ALCOHOL YOU ARE MY ENEMY
Summer 1956
It was a
beautiful, summer morning in 1956. The
hour was eleven o’clock in the morning, and our family was anticipating a day
of shopping and visiting Grandma in Albuquerque. Our station wagon headed out of Socorro. Near the outskirts of town was a small tavern
with one pickup parked in front.
“There’s
Tom’s pickup. I wonder if he’s still
planning on taking that job in Australia.”
Deryl asked.
“Pull
in and we’ll talk to him,” Mom suggested.
I
groaned outwardly. “Ah...come
on...you’ll be in there forever.”
“We’ll
only be a few minutes,” Mom said as Deryl stopped the car in front of the
tavern.
I
threw dagger stares as they entered the small block building. One blackened window stared back mockingly
with bold red letters: Bar.
I
slid down in the seat angrily and folded my arms. I hated bars!
I hated alcohol! They were both
exercising more and more influence over our lives!
The
sun was hot as it shown through the open windows of the station wagon, and a
small breeze swept the leaves of a tree near the tavern. One lone fly buzzed and landed on my sweaty
legs, which were beginning to stick to the warm upholstery.
Our
car and Tom’s pickup were the only two vehicles parked in front of the
establishment.
After
we had waited nearly an hour, Bronco became fidgety and ventured into the
bar. I sat brooding. We’d be lucky if we ever made it to Albuquerque. Why did they have to stop? I knew they were in there drinking! Alcohol was becoming an increasing
problem. Before, Deryl and Mom only
drank when they went out, but recently, they had begun drinking at home. I could still remember the first evening I
noticed Mom mixing their drinks. I had a
nervous, sickening feeling and instantly disliked the new routine! My concern was confirmed by a couple of
incidents. One of them happened late at
night. Mom locked Deryl out of the
house, and he stood outside their bedroom window, swearing, while Mom was on
the inside yelling out. I lay in bed,
covering my head with my pillow, muffling the sound, and the embarrassment I
felt at the thought of neighbors being disturbed.
After
alcohol invaded out home, martinis became a usual evening habit. The drinks were used to unwind from the day
and to have a time of fellowship together.
Supper would be cooking, Deryl had just showered from work, and Mom
would fix the martinis. The meal would
be delayed as voices and laughter rose in volume from the kitchen. Bronco and I waited in front of the
television in the living room. Some
nights, if an argument erupted (which was happening frequently) supper would be
ruined, and all that filled one’s stomach was nervousness, anger, resentment
and fear!
An
old blue Oldsmobile pulled up beside our station wagon and a man entered the
tavern. On the highway, vehicles sped by
for their destinations.
I
cracked my car door, allowing the warm breeze to blow through. Bronco ran out of the bar and stood outside
the car. He picked up a handful of rocks
and began tossing them toward the edge of the driveway.
“What
are Deryl and Mom doing in there?” I asked angrily.
“Oh,
just drinking and talking with that Tom, guy,” Bronco answered nonchalantly.
Time
dragged by. The afternoon sun was
penetrating more heat, and the lone fly had a companion.
I
thought of walking home. It was only a couple of miles, but I knew that if I
did Mom would be angry.
I
stepped out of the car and stretched my legs.
My shorts and blouse were wet from perspiration. I felt as if I’d ridden to Albuquerque and back twenty times, and I
hadn’t been there yet! I slammed the car
door and marched toward the tavern. I
hated the place with every step I took!
The
interior was semi-dark, and it took my eyes a few minutes to adjust. “Why are these places always so dark?” I
asked myself. The bartender stood behind
the bar, serving another beer to the man from the Oldsmobile. Deryl, Mom and their friend were sitting
around a table in the center of the room.
Before them, on the table, were a number of empty glasses. Their voices were loud and boisterous.
“I’m
tellin ya...ther’s money down under...yesireee.... Australia...that’s the land of
opportunity.” Tom bellowed.
“How
much money you planning on making?” Deryl asked, with a thick tongue.
“Why,
thousands more than I’m making around here,” his friend bragged loudly.
I
walked up behind Mom and touched her arm.
She was engrossed in the conversation and turned toward me, annoyed. When I saw her displeasure, my own aggression
melted. Mom had never hurt me
physically, but when she drank, I was leery of this strange person who
emerged. She was so different from the
mother I knew when she was sober.
“Mom,
when are we going?” I asked, with all the courage I could muster.
“Pretty
soon." Go on...we’re talking
business!” she said impatiently and turned back to the conversation and her
companions.
“Yea,
our glasses are empty...let’s have another drink!” Tom roared as he brought his
hand down on the table, causing the glasses to shake. “Hey, Shorty, three more over here!” he
yelled over his shoulder to the bartender.
I
turned to walk away and my eyes met the clock on the wall. It was 2:45!
We had been there almost four hours!
Anger and frustration were building up inside me as I stepped back into
the sunlight.
Bronco
had tired of throwing rocks and was inside the station wagon leaning against
the door. He looked like he could fall
asleep. I slid into the back seat across
from him.
The
fly had two more pesky friends. The warm
breeze had stifled and the interior of the car was hot! And, I was steaming!
“They’re
just lucky I’m only thirteen or I’d be gone!”
I growled to Bronco, releasing some of my pent up emotion. One of the flies lit on my leg. I swatted at him and he flew out the window,
deserting his other winged friends. I
slid down in the seat, completely frustrated!
Another
hour passed...I heard voices and rose up.
Deryl, Mom and Tom were coming though the tavern doorway.
“Finally!”
I said in disgust. Bronco sat up.
“See
ya, buddy,” Deryl yelled at his friend, as Tom pealed his pickup onto the
highway toward Socorro.
Deryl
and Mom were obsessed with Australia,
and their voices were in full volume as they got into the car. I knew we would never move to Australia. It was just another dream image. An idea that would never take place. Deryl and Mom were always looking for the pot
of gold at the end of a distant rainbow, or greener pastures just over the next
hill. Discontent and continuous upheaval
was our way of life. If contentment and
peace had met us face-to-face we probably wouldn’t have recognized them. They were foreign commodities in our lives.
I
don’t know what triggered the argument, but Deryl and Mom were yelling at each
other. The scenery outside was a blur as
it flew past the station wagon window. I
peeked over Deryl’s shoulder: the speedometer read, ninety-five miles an hour
and was climbing.
“Deryl,
slow down! Do you want to kill us all?”
Mom screamed, “Slow down! My kids are in
this car!”
“Woman,
what’s your ******* ***** problem?”
Deryl swore.
“Stop
this car and get out!” Mom shouted and shoved him.
The
car swerved, slowed and came to an abrupt, screeching sideways halt by the side
of the road. Deryl opened the car door
and Mom pushed him out. They were still
yelling.
Mom
slid behind the steering wheel and locked the car door. Deryl was swaying and swearing outside the
door. Mom started the engine, and we
pealed rubber onto the highway. Deryl
was left behind in a cloud of dust. I
looked back and watched him turn, with a posture of dejection, and stagger
toward Socorro.
We
were on our way to Albuquerque,
but it was late afternoon. Mom was
driving over the speed limit. Bronco and
I were holding on in the back seat and Deryl was still in Socorro.
As
the miles sped by, Mom sobered up and slowed the speed of the car. She was still angry with Deryl, and the
atmosphere was tense.
Evening
shadows were falling over Albuquerque, and a New Mexico sunset lit
the western sky. We drove up Central
Avenue towards Grandma’s store.
Mom
and Grandma sat at the kitchen table and had a long discussion. Grandma, who hated alcohol almost as much as
I did, exhorted Mom to abstain. She also
blamed Deryl for the problem. I often
wondered if Grandma realized that Mom was as much a culprit in drinking as
Deryl.
The
next morning, Deryl showed up at the store.
It wasn’t long before he and mom made up. When they were sober, they were completely different
people. They could be giving and loving. ( Although Mom had been changing toward me, and I felt distant from her...and wasn't feeling love from her.).
The
four of us traveled back to Socorro. We
were drained emotionally and relieved the upheaval was over. I, for one, hoped and prayed there would
never be another occurrence. Time would
pass, and then, without warning, the old serpent of drunkenness would surface
again. Underneath the veneer of our
lives, alcoholism was undermining the support beams, deteriorating the
structure, and chipping away at the very foundation of our lives! The devilish fiend.... Alcoholism...the
disease...the thief...our
Enemy!!!
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