’s checking up on me,” Brent said.  Then he fell away into the crush.  Brent was alright.  Kind of lost, smoked too much weed, missed a lot of classes.  But ok.  His sister, if she was his sister, was dancing to Cocaine with her arms above her head, her shirt hiked up a bit, showing some creamy skin and the hint of pink underwear peeking above her jeans.  JJ’s stomach did a little leap.  The glimpses, that was the thing.  Tantalizing.  He started burrowing into the crowd, towards her.

“Brent says you’re his sister.”

“Who wants to know?”

“I’m JJ,” he said and put out his hand.

Lila looked at it as if he were offering a trout.  “Let’s dance,” she said and put her arms around his neck.

“Do people still do that?”

“I do,” she said and they swayed and sweated and tried to dance to Steve Miller and the Stones.

Later, in the quiet of the stairwell.  “So, why are you here?”

“To check up on Brent,” she said.  “He’s kind of fucked up.”

“We know.  But we love him.”

“Oh, he’s lovable all right.  But that won’t last.”

They sat on the stairs, smoking Marlboros, the rumble of weekend parties and the occasional echoing cackle or shout from the floors above.

“So, you’re some kind of guardian angel?  You take care of people?”

“I worry.  I want to help,” she said and drew on the cigarette.  “We all need to help each other.”

“So, you’re a hippy.”

“Besides, I like to meet new people.”

“I’m new,” he said.  “And I need help.”

She smiled.  “Not now, you don’t.  Maybe some day.”

JJ took a half pint of Jim Beam from his pocket and took a hit.  “You want some.”

She took it and had her own little swig.  “Fire water,” she said.

“More like dirt water,” he said.  He put it back into his back pocket shifting awkwardly forward.  As he did so, Lila put her hand on the back of his head, fingers twining into his hair.  He turned and reached for her and they kissed, all Jim Beam fumes and the excitement of new lips and a whole new thing.

And, that’s how it began.

JJ in the 21st Century: They Descend to a Meeting

/ David Ferland / 4 Comments

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They entered the side door of St. Timothy’s, where stairs went up to the nave and down to the basement.  They descended.

“Am I supposed to stay,” Lila asked.

“You’re not leaving, either way,” JJ said.

People were milling, talking, hugging, clapping each other on the shoulder, remembering names, welcoming newcomers.  It all made JJ queasy.  The hale, hearty and healthy men.  The determined, cheerful, and dignified women.  It was horrible.  There were some sullen folk on the periphery and that’s where JJ intended to set up shop.  A huge jolly guy stepped up to them, blocking the way to the back.  “Welcome to the Plug in the Jug Group,” he said.  “I’m Big Red.”

“Jason,” JJ murmured and allowed his hand to be devoured by Big Red’s big calloused paw.  “This is Lila.”

“Terrific,” Big Red said.  “There’s some seats right down front.”

“I think we’ll stay back here.”

Big Red nodded.  “Keep that escape route open, then.  OK.  But, if I was you.  I’d sit down front to hear better.”  Then he winked at Lila and moved on to the next pigeon.

“We’re going down front,” Lila said.

“Lila, people will see us!”

“Let me get this straight, you’ll stagger to the bank, through the lobby with a shopping bag for your cash.  Then scurry out, making a scene.  But you’re afraid to be seen by some strangers trying to get sober?”

“Pretty much.”  The fact was, he had been down this path before.  Sitting near the exit didn’t only provide a physical escape route.  It also reduced the number of people who actually observed his intention to get better.  It left an opening, a gap in his commitment, just in case the program actually started to take hold.  He was afraid it might really work.

“Let’s go,” she said and took his hand.  It was all a blur to JJ as a white noise pressure rose in his head.  They sat in the front row, knees practically against the podium.  The meeting started and the chairperson said, “This is an open meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous.  All are welcome.  Is there anybody new or visiting who would like to identify themselves by first name only?”

JJ felt the old crossroads feeling.  He had been here and many other places before and had not allowed himself to make the hard turn home.  “No fuckin way,” he thought.  “No fuckin…”

“JJ, put your hand up,” Lila whispered.

“No fuckin way,” JJ said.

It was quiet as the chairperson surveyed the room for a moment.  “OK.  Then let’s…”

“My name’s Big Red and I’m an alcoholic.”

The chorus: “Hi Big Red.”  And there were some murmurs.

“Now don’t everyone get their panties all twisted up.  I didn’t drink or nothing.  And I usually don’t do this.  But, I just wanted to welcome the two newcomers down in the front row.”

JJ fought back nausea and panic.  They were now all aware of his presence amongst them.  The chairperson leaned forward over the podium.  “You don’t have to say anything,” she whispered.  “Red can be difficult sometimes.”

But Lila, his one-woman support network, his opinionated and star-crossed lover said in a clear, unembarrassed voice, “My name’s Lila and I’m visiting the group.”

The chorus:  “Hi Lila!”

And, just like that, there was no way out.  “I’m Jason and I’m an alcoholic,” he said.

They thundered, “Hi Jason!”  And then they clapped because he was so obviously hollow and raw and, freely or not, he had crossed some hurdle they all recognized as imperative to getting this thing.  They clapped, then stopped, and the meeting went on.

JJ in the 21st Century: Lila, Determined

/ David Ferland / Leave a comment

Lila knocked on the door but no one came.  She banged, listened, and could barely hear a mechanical hum or whine coming from inside so she just opened the door and went into the farmhouse kitchen.  A panic or dread, a sudden fear, rose up from her gut and she remembered a recent dream about something like this.  In the dream, she passed through a door and someone was dead on the floor of a kitchen.

She found him in the upstairs bathroom drying money with a hair dryer.  There were 100s spread out on the bath mat and JJ was drying them, sweeping the hair dryer back and forth.  There was a soggy heap of 100s still in the tub.  JJ was crouching in a pair of gym shorts and his pale back was to the door so Lila could just watch and take it all in.

“What are you doing?”

JJ turned off the hairdryer and looked at her.  “Drying money,” he said.  “I started to take a shower but forgot about the money bath.”

“Money bath?”

“Yeah, that’s why I went to the bank.  I didn’t have enough to fill the tub.”

“Are you drinking?”

“I was,” he said.  “I’m not now.”

“When?”

“Earlier, but not now.  Listen, I’m ready to stop.  I have to stop.”

“What are you going to do about it?”

“You’re going to drive me to AA.”

“Where’s your car?”

“There was an incident.  Listen, thanks for coming but you gotta bring me tonight, before I change my mind.”

There was something almost childlike in his earnest delivery.  Like, “The tooth fairy won’t come if you don’t put it under the pillow.”  He seemed detached from what he was saying, but serious, like he didn’t want to talk about the gaunt and crazy shell of a man in the same room.  He just needed to go.  And she was his ride.

“I can do this,” she thought and hope rose in her.  “Keep your expectations low,” she thought, recalling her Al-anon friend, Maria.  “Like Death Valley low.”

“OK,” she said.  “How long ‘til the meeting?”

“Two hours,” he said.  “Help me dry this money.”

She took a deep breath.  “Leave the money, JJ.  Get dressed and we’re going.  We’ll get something to eat and then we’re going to the meeting.  I’m going downstairs now.  Clean up and then we’re going.”

JJ stared and took his own deep breath as she clomped down the stairs, on a mission.  “This won’t be easy,” he said and scooped up the soggy 100s in the tub, put them in the sink, and started the shower again.

JJ in the 21st Century: Lila Eats the Whole Pint

/ David Ferland / 3 Comments

Why was she always trying to fix him?  It was a compulsion, like knowing there was a pint of ice cream in the fridge.  Not healthy, but it’s there, so it must be eaten.  It ALL must be eaten.  The itch must be scratched.  The drunk must be saved.  Or not, apparently.

Lila walked her first friend from Al-Anon to the door.  Maria was strong, grounded, but moved like a soldier with an old wound, careful that it shouldn’t reopen, crouching against a wind that might whip up at any time.  Lila watched Maria get in the car with awe and pity.  Maria had borne a lot, actual beatings at the hands of some drunken ingrate.  Yet she loved this shithead and was herself addicted to trying to make him happy.  “Codependent” was the word she used.  Lila had heard the term, of course, but never quite got it.  But, now she did.  Basically, she had a stake in JJ’s drinking, too.  She cast herself in the savior role.  And, God help him if he managed to get well without her help.

Lila had shared at an Al-anon meeting called “Change”.  As in, “The Change Group of Al-Anon.  You are welcome to stay and change”.  She shared, “And he just sabotages everything.  He starts something beautiful and just fucks it all up.”

“Language, please,” the Chairwoman said.

“Sorry.  But, he just messes everything up and doesn’t give a sh…doesn’t give a crap about what I put into it.  He wins all this money and starts this farm project and I…”

“Is it the guy who won the lottery,” someone asked from the back.

“Please,” said the Chairwoman. “No cross-talk.”

Lila continued, “And then we’re almost together again.  Happy.  It was love again.  He came to mom’s funeral, mostly sober.  He was trying, in his way.  Then he just retreats to that stupid farm.”

“JJ,” someone whispers clearly.  “Lottery,” someone whispers.  Then, “I can fix him.  Give me a chance.”  Tentative giggling all around.

“Please,” the Chairwoman said.

Before Lila could dart away after the meeting, Maria put an arm around her shoulders and drew her back in.  “Not so fast,” she said.  “We don’t bite.”

The next day, Maria came over and told her story to Lila.  It was harrowing and violent, the guy now in jail for eighteen months.  “But, when I think of him, I start planning how I’ll clean the house and what I’ll cook when he gets home.”

After Maria left, Lila’s phone rang.  Caller Id: JJ.  “Detach with love,” she said to herself.  Loving detachment was the Al-anon way, the boiled down method to deal with a drunk who will take everything and leave your soul baffled, bankrupt, and battered.  “Detach with love,” she repeated out loud, but answered anyway.

“Only you can save me from me,” he said.  “I walked to the bank and back.  My feet are so cold.”

“Where are you?”

“The farm.”

“I’ll be there in 15 minutes.”

Lump Sum Payment

/ David Ferland / Leave a comment

“Lump sum payment.”

“Limp sum payment.”

Giggle and groan.  The realization of alcoholic relapse, a terrible medical term insufficient for the deep soul pain JJ feels as he comes to, then becomes aware.  Failure on an epic scale.  Yet…  (And here’s the rabbit hole of doom).  Yet, what’s the big deal?  He’s here, alive, in a house he owns.  He’s got a shitload of lottery money in the bank.  And the sun is up.  And people are doing whatever people do.  He just happens to be lying here with what feels like a railroad spike lodged in his skull, driven in at the base with point protruding from forehead.  Cold hard throbbing iron.  But predominantly, most painful of all, is the amorphous creature of shame emerged from some gaping unreachable wound behind heart and abdomen.  No organ, this creature, just a pulsating squid of pain, tentacles twisting and twining into heart and limb.  A real fuckin soul ache.

“I’m only hurting myself,” he mutters and tries to get up but sinks back as the squid plops down and splats onto the deck of its cavern and the nausea comes.  Oh man, the nausea.  JJ’s down again, hugging self and giggle-groaning, amazed by this cosmic punishment, this run-of-the-mill hangover.  Gallows humor still intact, that’s good.  Or bad.  He should be devoid of humor, just a fuckin beast, like we all are.  Then the phone is ringing and the old-fashioned answering machine picks up and transmits a beautiful voice through the cold hollow house.

“It’s me,” Lila says.  “I need your help.  It’s…it’s kind of important.  Please call.”

Now the squid of shame, heavy, bloated and gelatinous, shifts position and radiates paralyzing waves of self-disgust.  Because he knows he won’t return the call.  He can’t answer the bell. “You’re up, JJ.”  Can’t do it, coach.  I got this creature inside, this squid.

But, he gets up somehow.  Later he casts this moment in heroic light, like the final push up Everest.  Or the unlikely victory of a doomed army.  The French at the Marne, finally turning to fight the Hun.  “It’s always about you,” Lila would say.  But what she says when he calls back is, “I need you.  My mom died.”

And JJ, fighting back the squid, gets dressed. Or rather, changes clothes.  He then smells himself, takes clothes off again, and gets in the shower.  Much groaning and blasting of hot water to melt the railroad spike, then the brushing and gargling.  Now dressed and stumble-walking out the door, the warrior emerges to save his beloved, raising his arm to fend off the merciless Sun.  He only slips once, landing on his side in a pile of snow along the walkway.  But he rights himself, dusts off the clinging snow, and forges on, unstoppable.