small beginnings

The first time I drank, it was with my BFF, let's call her Kelly. I was spending the night at her house, which I often did; my mother was too uptight for us to stay there. And Kelly would often complain, “Your mom makes us clean when we stay at your house.” And it was true, she did. Especially in comparison to Kelly’s mom. Kelly was the youngest of three girls, and her mom literally would spend all weekend cleaning the house, and picking up after everyone. I remember many-a-time, I would go to clean up after myself and Kelly would say, “Just leave it, my mom will clean it up.” And it was true. I never heard her complain about it either.

Her mom, let's call her Kim, loved to drink diet coke with ice. Obsessively, she drank her stinky diet coke, with her loud ice chewing. She was not only the maid, but she also drove everyone around, everywhere, also without complaint. And on her drives, she would first have to get a fresh glass of her diet coke, with her many clinging ice cubes. So I’m not sure where, or whose idea it was, but we decided to drink one night in Junior High. I’m guessing Kelly, since I wasn’t aware of the alcohol in the house. Doesn’t really matter, her parents blame me for ruining their daughter, so no matter which way we cut it, it was my fault; all of Kelly is my fault. Even her bulimia, which came years later, which I informed her mother of, which she probably still denies to this day. Hey, I have three boys, I totally get the safety of denial. Anyway, Kelly informed me that there was rum. You see, Kelly’s mom wasn’t just the maid and the taxi driver, she was also the chef. She would make these amazing dishes, Italian, and leave them out for everyone to eat at their leisure. They didn’t have balanced meals with sit down family style, which of course, with my Type A mother, we did at my house . . . said in my mom’s bossy voice “you have to have a meat, vegetable and a starch Sara. And always serve a salad . . . no matter what, you always have a salad.” Which is hilarious, since the salads she served were basically water lettuce, I don’t think she ever met a dark green leaf in her life. My favorite was Kim’s stuffed shells. Damn they were good. And not filling at all, so you could indulge . . . which, fast forward a few years from first drink to 420, and those stuffed shells really came in handy. On top of her meals, which she stored and kept warm in the oven, were her endless desserts. There was ALWAYS a baked sweet in the microwave. Her favorite was the yellow cake with chocolate frosting, or maybe that was my favorite. Yeah, by 420 years, we were all set at Kelly’s house. Back to the first drink. So we had “mom’s” diet coke and “mom’s” rum for dessert cooking, and we had two "soon to be alcoholics" ready to take their first drink . . . and second . . . and then we were discovered in the AM, by Kim, in the bathroom, curled around the toilet. Ok, I can see now why her parents blame me. 

Fast forward about a dozen or more years and you'll see Kelly taking me to my first AA meeting. I was 28 years old, Kelly was high as a kite, claiming 2 years sobriety, and 3 months prior my mother had died from complications of a failed suicide attempt. Or maybe it was a successful attempt, just delayed 6 months. This is when alcohol truly became my best-friend. Today, when the bottles of vodka wink at me in the store, I only see an ex-boyfriend that use to rape me.

Kelly and I didn’t accidentally meet and become BFF in 5th grade, we were meant to be; to be alcoholics, separately now, but the same nonetheless. One drinking, One sober.

I hope I can help bring her to the latter someday, and I pray I remain there.