8.

In mid-June Shea arrived to spend her summer with me. I resolved not to drink while she was in my care; I continued with the cough syrup though. Most days, I took Shea to work with me and usually dropped her off at Kahala Mall. At thirteen, she enjoyed some independence and Kahala was a safe, familiar place near my work. She had a cell phone and I'd call her to arrange meet for lunch. Other days she would choose to stay home and play video games or watch TV.

My new job would start in July and I was wrapping things up at the school district, passing my cases along to my coworkers. It was summer and my workload was light. As much as I could, I’d cut out from work early. Shea and I spent a few happy afternoons at the beach.

I hadn’t seen Jessica since that last failed attempt at sex with her, but I’d been obsessing about her, about my impotency that night, and about winning her over. I decided to introduce Shea to Jessica and her daughters. I knew Shea would get along well with and Samantha and hoped that Jessica would warm up to me again. Jessica was polite. We all went out for dinner one night. My daughter got along well with hers. We had a pleasant evening, but Jessica was distant, quiet, restrained.

She hadn’t outright rejected me, but I decided to keep my distance again, thus allowing myself the illusion that I still had a shot with her. Besides, I had a new job to jump into, a new career that would help me to prove my worth to Jessica, and to everyone else. I also had my old standby obsession to fall back on, alcohol.

*

I began my job with Mark on July first, a Thursday. Those first two days before the Fourth of July weekend I spent organizing my new workspace and familiarizing myself with the cases that Mark was assigning to me. I came into work early and stayed late. I apologized to Shea, who stayed at home alone for those first couple of long days. She had no friends in Hawaii and I was bummed that she had to spend the whole day by herself in the house.

The Fourth of July weekend promised a chance for us to spend some quality time together. But the alcoholic obsession continued to dog me. I hid this, or tried to hide it, from Shea; she’d seen me drunk before and knew it was a problem. We’d talked about my drinking before and she’d experienced it. (The last Christmas she had visited, I was pulled over by the police with her in the car. The officers took pity on Shea, and rather than give me a sobriety test, which we all knew I’d fail, they put us in a cab and told me to come back for the car after I’d sobered up.)

We got an early start and spent much of Saturday at the beach. By around two in the afternoon we’d both had enough. Not too tired, not too sunburned, and plenty hungry, we headed to L & L Drive-Inn for a plate lunch. On the way home, we stopped at Blockbuster, for some Jackie Chan movies, and then Long’s Drug, where I found a great deal on the extra large bottles of their store brand “Tussin” cough syrup. I bought two.

At home I guzzled half a bottle of cough syrup while Shea showered the beach off her body. I took a shower myself, and when we were both ready, we settled in to watch the classic Jackie Chan movie, “Project A Part II”.

I’d been buzzing lightly all day on the DXM, but that last dose of cough syrup put me into hyperspace. By the time Jackie found himself fending off the entire Axe Gang, my mind was careening off into realms unknown. I remained aware of Shea quietly watching the movie next to me while I phased in and out of sync with a parallel universe. At a couple of points Shea made comments or asked questions about the plot line. I struggled with appropriate answers.

By the time the movie ended, I was planted firmly back in the familiar universe with my daughter, but I was still buzzing hard. By “buzzing”, I don’t simply mean “intoxicated”. The effects of DXM made me feel as though my very soul was vibrating at some frequency verging on resonance with the divine.

I was a bit unsteady on my feet as I got up to change the DVD. I loaded up City Hunter, another Hong Kong production starring our favorite comedy martial artist. I threw a bag of popcorn in the microwave and went upstairs to pee and take another swig of Tussin.

I brought sodas and popcorn back to the couch just as the movie was opening. Jackie Chan was talking to the camera as City Hunter, but the voice was someone else’s, an American accent. Shea seemed uneasy. I set the popcorn on the coffee table and asked her what was wrong. “Nothing,” she shrugged.

When I sat down she reached over and put her arms around me and gave me a kiss. Then she grabbed her popcorn and settled in to watch the movie. It crossed my mind that the kiss was a ploy to check for alcohol on my breath. I was pleased and disgusted with myself that I’d been able to fool her.

I finished the rest of the cough syrup in my car before going into Club Rock Za, the first of two, maybe three, strip clubs I hit that night; it's all very hazy and I don't think I'd remember it at all, but my memory was to be triggered months later.

Rock Za was crowded. I stood while the hostess went to get me a Corona. When she returned with the beer, I gave her two twenties and asked for a shot of tequila and the rest of my change in singles. The club has two large stages and a small one. A large breasted local girl was just climbing on to the small stage; not really my type. There were three girls on each of the other two stages. All but one of the dancers had guys sitting right in front of them, shoving dollars their way. The neglected blond was past her prime, too skinny and desperate looking.

A tiny Filipina made eye contact with me from the stage across the room. She smiled at me as she shoved her ass toward the guy she was dancing for. Then I noticed a guy getting up from his seat near me. The hard bodied Korean who’d been dancing for him slid her thong back into place and began gathering up dollar bills from around the cushion she’d been kneeling on during her “dance”. I moved into the seat just as my drink and my change came.

She smiled at me, then motioned to the hostess who’d just set down my drinks. While she traded a thick stack of singles for several twenties, I tried to see if I could find the scar from where her implants had been inserted. I could find none; still her breasts were too firm, too erect to be real. I’m not a huge fan of implants, but they seemed to complete this fantasy woman. Her completely smooth, hairless body, was evenly tanned and perfectly toned. Yet, in the minute or so it took her to make the exchange with the hostess, I noticed the beginning signs of aging. Hands of a thirty year old, maybe thirty-five; through the dim light and her makeup I could see lines around her eyes. Thirty-five maybe...it’s so hard to tell with Asian women. She was still in her prime, but I wondered if she had a plan for the future. I threw back my tequila and took a sip of beer.

Finally, with her smaller roll of larger bills firmly strapped into her garter, she turned her attention to me.

“I’m sorry, that was my last song of the set. Would you like to buy me a drink?” She was bending from her kneeling position on the stage. Her hair brushed against my face as she spoke into my ear. The combination of her perfumes, the ones she had applied and the natural scents of her body, combined with her slightly husky Korean voice and her proximity to me and caused my dick to be suddenly engorged with blood.

“I don’t buy twenty dollar juice for strippers.” I told her. Lot’s of the girls at strip clubs and hostess bars will have the men buy them drinks at inflated prices. The girl then takes a kick-back from the bar. This is a standard practice that I simply accepted. Some girls (understandably) wanted to stay sober as they plied guy after guy for expensive drinks, so they’d stick to tiny glasses of pineapple juice. I’d be damned if I’d pay twenty bucks for a glass of pineapple juice.

She put her top back on, straightened whatever other small strips of cloth she was wearing and held her hand out so I could steady her as she stepped off the stage in six inch clear platform stilettos. When she reached me at the bottom, she said, “I drink tequila.”

Jin Hee was her name and I bought her a couple of tequila’s as well as a couple more for myself. She was attentive at first, but soon seemed distracted. She told me she would be back; she had to say “hi” to one of her regular customers.

Jin Hee eventually found her way back to my table to work me for another drink. This is what she did; this is how she made her living. I knew this coming in; I wasn’t new to the scene. But, somehow it all seemed transparent to me at that moment. Jin Hee was clearly getting drunk as she took my money, but there was no way I was going home with her tonight. That fantasy would never happen. When she next rotated to her other “client”, I left the bar.

You’d think, after that brief moment of clarity, I’d have had enough of strip clubs for one night. Instead, I soon found myself a couple blocks away at the Crystal Palace where I met, for the first time, Darlene Wunderlich.

She had a light complexion with exotic features, ivory skin with dark hair and eyes that suggested an Asian background. I asked her, as I would sometimes do, to tell me about herself. Where was she from? What was her ethnicity? Was she a student? Did she have ambitions beyond gyrating for horny men?

Some girls will share some personal information, others keep things all business. Darlene turned out to be of the former type. At least on this night, she was very chatty. She seemed a bit tipsy already when I first stepped up to the stage in front of her. I learned that her family was from Idaho. Her father is German and her mother Japanese. The whole family had moved to Honolulu when she was in High School, but her parents had moved back to Boise a few years after Darlene finished her undergraduate degree.

“A college graduate! Working here? What did you study?”

It turned out that Darlene had a Masters in special education. She was a special education teacher at Kapahulu Elementary School and she worked with severely mentally and physically disabled children.

I learned all this between songs and I shared about my own experiences in the special education field. She would dance, grind, and writhe around during the songs as I stuffed dollars into her garter. Standard strip bar behavior. During the quite moments between songs we talked. When her set was over she came to my table and I bought her a twenty dollar drink. We talked about the challenges of working in the field, children with difficult behaviors, parents with difficult behaviors, limited resources and support from the school system. I told her of my plans to leave the DOE and begin working with Mark. She told me that she too was thinking about leaving.

The next morning I woke up bleary and hung over. I had blacked out the night before; I remembered starting out at Club Rock Za, but I didn't remember where I ended up. By my bed was a slip of paper that said: "Darlene Wunderlich" followed by a phone number.

At the time, I didn't remember my conversation with the gorgeous stripper/teacher. I thought, "Darlene Wunderlich, I don't even want to know a Darlene Wunderlich." I threw the paper away.

The next night, I met Jessica at her favorite pupu bar. We’d met there several times before to snack and chat. This time I ordered myself a beer and Jessica seemed to approve. We each had a couple of beers and went back to her place. With only a few beers in me, and a good DXM buzz going, I felt great...in control...powerful even. Unfortunately, when we got back to Jessica’s place, I found the combination of alcohol with DXM had destroyed my ability to get hard.

We'd continue to see each other for a while longer, but that was the last night I'd spend with Jessica.

*

My drinking increased as my DXM use decreased. I continued to drink cough syrup in the mornings; it seemed to ease my hangovers. It also reduced my tolerance to alcohol, so I would drink less most nights. I mostly drank at home, where it was safe, and watched porn.

My cough syrup habit was getting expensive and I started to really look at the labels for DXM content and compare brands by potency and price. I also looked for brands that didn’t taste so godawful as your regular Robitussin. I was getting practice managing my dosages so that I could function, yet always had a good feeling going on.

I was especially pleased with how well I was able to manage my drinking. My obsession to drink wasn’t quite so strong since I was able to manage my steady DXM buzz. I felt generally less inhibited and found myself able to flirt naturally with women in normal daily situations. When I did drink, I didn’t feel the need to drink so much.

Feeling cocky, I left work a bit early one Friday afternoon. I stopped at Longs Drug to buy some more cough syrup and I sucked down about half of the eight ounce bottle. Then I parked near the Waikiki Shell and changed into the shorts and t-shirt I kept in my car. I cruised Waikiki beach and Kalakaua Avenue, chatting up tourists and soaking in the sun.

Eventually, I met a pretty Japanese girl who spoke decent English. Yuki was taking a picture of the Duke Kahanamoku statue and I offered to take it for her so she could be in the shot. We stood there talking and smiling for a bit. Finally, inspired by the statue of the famous Olympic athlete and Waikiki beachboy, I suggested we go over to Dukes Canoe Club for a beer and a bite to eat.

From our table on the lanai, we could watch the thousands of tourists and locals on the beach and in the water. Beginning surfers flailed around the inside breaks, while those who knew what they were doing (and maybe a few that didn’t) were way outside enjoying the big waves of another summer swell. Canoes full of tourists caught waves dangerously close to the surfers and older Hawaiian men paddled around on their surfboards, standing up with paddles.

It seems that if you ask a single Japanese woman what she does for a living, she will almost always say: “Office worker”. If you ask her what she likes to do, she will say: “Shopping” Yuki was no exception. She and her friends had spent a week here in Hawaii and had spent very little time on the beach. Her paper white skin was undamaged by the sun.

It turned out that this was Yuki’s last day in Hawaii. She would be leaving early the next morning with her friends. But Yuki had visited several times before and intended to come back soon, maybe next winter. She told me that she would like to come here to go to school, but she couldn’t afford it.

“What would you study?”

“English” Her “l” contained only the slightest hint of an “r”.

“But your, English is so good. Why do you need to go to school?”

“Student visa... But school is very expensive and I have to work.”

She explained to me that many Japanese women liked to come to Hawaii, maybe meet an American man. On a student visa they can stay longer. If their family has money they can do this, but her family was not rich, so she can only afford to come for a week or two at a time.

It was a shame she had to go so soon after we just met. We’d shared a plate of seared ahi; she had a beer and I had two. The conversation wasn’t deep; it was that sort of just getting to know each other when we’re from totally different cultures sort of conversation. But there was a lot of stuff in the eyes, in the smiles. We sat close and touched innocently many times.

I wanted to spend more time with her that evening, but she said she couldn’t. She had plans to meet her friends. Maybe after? No, they needed to leave very early in the morning. We exchanged emails and parted outside her hotel.

The sun was low as I walked up Kalakaua, back towards my car. Now my senses seemed elevated. I stopped to take in the the extra-vibrant colors of the setting sun. The DXM seemed to have kicked up a notch, and so had something else. That feeling I had the other night with Jessica had returned, the feeling of power and control had returned...and so had my erection. I was looking at the sunset, thinking nothing sexual. As always there were girls in bikinis around, but I was only focused on the sky and my power. I’d been aroused earlier with Yuki, but not like this.

I stood behind a park bench to conceal my hard-on until the sun finished setting. As the sun finally vanished beneath the horizon, the blood began to leave my dick and flow normally once again. I’d had the sensation that while I watched the sunset, I was somehow fused with the universe. Fused with all creation, and infused with some sort of spiritual energy, energy that caused blood to rush into my penis. And now I felt more powerful than ever. I could have any woman on this beach. I could do anything. I could be anything, and I would. I knew at this point I was destined for greatness. So I decided to hit the strip-clubs to celebrate.

October 2004


7.

Perspiration is the bane of my existence. I am a sweaty guy. It's early, but I'm sweating like a pig. Yesterday I had sixty-one days sober (OK, I’d been drinking cough syrup for most of that time, but that doesn't get me into trouble like alcohol does). This morning I'm not feeling great, I’m still a bit drunk and I've lost my car.

Some homeless guy woke me up with his toe a few minutes ago. He told me I should get up before the police roust me. I don't remember passing out on the grass next to King Street, but the guy was right. It's a busy street; I'm lucky it wasn’t the cops that woke me up.

After getting myself oriented I begin walking. I’m nearly a mile from the last bar I remember being in last night. WHERE DID I LEAVE MY CAR? Miraculously, I still have over half a fifth of vodka in a plastic shopping bag, but I have no cash. I go to an ATM to check my balance and make a withdrawal. I'm sickened by the puny amount. The balance shows a few hundred, I should have well over a thousand. The ATM won't let me have any.

I vaguely remember leaving Club Rock Za last night after the ATM there stopped feeding me cash to feed the strippers. My shopping bag tells me I bought the vodka from Daiei, a Japanese store near the strip clubs. I take a swig from the bottle and start on foot to find my car.

I’d thought I was doing so well, putting my life back together. I had stayed for a couple of months with Matt after hitting what I thought was my absolute bottom. I'd been going to meetings, spending my days playing with my new nephew, Frankie, and helping Matt repaint his house. I just got back to Oahu a couple of days ago and now I'm in a worse bind than I’d been in when I'd left in August.

*

My life had seemed so full of promise last spring. I'd given John my notice and I was looking forward to making some real money in private practice working for Mark. I was making arrangements for Shea's summer visit. Though I'd backed off, Jessica and I continued to see each other. I knew that Shea would get along great with Jessica and her daughters.

In May and June I had more time on my hands. I was winding things down at work. Jessica less interested in spending time with me, and I was less interested in going to 12 step meetings. I began to focus my energies in other directions; I went to strip clubs. This was not a new activity for me, but one that I usually did when I was drunk (or wanting to get drunk) and lonely.

One Wednesday after work I went to Club Femme Nu; I just ordered Diet Cokes and spent about an hour (and $40) looking at the girls. Then Thursday afternoon I did the same thing, but after one Diet Coke, switched to beer. I'd been nearly 4 months without a drink, and I wanted to prove to myself that I could drink like a gentleman, so I left after just two beers. But I stopped on the way home and picked up a six-pack.

I was still using DXM constantly and was drinking one or two eight-ounce bottles of cough syrup per day. It was fortunate that I stopped drinking at the bar after just two beers because the interaction of the two substances really had a multiplying effect. Eight beers in one night would normally have been a very slow night before when I was drinking.

April 2004


6.

Jessica comes back to bed and I get up to use the bathroom and to sneak another dose of cough syrup. I return to bed, where Courtney's just looking up at the ceiling.

She looks at me and again says, "Hiii Joooe." Jessica tells her, in a mock gruff voice, to go to sleep. The three of us lie quietly for a while, with Samantha sleeping on the floor next to the bed. I'm facing Jessica whose eyes are open; Courtney’s on the other side of her mom, but I can’t see her face.

Seeing Courtney looking up at me had surely been enough to kill my hard-on, but it was already a struggle for me to keep it up. Unusual for me. Could the DXM, that I've been constantly using since my trip to the mainland, be causing this? I know I’m sweating more than I usually do (and I'm a sweaty guy). The seeping, sopping sweat is a distraction from lovemaking; so are all the brightly colored images flashing through my head.

In the dark, or whenever I close my eyes, I see bright squiggly lines and geometric shapes, like I did years ago when I used to drop acid. While I enjoy this show when I'm just lying in bed, it does seem to get in the way of my sexual pleasure. I wonder if Jessica can tell I’m high on something, but then I realize she has other things on her mind right now.

Staring at the ceiling, Jessica talks about how angry she is with all the doctors, the psychologists, and the school system. Courtney was autistic, they had told her. But now the autism diagnosis has come into question.

While I was on the mainland, Jessica had taken Courtney to a specialist. His tests confirmed that Courtney has a condition known as Rett Syndrome. Rett Syndrome is a genetic condition which is often misdiagnosed as autism; it almost exclusively affects girls. Children with Rett Syndrome develop typically for the first couple of years, then their skill development slows and eventually regresses. So, a girl with Rett may begin to walk and talk in their first year or 18 months, and then begin to lose these skills.

Many of the features of Rett Syndrome are similar to Autism (e.g. communication deficits, screaming fits, hand flapping), however, where children with Autism almost always prefer objects to people, girls with Rett, including Courtney, prefer people to objects and seem to enjoy affection.

As I try to comfort her, I think about all the dreams and aspirations I have for my own daughter; I try to imagine the despair of losing those hopes.

Jessica is a loving mother to both of her daughters. She's patient and consistent. Courtney who usually seems happy benefits from her care and attentiveness; I tell her all this. Unfortunately, I can't think of much else to say that might be reassuring. I've read up on the subject since Jessica told me that Courtney was being tested. I point out that ten-year-old Courtney has maintained many skills that other girls with her condition lose (or have never gained) by her age. Courtney is still walking and, though she has a limited vocabulary, talking. I realize that the best I can do for her is just hold her.

I think back on my trip to Minneapolis; it was fun, but Hawaii really is home for me. I miss Shea the most right after our visits, but it's consoling to be around Jessica and her daughters. Courtney and Samantha are really fun kids, even if Courtney has just interrupted our lovemaking. I’ve spent several overnights with Jessica and her girls since returning from Minneapolis and things seem to be going well. Sure, she’s made some comments that she doesn’t want to move too fast, but I know she’s the one for me. I crave her company and come over almost day after work to hang out with her and the girls. I try to be helpful by keeping them occupied while Jessica works in her room pricing jewelry for her kiosk.

Eventually Jessica interrupts the silence to tell me about a dream she'd had. "It's like you were stalking me." I wonder if she’s just a little superstitious or maybe she’s suspicious about how I’d just happened to run into her at her workplace when I first asked her out. Or, it crosses my mind, she might really be psychic.

I quietly begin to panic. She’s just ended a relationship with the father of her girls. It’s been less than two months since we started seeing each other and I'm trying to spend every moment I can with her. It occurs to me that my feelings are out of proportion with how well I know her. No, I really do love her...I think. It doesn't matter, I’m in love with the idea of her.

I try to reassure her. I apologize for pushing the relationship when she's made it clear that she wants to take it slow. I agree to give her some space.

While I lay awake, watching oceans of ever expanding purple and green checkerboards behind my eyelids, I think about my past relationships with women. Am I always the needy one? Not always...usually. I’ve pretty much stopped going to those 12 step meetings. I don’t see how they can really help me. They just make me feel guilty about drinking cough syrup. Now there’s something that seems to help. I feel more outgoing, more creative, more lucid even than I do without it. It gives me a good buzz and I stay in control.

It occurs to me that Jessica may have noticed physical or behavioral changes in me and I resolve to be careful how much DXM I take. She's never seen me drinking alcohol and doesn't really believe I have a problem. To her it's simply a matter of self-control. I think to myself that maybe if I had a few beers now and then I wouldn't have to use so much DXM and maybe some cough syrup in moderation will help me to keep my drinking in check.

5.

I landed in Minneapolis where my brother Matt met me at the airport. We decided to stop at the Dairy Queen on 50th and Portland not far from one of the houses we had lived in growing up. It was a cool sunny day in April. It was a 1950’s Dairy Queen and had seemed retro (before retro was a word in my vocabulary) back in the late seventies when we lived there. Having been closed during the summer months, we were among the first customers of the year. We sat outside, Matt eating a banana split while I had a chili-dog.

It was 25 years since we'd lived in the house on Park just a block away. I looked across the street at Know-Name Records. I wondered if they still sold vinyl in the digital age and if they still sold bongs and other paraphernalia. Matt and I talked about those old days when we lived in this south Minneapolis neighborhood. I had been in junior high school; Matt, five years younger than me, would have been in about second grade. Our youngest brother Andy is two years younger than Matt.

*

With the years between us my brothers and I had led somewhat separate lives. I was the older brother who didn't want his younger brothers tagging along anywhere. By the time I was in seventh grade, I’d already been drinking, smoking cigarettes and weed for a couple of years. We'd lived in this neighborhood for only about a year and I remembered being unhappy for the entire time. I was small for my age (something that never changed as I'm only 5'5" as an adult) and had a hard time making friends. I remembered spending hours and hours at Know Name, browsing the records and admiring the various pipes and bongs. I had older cousins who would visit, or I'd visit them. They would smoke pot with me or we'd steal liquor from an aunt. These cousins turned me on to music that wasn't playing on top forty radio and I started building my own record collection, mostly what we now call "classic rock", The Who, Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin, etc.

That was before my mom met her second husband, Ken, and we all moved down to Georgia where the new step-dad was moving his business. I didn't get along with Ken or his mother who had been living with him to help take care of his son Anthony, since his second wife (and Anthony's mom) died of cancer.

I ended up living with my dad and his new family after several drug and alcohol related incidents at Ken's home. The first of these incidents occurred shortly after my mom and Ken were married. I drank enough vodka one day after school to put me in a coma for six hours. The final straw came when one day, with the house to myself I got high on marijuana and accidentally started the living room carpet on fire. Ken told me he thought it would be better if I returned to Minneapolis to live with my dad.



*



These days I was out in Hawaii and Andy was living in Salt Lake City, while Matt was back in Minneapolis starting a family of his own. He and his wife Denise, both sober alcoholics, had a new son and a couple of dogs. Our mom, also newly sober, had moved in with them to help with the baby. My dad is has since divorced Jane and he too is now married to another sober alcoholic, Mary.

Matt's wife, Denise, loaned me her car and I made the familiar sixty mile drive down to Red Wing, the picturesque Mississippi town where my father now lives in the very house that his father grew up in. Growing up in the Twin Cities, we would drive down to visit my grandparents at least a half dozen times a year. It seemed like a much longer trip then. Listening to my sister-in-law's CDs, noticing the little changes in the scenery, and looking forward to spending time with my father and my daughter, I found myself in Hastings before I knew it.

It was in Hastings, the half-way point where we would often stop for a break from the road on my childhood trips to Red Wing, where I first started to feel the tickle in the back of my throat. I remembered a woman sitting across from me on the plane, coughing and blowing her nose. I cursed her now; I knew that in the morning my symptoms would only be worse.

I arrived in Red Wing with the usual fanfare of a Kernan homecoming. Hugs and kisses, a meal and an opportunity to relax after my trip. It had been nearly 24 hours since I got on the plane in Honolulu. It was Friday evening and Shea was due to arrive late Saturday afternoon. I didn't want to be sick for the short time I would have to spend with her, but there was nothing to do but drink fluids, get vitamin C and rest. Mary fixed some orange from a can of concentrate. My throat was really starting to hurt now and I asked her if they had any cough syrup. She said that they had a bottle prescription cough syrup with codeine. I told her no thanks. My first reaction was that I had a couple months sober and I didn't want to risk a relapse.

But the idea had been planted. I'd had the cough syrup with codeine before and I liked it a lot. I began to obsess about the warm, every thing is just fine, feeling it provided. Besides, my throat really hurt.

Before I went to bed, I checked out the medicine cabinet in the upstairs bathroom. There it was, and the bottle was full. I didn't have any thing to measure it out in, so I just took a quick little swig straight from the bottle. A peaceful, easy feeling seeped through my body. My throat only hurt a little, and I didn't care. I slept only a couple of hours before I woke up with a sore throat and a craving. By noon the next day the bottle was nearly empty and I was beginning to panic. After having turned down Mary's offer, I didn't want her or my dad to notice that I had almost finished off the cough syrup, and of course, I didn't want to stop feeling good.

I decided to buy some over the counter cough syrup. I wanted enough to refill the prescription bottle, and some to take for my cough. Maybe if I took enough over the counter stuff, it would make me feel like the codeine did. I went to a convenience store a few blocks from my dad's house and bought a couple different types of cough syrup, avoiding those with alcohol. I wanted a buzz but I didn't want to relapse. Back at the house, I downed the rest of the codeine stuff and replaced it with Robitussin, which had the same approximate color as the prescription syrup, then I took a healthy swig from the other bottle I'd just bought. I hid all the empty packaging with the newly opened bottle in my luggage and went downstairs to wait with Dad and Mary for Shea's arrival.

The week went well; Shea and I spent time in Red Wing, hiking up on the bluffs to check out the views of the town on the Mississippi and shopping at the old pottery that had been turned into a mall. We also went up to the Cities to visit Matt, DK and my mom, (Shea's Grandma Inga). We spent time at the Mall of America, riding indoor roller coasters and walking through miles and miles of retail bliss (or hell). We walked Matt's Huskies and Inga's Terrier around Lake Harriett.

All this time, I had a pleasant buzz going. I was making any excuse I could to go to by myself to a store where I would replenish my supply of cough syrup. I'd found a new drug that seemed ideal. I wasn't hung over in the morning, and though I craved it, I didn't feel the sort of physical withdrawal symptoms I associated with alcohol. So far, I was able to function around my family while it elevated my mood.

I took time to read the labels and had figured out that what was making me feel good was the Dextramethamorphin (DXM). So I began trying different brands, avoiding ones with other active ingredients and looking for ones with the highest levels of DXM and the least unpleasant taste.

If my behavior was off during that week in Minnesota, nobody mentioned it to me. If I was a bit sluggish, my family probably attributed it to my cold. There was one awkward moment though, when I told an inappropriate joke in front of my daughter. My dad acted as if he didn’t get the joke and gave me a funny look.