The Dinner That Changed My View Of Addiction
And my friend had no idea. Dry January Addiction Chronicles, Part 1.
My friend Mara and I were huddled over menus in an East Village Thai place barely wider than a doorway, deep in conversation about an ex of hers that pre-dated our friendship. She’d just returned from visiting him at a state-run hospital in New Jersey, where he’d been diagnosed with dementia.
“He hadn’t been washed or bathed in who knows how long,” she said, shaking her platinum locks. “He looks like he’s in his 70s, but he isn’t even 60.”
Dementia? In his 50s? My decade? Jesus.
“You want any drinks?”
The waiter had arrived and I’d barely begun processing. My life has been nothing if not a response to the fear that my brain might betray me. It’s why I’d quit alcohol decades before.
“Uhh…” I hesitated, already anticipating that moment of disappointment that crosses a waitperson’s face when you fail to pad the tab with booze. “Do you have any sparkling water?”
They had only flat, so we settled on tap and more disdain. It was better than what they’d think if I started drinking.
After we ordered Mara continued, telling me that she and her guy had split because of his mood swings. It…
