The Bottle in the Closet
much. He had four more years with the military and was a substance abuse counselor at the Air Guard base. Yes, a substance abuse counselor.
His complexion started to take on a reddish color. Roseacea? Hives?
He began having stomach cramps. Ulcer? Spastic colon? The scotch and soda took the edge off.
His daughter graduated from high school with honors and scholarships. She would attend his alma mater.
He was so proud the day he moved her in to the dorm. Now, finally, she would soar on her own. Now, finally, at 53 some time for himself.
He dated some, nothing serious.
He traveled some and put in extra hours designing curricula for alternative school social studies. A dyslexic, he wrote a curriculum, "American History for Non Readers." the concepts were not dumbed down but the chapter readings were less cumbersome and the vocabulary was more succinct. And this one had the ins and outs of McArthur and the war in the Pacific, his specialty.
He played some golf with friends and had some scotch and sodas at the club.
His daughter got married, had a baby, and graduated from college in that order within 15 months.
He took early retirement at 57 from the school district, wanting to quit before he burned out, and he moved back to the small town where he was Golden Boy, Eagle Scout, and the Guy Who Spiked the Punch in 1955.
In hot pursuit of his youth he played golf with some old buddies, he traveled, but mostly he looked forward each day to Happy Hour at the Decoy. That's where everyone gathered, like the town square of centuries past. It was just for socialization, and if he had a few Vodka 7s, whose business was it?
He finished up at the Decoy by 7:00 each night, 8:00 at the latest. He fixed a simple dinner and a carafe of Vodka 7s and after dinner he settled into his recliner for ESPN, The Golf Channel, or an HBO movie.
He talked to his daughter for an hour every Sunday night.
Of late, he started calling her more often. There was something creepy in his house and most nights he would have trouble sleeping or would awaken, frightened. Once he saw his parents standing over his bed. He moved the family scrapbooks to the attic.
His health was worse: that pesky thyroid thing, and he was coughing up blood, more and more. The TB test came back negative. He was
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