Something About Recovery

At the bar I used to frequent, I pull up

a stool and the barkeep comes over to

me, “The usual, Chris,” she asks? I nod

my head, and she pours a double vodka

on the rocks. When I’m nearly finished,

I needn’t ask for another, she is there

with the bottle and fills my glass.

The night continues on that way until I pull

money from my wallet. The barkeep knows

when I’m done. “Good night, Chris!” she

smiles as I tip her handsomely. And I will

return and repeat the same three or four

nights every week.

On the nights when I don’t go to the bar,

I stop by the local liquor store on my way

home from work. I walk up to the counter

and the owner asks, “Good evening, Mr.

Hanch, the usual?” I nod my head. He

reaches to the shelf behind him and pulls

down a pint of vodka. “Thanks, Hank,” I say.

“See you in a couple of days.”

When you’re divorced and live alone as I

did, it helps to have a routine to rely upon,

to keep a semblance of sanity. The ego is a

fragile and desirous thing needing to be re-

cognized with measured frequency. I guess

one craves some sort of noteriety even if

only in the neighborhood in which one lives.

After years of the same, I found it necessary

to quit drinking and move about from place

to place. I am no longer recognized anywhere.

A recovering and sober ego is a terribly lonely

thing. For what it’s worth, you’re alive, home

bound, nowhere to go, and growing old. The days

go by, and sometimes it seems nobody knows.

-30-

Chris Hanch 3-5-2020