I was sound asleep. I kept dreaming I was hearing someone knocking at my backdoor. Actually, someone was knocking at my backdoor. I awakened abruptly as Maggie started to bark. It scared the shit out of me. My heart was racing furiously.
“Hush girl,” I said to quiet her as I got up and put on my robe and bedroom slippers.
I walked to the back door and turned on my porch light. I saw George leaning against the frame of the door. I opened it. He almost fell into the house.
“What in the hell is going on man,” I say. “It is three in the morning.”
“Something’s bad wrong with momma,” George says slurring his words. “She won’t answer the door.”
I let out a big sigh of frustration. I was sleeping so well. I didn’t need this shit tonight.
“Come on in man and sit down. You are drunk as hell,” I say as I open the door wide.
I get on the phone and call George’s mom. It rings maybe twenty times before I almost give up and then she answers.
“Mrs. Jones are you okay?”
“Sweetheart, I am fine,” She says. “What’s wrong?”
“Your son is over here drunk and said there was something wrong with you and you wouldn’t open the door.”
“I told him if he comes in one more night after midnight drunk then I am no longer going to let him in. He will just have to sleep it off in his car. I have to get some sleep.”
I get turned into an instant arbitrator. I sigh even more deeply.
“He can sleep it off over here,” I say. “You go on back to bed.”
“Honey, it ain’t my fault he showed up at your doorstep.”
“I know. You get back to sleep. He will be sobered up by morning.”
George’s mom is in her late seventies having to put up with this kind of crap. I felt sorry for her. Of course, the shit gets dumped onto me. I then walked outside with a flashlight to look George's car for any damage. I couldn’t find any. I walk back inside and George is passed out in my lazy boy recliner.
“Hey man,” I say as I shake him. “Wake up. Let’s go get you into a bed upstairs.”
George leans forward to stand and almost falls into the floor. I have to help him get up. I manage to get him up the stairs and into a bed. I turn on the central heating and air to cool things down. It is hot as hell upstairs.
“You owe me one man,” I say.
George is already passed out on top of the bed and probably won’t remember a thing in the morning.
Now, I can’t go back to sleep. I have tried several times to lie down and rest. I said to hell with it and got up and wrote this. I am going to talk to George’s mom tomorrow about getting him into a detox up in Birmingham. I will take him if he will go. That is going to be the hard part is just getting him to agree to it. If he doesn’t get a drink then his hands shake so bad he can’t even hold one of his cigars. It is really sad and makes me glad to be sober.
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