A Story
Once upon a time there was a girl and a boy, neither of whom drank more than one alcoholic beverage every other month (and normally even less than that). The reasons for this behavior are varied and manifold, but the short version is that the boy grew up surrounded by alcoholics (functional and non) and the girl grew up surrounded by people called "Mormons," members of a strange race that believes alcohol (and coffee and diet coke) is an immoral poison that should never not ever defile their My Body Is a Temple (a temple that apparently readily accepts as holy offerings other immoral poisons, including Extra Tasty Crispy Kentucky Fried Chicken, green jello, and grainy, icy, chalk-flavored ice cream (and I use the term "cream" lightly here)).
So anyway, this girl and boy were not what you'd call the drinking sort. While a part of each of them simply didn't want to drink and another part thought that alcohol was, on the whole, just plain yucky, there was another part that simply didn't need to. They didn't need something to help them relax at the end of the day, they didn't need a social lubricant to nudge them out of their shells, they didn't need something to make tolerable those boring conversations with random drunken party people that we all know and love so well. They didn't need any of this because they had each other, and with that came more relaxation, lubricant, and engaging conversation than any bottle of Jack, Johnny, or José could ever provide.
But then the time came when the girl and boy found themselves without each other and, for the first time, they were alone in situations where they had always leaned in together rather than reached out. But things being as they were, reach out they eventually had to, and what they found when they did were ales and lagers, merlots and pinots, Maker's Mark and Stolichnaya, beergaritas and, most blasphemous of all, tequila jello shots (oh, the sacrilege!).
The girl and boy were hesitant at first. On the one hand, they didn't want to fall victim to something as juvenile as peer pressure. On the other hand, they didn't want to hold out against their own desires simply to make a point and appear "consistent." On the third hand (don't you love it when there's a third hand?), they were stressed out and socially awkward and lonely enough to accept the temporary company of random drunken party people, and a ticket on the Alcohol Express seemed the best way to get from Point A to Point D.
They started out on their journeys (separately, mind you) the way normal (i.e., non-Mormon) people do, when they're somewhere between thirteen and seventeen. They drink to get drunk. It's fun, it's an escape, it's an excuse. They try to play it cool and fit in and, as far as they can tell, it's working: they are making friends and missing each other less, which might not be the point but is nevertheless a convenient side-effect.
When the novelty of All-Night Goofy Drunk wears off, they transition (still separately, mind you) into the realm of the oh-so-mature Early-Evening One-Drink Buzz. They have a glass of something or other, perhaps with crackers or cheese, and they sit with their legs crossed and make witty grownup conversation and tsk-tsk at the Goofy Drunks in the corner. They embody The Social Drinker. There's not much payoff in all this other than the smug feeling one gets when cloaked in a thin veneer of Blasé, and they both think it's a little strange how they've become one of those people so easily, at least on the surface.
And then one night the girl and boy find themselves together again (but not together together, mind you) and they are looking for something to occupy their hands and mouths while they sit on the couch and watch tv with one another. In the fridge they find cranberry juice and on a shelf a bottle of half-drunk vodka left over from a party a year ago. They pour and settle into their seats and drink. Just one a piece.
We've never done this before, she realizes. Why have we never done this before? And it is then that she understands why they hadn't and why so many other people had and still do. And then she thinks of her life lately and all the new clothes she's bought, all the music she's burned, all the magazines she's read, all the tv movies she's seen, all the food she's eaten, all the people she's talked to. The girl asks the boy if he's done these things too and if he thinks it means what she thinks it means. He does. Hm. Interesting.
And then they tip back their glasses and turn their heads away from each other, toward the tv.
Life is a lot sweeter without living in a total fog all the time. Been there, done that, puked on my T-shirt, my shoes, in bathtubs, other people's lawns, etc. Though I never considered myself an alcoholic, I sure played the part for a few years.
Your story makes a lot more sense than my story I posted today about fishermen.
I've often found that we as individuals tend to adopt the lifestyles of our significant others. I don't mean this a slight, but as an observation. When we are no longer confined by a relationship, we tend to explore the boundaries previously set, sometimes crossing them, sometimes obliterating them, never to return to the lifestyle we had previously.
I'm glad you're going out there, discovering new experiences and managing to find common ground with your Ex despite the changes you've both undergone lately. It is healthy and you'll be happier in the long run!
Kudos to you, Girl.
You hit it on the head (as usual), Ed. No bent nails for you, no siree.
You guys are growing and changing separately now. This is what happens. I enjoyed your prose style and think it is worth elaborating into a short-story to be published.
Great story....
I love introspective posts like these. Well written and wonderful thoughts.
I really enjoyed this post. My situation may be a little different, but I can very much appreciate the idea of "exploring new boundaries" and rediscovering yourself. :) Here's to more wonderful discoveries and new things!!