Upon reaching the asphalt clearing, I spotted Hawaii’s wrinkled face, sun beaten and warm. He cracked a thick smile and I gave him a huge hug.
His words slurred together like a slip of the tongue, “I thought you were mad at me because I didn’t go to church with you that morning.”
“Never. You’re one of my very best friends. You know that?”
“I know,” he smiled.
He grabbed a plastic chair for me and we began to joke around. The humidity felt like a furnace, and I leaned back into my chair, settling into the evening like a fresh steam bath. Hawaii and I talked like old friends.
A big ‘ol pot of chicken cooked on the campfire. Casserole for dinner. Everyone sat around smoking cigarettes, talking. Somehow we landed on the topic of rehab. Michael blurted out his opinion, “Nobody can make you stop drinking, but you.”
“I agree,” I acknowledged. “Rehab won’t do you any good unless you’re ready to stop. Rehab just gives you the tools when you’re ready.”
“I went to rehab once,” Hawaii confessed.
“Why did you go to rehab?”
“Because I know I’m an alcoholic. I drink.”
“So you’re admitting that?”
“Yeah.” He points down at his beer. “This has ruined my life.”
“Is that what’s holding you back?”
He got real silent.
“I’ll be honest with you… Keep Reading
