Published in Grapevine, November 2023

That morning I arose early and immediately had the obsession for a drink. I’d been consuming a quart of vodka a day for the previous year, so the slide was already greased. But I had to get to a wedding. It was also the day of my last drunk.

I knew I would never leave the house once I started drinking. Instead, I put the first drink off, knowing it was that one that got me drunk every time. After dressing, I headed out the door. I was even wearing a tie. The wedding was 15 miles away. 

Arriving at the church with time to spare, I glanced in the mirror for one last look and there on my white shirt collar was a huge drop of blood. The red dot was only the size of a pea, but to me it seemed like it could have been the size of a basketball. There was time to drive home, change the shirt and be back for the wedding.

On the way home, I passed a liquor store and a voice in my head said, “Just a small bottle of wine. That won’t hurt anything.” I purchased a large bottle, as it was cheaper, and drank it down on the trip home. After changing my shirt I was back on the road, not planning on any stops, but I’d forgotten the first drink was the one that did the job. I stopped once more, picked up bottle number two and off to the wedding I went.

After finding a parking spot at the church, I realized the wedding had already started and I was too late. So instead of going in, I went to the reception hall after picking up a third bottle along the way. I finished that bottle and realized it was too early for the reception, so off I went to the liquor store to purchase bottle number four. At the reception hall, people started filing in. I realized I was too drunk to go inside, so I went home.

The story doesn’t stop there. Once home, I undressed and flopped on the couch for a quick nap. Waking a few hours later, my mouth was dry and I didn’t feel all that great. There in the kitchen was my answer to the hangover—a bottle of vodka. After a few drinks, I headed to the VFW across the street. This was a decision I would regret for a long time.

After drinking all evening there with my brother, he finally left and I stayed around to hear a country band. Somewhere around 11:00 p.m., I got into a shoving match with a fellow much larger than me, so I pulled the gun that I always carried and threatened him and his family. Thanks to the grace of God the gun didn’t go off. I was taken outside and left unconscious in the parking lot.

The next morning my wake-up call was delivered by the local police at my door and off to jail I went. The charge was assault with a deadly weapon and false public alarm. It seems I had called 911 and reported a bomb in the VFW.

A lawyer looked over my case and said the only chance I had of not doing time was to get sober and attend AA meetings, which I did. On the day of my hearing, I had been sober and attending meetings for two months. Miraculously, the judge was in a good mood that day and the VFW dropped the gun charges. I was convicted of false public alarm and sentenced to one year, suspended with the stipulation that I remain sober and attend AA meetings. After a year, the conditional discharge removed everything from my record. Another miracle.

So you never know once you pick up the first drink where the road is going to lead. My AA road to freedom has left me with an amazingly beautiful life, as long as I remember that it all begins with not taking that first drink—no matter what!