![\"\"](\"http:\/\/artistsofutah.org\/15Bytes\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/10\/TRAVIS-FICTION-PIC-350x467.jpg\")
READ LOCAL First represents Utah\u2019s\u00a0most comprehensive collection of poets and authors. This month we bring you\u00a0Travis Petersen, winner this year of the Utah Division of Arts and Museum’s Original Writing Competition in the category of Novel, judged by Roy Scranton.<\/p>\n
Petersen was born in Washington, D.C., and raised in St. Louis, MO. He currently lives in Salt Lake City, UT, with his wife Kim and their dog, Dotty. The Prayer of St. Francis<\/em> is his first full-length work of fiction.<\/p>\n The Prayer of St. Francis portrays ex-convict, Frankie Schumacher. Schumacher has turned his life around. Nowadays, he’s a social worker who helps other ex-cons stay clean and adjust to life. While investigating the disappearance of a former client, Schumacher becomes involved in a mystery that puts his sanity, sobriety, and life on the line.<\/p>\n Here follows Chapter 1. Petersen’s dialogue is fast, his descriptions are succinct, and this excerpt of\u00a0The Prayer of St. Francis <\/em>adds another worthy addition to the library of READ LOCAL First.\u00a0 \u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n Petersen’s dialogue is fast; his descriptions are succinct. Chapter 1 of\u00a0The Prayer of St. Francis adds another worthy addition to the library of READ LOCAL First.\u00a0 \u00a0<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1566,"featured_media":55073,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_piecal_is_event":false,"_piecal_start_date":"","_piecal_end_date":"","_piecal_is_allday":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[35,2513],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-55072","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-literary-arts","category-read-local-first"],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/artistsofutah.org\/15Bytes\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/10\/TRAVIS-FICTION-PIC.jpg","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"publishpress_future_action":{"enabled":false,"date":"2026-05-06 17:24:39","action":"change-status","newStatus":"draft","terms":[],"taxonomy":"category","extraData":[]},"publishpress_future_workflow_manual_trigger":{"enabledWorkflows":[]},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/artistsofutah.org\/15Bytes\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/55072","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/artistsofutah.org\/15Bytes\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/artistsofutah.org\/15Bytes\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/artistsofutah.org\/15Bytes\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1566"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/artistsofutah.org\/15Bytes\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=55072"}],"version-history":[{"count":8,"href":"https:\/\/artistsofutah.org\/15Bytes\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/55072\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":55088,"href":"https:\/\/artistsofutah.org\/15Bytes\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/55072\/revisions\/55088"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/artistsofutah.org\/15Bytes\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/55073"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/artistsofutah.org\/15Bytes\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=55072"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/artistsofutah.org\/15Bytes\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=55072"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/artistsofutah.org\/15Bytes\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=55072"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}The Prayer of St. Francis <\/strong><\/h2>\n
Chapter 1<\/strong><\/h4>\n
I had just gotten out of a client meeting at the Eastern Reception, Diagnostic and Correctional Center in Bonne Terre when I got the call that Rusty had relapsed. Dave, Rusty\u2019s AA sponsor, told me he hadn\u2019t seen Rusty at his home group, and that last anyone had heard from him, he was on the edge of a drink. So Dave had driven out to Rusty\u2019s old haunt, the VFW Hall in Arnold, and saw Rusty\u2019s purple Plymouth Duster parked outside. \u201cI gotta go unlock the church for the Des Peres meeting,\u201d Dave said, \u201cbut I put in a call to the Harbor House, and they\u2019ve got a bed open if we can get him in today. Can you go get him?\u201d<\/h4>\n
I was about an hour away by car, and my mind was on the client I\u2019d just met with, a guy named Paul Pruitt who was on an eight-year bid for assault. He had a parole hearing about a month out, and I was his assigned counselor for MARS, the Missouri Alliance for Reentry Services. If and when he got out, I\u2019d work with him to reintegrate into society outside the walls. Like I had with Rusty, a little more than two years before. \u201cDave, can I call you back?\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cNo problem,\u201d Dave said.<\/h4>\n
I called the boss\u2019s desk line back at the MARS office. Karen, who was working with us while she got her master of social work, answered instead. \u201cIs the man in?\u201d I asked.<\/h4>\n
\u201cHe\u2019s out in the field.\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cI\u2019ll try his cell.\u201d I hung up, found the boss\u2019s cell in my contacts, and hit the call button. He picked up after three rings.<\/h4>\n
\u201cWhat\u2019s up?\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cI got a call from Dave, Rusty\u2019s sponsor. Rusty\u2019s back out. He\u2019s at the VFW Hall in Arnold.\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cAgain?\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cAgain,\u201d I said.<\/h4>\n
The boss sighed. \u201cOkay, where you at?\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cAbout ready to leave Bonne Terre. Is it alright with you if I don\u2019t head right back to the office?\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cFine, but that Pruitt paperwork is still due tomorrow morning.\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cGot it.\u201d I called Dave back. He answered on the second ring.<\/h4>\n
\u201cYeah.\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cOkay, I\u2019ll head to get Rusty.\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cCool. Thanks, man, you\u2019re a lifesaver.\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cAin\u2019t nobody saved yet.\u201d I put my phone in my pocket, got into the maroon Nissan Sentra that had seen about as many scrapes as I had, tossed my bag full of paperwork on the passenger seat, and headed north.<\/h4>\n
<\/h4>\n
I tried Rusty\u2019s cell twice on the way\u2014both times it went straight to voicemail. I didn\u2019t bother leaving a message. When I got to the VFW Hall in Arnold, I parked at the far end of the lot, getting out of my car and lighting a cigarette. I stared at the sign out front of the old metal shack as I sucked down smoke.<\/h4>\n
VETERANS OF FOREIGN WARS
\nJefferson County MO Post
\nThursdays all u can eat steak dinner $4.99
\n$2 Budlight $1 well drinks Always<\/h4>\nAs I finished my cigarette, I got up the nerve to deal with a chronic alcoholic deep in his cups. Putting on my game face with a shake of my shoulders, I ditched the cigarette to the asphalt and made my way across the lot, up a few steps, to the front door. It was locked. Through a sliver of window, I saw the dim light of the bar, intermittent flickering of a TV set through a haze of cigarette smoke. I knocked on the glass. After a few moments, a Hispanic guy in baggy jeans, white T-shirt three sizes too big, and bright red flat-brimmed Cardinals cap opened the door and held it that way, staring me down.<\/h4>\n
\u201cCan I help you?\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cJust meeting a friend here,\u201d I said.<\/h4>\n
\u201cYou got your card?\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cMy ID?\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cYour membership card.\u201d<\/h4>\n
I shook my head.<\/h4>\n
\u201cHeroes only, homey, unless a member signs you in.\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cMy friend will sign me in. Rusty.\u201d<\/h4>\n
He chuckled a little bit and looked back toward the bar. \u201cYo Rust! You got a friend coming?\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cI ain\u2019t got no friends,\u201d I heard Rusty slur.<\/h4>\n
\u201cSorry homey,\u201d the Hispanic guy said, and stepped back, letting the door shut in my face. I thought better of knocking again, hopped down the steps, and lit another cigarette, getting out my phone. Doug was a vet\u2014he talked often about his time in Vietnam, a bottle of Jack cradled between his knees as he piloted a slick over the jungle. I found him in my contacts and tapped his name. He answered on the third ring.<\/h4>\n
\u201cHello?\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cDoug, it\u2019s Frankie.\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cOh shit. How you livin\u2019, man?\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cI\u2019m good. One of our friends is not so good.\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cWhat\u2019s up?\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cYou got a VFW membership?\u201d<\/h4>\n
He laughed. \u201cYeah.\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cI\u2019m down at the post in Arnold. Rusty\u2019s inside, but they won\u2019t let me in to talk to him. Members only, I guess.\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cShit. Let me talk to Renee, see if she\u2019ll watch the grandkid.\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cCool.\u201d<\/h4>\n
I posted up with my cigarette by Rusty\u2019s purple Duster, a car that was older than me and in better condition than he. I lit another from the butt of the first and Doug called back. \u201cI\u2019ll be there in like half an hour.\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cCool. Thanks, man.\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cYou got it.\u201d<\/h4>\n
My mind went a mile a minute so I decided to keep it occupied, calling Dave to give him an update. He answered on the second ring. \u201cHello?\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cYeah, I\u2019m down at the VFW Hall. It\u2019s not open to the public but Doug\u2019s coming down to go in there.\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cAwesome. I owe you guys big time.\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cYou don\u2019t owe us shit,\u201d I said. \u201cThanks for letting me know about Rusty.\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cYeah, no problem.\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cWho\u2019d you talk to at the Harbor House?\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cDebbie.\u201d<\/h4>\n
Of course it had to be Debbie. \u201cShe says they got a bed?\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cYeah, but she can\u2019t guarantee it\u2019ll be open in the morning.\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cAnd when\u2019s the last intake?\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cAfter dinner. I think by seven.\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cAll right. We\u2019ll be cutting it close.\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cWhen I get out of work I\u2019ll head up to the Harbor House.\u201d<\/h4>\n
I took a drag and kept my eye on the door, even though I was leaning on Rusty\u2019s car and it was unlikely he was going to get by me. \u201cHow\u2019s Alison taking this? I know she and Rusty are close too.\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cShe\u2019s beside herself,\u201d Dave said. \u201cFeels like she should have done something.\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cThere\u2019s nothing we can do to stop someone from getting drunk if he\u2019s dead set on it.\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cI know. She knows. I mean, we know it, you know? But it\u2019s hard to feel that way when it happens.\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cYeah,\u201d I said. \u201cWell I\u2019ll let you get back to work. Maybe I\u2019ll try Debbie.\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cAll right. Thanks again.\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cThank you,\u201d I said, and hung up with him. I checked the time. Still a good twenty-five minutes before I could expect Doug\u2014more like forty-five if he was operating on Doug time. I cycled through my phone and found Debbie\u2019s cell number.<\/h4>\n
\u201cFrancis,\u201d she answered on the second ring.<\/h4>\n
\u201cHey.\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cThis better not be a social call, as I am at work.\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cNo, it\u2019s not. Though I am interested in how you\u2019re doing.\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cI\u2019m doing fine, Francis. Is this about Rusty?\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cYeah. Waiting at the VFW in Arnold for him to come out. It could be a while. Think there\u2019s any way we can get the admit time pushed back, just in case?\u201d<\/h4>\n
She sighed. \u201cWant me to bend the rules for you, huh?\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cNot for me,\u201d I said. \u201cFor Rusty. For Dave. For Alison.\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cYou know I will, butthead.\u201d She laughed. \u201cI always do. I just like making you sweat and grovel.\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cI deserve it.\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cOf course you do.\u201d<\/h4>\n
My heart skipped a beat. I couldn\u2019t help it. \u201cWill you be there when we bring him in?\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cMiss me?\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cOf course I do.\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cWell then I\u2019ll be sure to make LaDarius come do the intake.\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re breaking my heart as always.\u201d<\/h4>\n
She laughed again. \u201cJust collect your buddy.\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cGiven how long he\u2019s been in there taking the edge off, he\u2019s probably a pile of pudding by now.\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cHope you brought a big spoon.\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cI\u2019ll see you later.\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cIf you\u2019re lucky.\u201d<\/h4>\n
I put my phone back in my pocket and lit another cigarette. The sun was slowly going down toward the horizon, casting the tin roof of the VFW in shades of purple. I paced, waited, paced, waited, and paced again. After about half an hour, Doug came rumbling into the lot on his bike. I gave him a wave and he saw me, steering around and backing his bike into the empty space next to Rusty\u2019s Duster, taking off his helmet and shaking his long greasy hair free.<\/h4>\n
\u201cYou talk to him at all?\u201d Doug said as he dismounted his bike like a movie cowboy.<\/h4>\n
\u201cHe wouldn\u2019t sign me in,\u201d I said.<\/h4>\n
\u201cWell I guess I have to go have a talk with him myself, then,\u201d he said. Just about anyone would listen to a talking-to from Doug more than one from me\u2014he was a head taller, twice as wide, mostly muscle. His boots crunched the gravel as he ambled his way toward the door. I watched him knock and flash his membership card. The Hispanic guy gave me a dirty look as Doug pushed past him and through the door.<\/h4>\n
All I could do was wait. I thought about lighting another cigarette but my throat and lungs felt wrecked. I needed to find another way to kill three minutes.<\/h4>\n
I killed nine with three more cigarettes, and then Doug came out with Rusty dangling off his shoulder, feet barely touching the ground as he walked. When they got halfway across the lot, Rusty did a cartoonish double take toward me. \u201cFrankie!\u201d he said, then stumbled over to give me a hug that almost knocked me down. I patted him on the back, stood him upright as best I could, then backed off, the smell of his breath and the booze leaking from his pores enough to keep me sober another day. \u201cShoulda come in, I\u2019da bought you a drink or three . . .\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cYou wouldn\u2019t sign me in.\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cOh that was you? Oh shit.\u201d He shook his head. \u201cI\u2019m sorry man.\u201d He had the grave melodramatic seriousness only a guy crawling around the bottom of a bottle can manage. A bad actor trying poorly to emote.<\/h4>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s okay,\u201d I said. \u201cWe\u2019re going to go get you detoxed.\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cWhat the hell for?\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cFor a while,\u201d I said, and patted him on the back. \u201cCome on.\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cYou may wanna pull your car around for him,\u201d Doug said.<\/h4>\n
\u201cYeah, you\u2019re probably right.\u201d<\/h4>\n
Doug held Rusty vertical as I trotted over to the Nissan, got in, started it up, and pulled it around. Doug opened the back seat on the passenger side and poured Rusty in. Rusty tucked his legs in, and Doug closed the door behind him. I rolled down the passenger window hoping not to choke on Rusty\u2019s stink. Doug came around to my side of the car. \u201cYou want I should follow you up there, help you get him in?\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cNah, I should be good. Thanks, though.\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cNo problem, man. Keep me posted?\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cWill do.\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cCool, brother.\u201d Doug knocked on the roof of the car, then walked back over to his bike, gearing back up. I turned toward the back seat and Rusty sat up. He saw himself in the rearview mirror and put a hand to his cockeyed salt-and-pepper pompadour.<\/h4>\n
\u201cShit, I look like shit.\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cAnd you smell like shit.\u201d<\/h4>\n
Rusty looked down, shaking his head. \u201cI\u2019m sorry, man. I let you all down.\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re still alive,\u201d I said. \u201cNext time you might not be so lucky.\u201d<\/h4>\n
He sighed. \u201cI guess I should do this shit for real, huh?\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cDepends. You wanna live? Cause if you don\u2019t wanna live, I\u2019ll just drop you back off at the door over there.\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cI wanna live.\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cGood. I want you to.\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cThanks, man.\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cWe\u2019re gonna meet Dave at the Harbor House.\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t think I can face him,\u201d Rusty said.<\/h4>\n
\u201cHe called about the spot to get you in.\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cI can\u2019t look him in the eye.\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cSure you can,\u201d I said. \u201cNow buckle up. And don\u2019t puke in my car.\u201d<\/h4>\n
<\/h4>\n
The Harbor House was a treatment facility in South St. Louis near the border with St. Louis County. From its front door, you could walk a block in any direction and find just about any kind of trouble you wanted\u2014abandoned brownstones doubling as trap houses and shooting galleries, ladies of the evening washing between their legs between dumpsters, a bar that offered a \u201crelapse special\u201d: a free drink for your twenty-four-hour coin. If you could get clean at the Harbor House, amidst all that temptation, you might actually stay that way.<\/h4>\n
Dave was waiting out front of the treatment center when we pulled up. He opened the back door on the passenger side of my car and leaned down to help Rusty get out. I killed the engine, got out, and walked around the front of the car. Rusty wouldn\u2019t look Dave in the face, instead staring sullenly at the sidewalk.<\/h4>\n
\u201cC\u2019mon, Rusty,\u201d I said. \u201cWe\u2019re here.\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cI\u2019m sorry alright!\u201d he yelled loudly and suddenly toward the sky. Whenever I\u2019d throw a tantrum as a kid my dad would call me Dirk Drama. I wanted to call Rusty the same, but knew he\u2019d have no idea what I was talking about. So I just helped Rusty through the doors of the Harbor House. Dave followed us in. To the left of us, the cafeteria was empty but for a couple people cleaning up. To the right, the meeting room was completely empty. Since the inpatient program was on the second floor and there was no way Rusty could handle stairs at the moment, I waddled him to the elevator. He had to stop and brace himself against the wall.<\/h4>\n
I pressed the UP button. Dave came up behind us, putting his arm around Rusty and holding him upright. Rusty turned to face him and they locked eyes. Rusty closed his hard and they welled up with tears.<\/h4>\n
\u201cI\u2019m sorry,\u201d he said, much quieter this time, and it sounded like he meant it.<\/h4>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s okay, man, it\u2019s okay,\u201d Dave said, pulling him into a hug. They rocked there for a bit like a father comforting a sobbing child, even though Rusty was a head taller and a little older than Dave, the ex-con combat veteran turning small in the arms of the doughy West County businessman. The bell dinged, the elevator door opened, and I patted Rusty on the back.<\/h4>\n
\u201cLet\u2019s go, Rust.\u201d<\/h4>\n
We three stepped into the elevator. I pressed the button for the second floor and we rode up in silence. The doors opened and we stepped out into the middle of the inpatient common room. To our right, the offices of the counselors and social workers and beyond that the women\u2019s residential wing. To our left, the men\u2019s residential wing. There in the common room, two shaky guys and one pretty young girl lounged in old beat-up chairs staring at the local news. The guys were off their detox meds, shaky live wires. The girl was obviously still doped up, nearly catatonic.<\/h4>\n
\u201cRusty,\u201d Debbie said, coming out of the office. She was wearing her hair down, I noticed, dirty blonde and straight just past her shoulders. That wasn\u2019t usual for work. I wondered if it was for me and tried not to get my hopes up. She smiled her adorably imperfect smile and put her hand on Rusty\u2019s shoulder. \u201cLet\u2019s go get sat down and do your paperwork.\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cThis is embarrassing,\u201d he said, shaking his head. \u201cI\u2019m sorry, Debbie.\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cHey, you made it back, right?\u201d she said. \u201cBut if you don\u2019t get your head out of your ass, I\u2019m gonna kick you in both.\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cOkay,\u201d he said, head down like a sad puppy as she led him into the office. He sat down, and Debbie stood in the doorway, facing Dave and me.<\/h4>\n
\u201cYou need anything from us?\u201d I asked.<\/h4>\n
\u201cStill got his VA stuff in the computer,\u201d Debbie said. \u201cIf you guys wanna wait downstairs, I\u2019ll come chat with you once we\u2019ve got him in detox.\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cThanks, Debbie,\u201d Dave said. She gave us a smile and a nod, then closed the office door and sat down at her desk across from Rusty. Dave and I took the stairs down and went out the front door. Standing on the sidewalk, I lit a cigarette. Dave leaned against the old brick wall. He looked down and shook his head.<\/h4>\n
\u201cWhat\u2019s wrong?\u201d I asked.<\/h4>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t think I can sponsor him anymore,\u201d Dave said.<\/h4>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s fair,\u201d I said. \u201cI can do it, if he\u2019ll have me.\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cI thought you couldn\u2019t sponsor him?\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cHe\u2019s done with MARS and off parole, so I\u2019m not his caseworker anymore. I can sponsor him now.\u201d<\/h4>\n
Dave nodded.<\/h4>\n
\u201cBesides,\u201d I said. \u201cI\u2019m used to sponsees going out and drinking.\u201d<\/h4>\n
He shook his head. \u201cMe too . . . something different about this though.\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cWhat\u2019s different?\u201d<\/h4>\n
He sighed. \u201cI don\u2019t know, it just is.\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cHe\u2019s a drunk. Drunks drink, unless they\u2019re working a program. It\u2019s as simple as that.\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cI know. I just feel responsible.\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s making it about you,\u201d I said. \u201cHe chose to drink.\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cThanks, man,\u201d Dave said, and pulled me into a hug. I patted him on the back. \u201cWe know he\u2019s safe tonight, right?\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cRight.\u201d<\/h4>\n
The front doors swung open and LaDarius, one of the other counselors, stepped out lighting a cigarette. He was tall, black, built like a linebacker, and dressed fresh in a red T-shirt that matched his Jordans, jeans cuffed and creased. \u201cSo Rusty\u2019s back for another try?\u201d he said, exhaling smoke.<\/h4>\n
\u201cYeah,\u201d I said.<\/h4>\n
\u201cHope it takes this time.\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cYup.\u201d<\/h4>\n
LaDarius posted up against the wall, took a drag, then looked at me and laughed, shaking his head. \u201cI shoulda knew you were coming.\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cWhy is that?\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cBecause Debbie put makeup on mid-shift.\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cOh really?\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cHow do you know it wasn\u2019t for me?\u201d Dave joked and we all laughed.<\/h4>\n
I took a drag. \u201cSo does that mean she\u2019s not seeing that one dude, what\u2019s-his-name, anymore?\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cDon\u2019t play like you don\u2019t know his name,\u201d LaDarius said. \u201cJust \u2019cause you don\u2019t like the motherfucker don\u2019t mean you can play like you don\u2019t know his name.\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cOkay. Doctor<\/em> Jeff, who is qualified, as a doctor<\/em>, to speak about certain issues many of you other<\/em> people in the program<\/em> might not understand<\/em>.\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s the one,\u201d LaDarius said. \u201cYou for real didn\u2019t know she stopped seeing him?\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cWell I don\u2019t go to meetings where she goes, since she asked me not to,\u201d I said.<\/h4>\n
\u201cAnd you never run into anyone who does go to meetings where she goes and maybe check up on her a little bit?\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cMaybe a little bit.\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cI know that\u2019s right.\u201d LaDarius laughed and shook his head. He took a final drag, put his cigarette out in the ashtray by the door. \u201cOnce I clock back in Debbie\u2019ll be down.\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cGood seeing you, man,\u201d I said.<\/h4>\n
\u201cGood seeing you,\u201d Dave said. LaDarius dapped me up, shook Dave\u2019s hand, then headed inside.<\/h4>\n
Dave and I waited in silence\u2014there wasn\u2019t much for us to say to one another at this point. I lit another cigarette from the butt of the one I was smoking. When I was about halfway through it, Debbie came out and put one of her own between her lips. I lit it for her, she nodded thanks, and leaned up against the wall, pulling her baggy blue and pink cardigan\u2014which matched both her jeans and her pink Chuck Taylors\u2014closed over the tank top she had on underneath, shivering a little bit with the early fall chill.<\/h4>\n
\u201cSo everything all set?\u201d Dave asked.<\/h4>\n
\u201cYeah,\u201d Debbie said. \u201cHis VA benefits should cover him for another twenty-eight days.\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cThanks so much for getting him in,\u201d Dave said.<\/h4>\n
\u201cI hope he wants it more this time,\u201d Debbie said. \u201cHe sounded remorseful, but we all do when we come in, you know?\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cI hope so too,\u201d Dave said. His phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out and looked at it. \u201cI\u2019ve gotta take this. Alison.\u201d He answered walking away from us, leaving Debbie and me standing there smoking.<\/h4>\n
\u201cSo what about you, how are you doing?\u201d Debbie sized me up with a hint of a sly grin.<\/h4>\n
\u201cI\u2019m good,\u201d I said. \u201cYou?\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cI\u2019ve had better months,\u201d Debbie said. \u201cJeff and I broke up.\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cI\u2019m sorry to hear that.\u201d<\/h4>\n
She smirked. \u201cNo you\u2019re not.\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cWell I can\u2019t help but think you deserve better.\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t know, a handsome sober doctor is pretty good.\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cHandsome? Really?\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cHe has a very nice jawline.\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cWay to hit below the belt,\u201d I said.<\/h4>\n
\u201cOh quit being a baby, you do not have a weak chin,\u201d she said, laughing.<\/h4>\n
\u201cAnd you have the perfect smile.\u201d<\/h4>\n
She rolled her eyes as she said, \u201cYou\u2019re full of it.\u201d But she was blushing a little too.<\/h4>\n
\u201cSo what time do you get off tonight?\u201d<\/h4>\n
She looked over at Dave, still on the phone with his wife, out of earshot, then turned back to me. \u201cFor your sake, I hope it\u2019s before you do.\u201d She put her cigarette out in the ashtray by the door. \u201cTell Dave not to worry, we\u2019ve got it all covered. And go wait at my place. I know you still have a key.\u201d She opened the door and gave me a quick look that would have given the Dalai Lama a wet dream, before heading in and closing the door behind her.<\/h4>\n
\u201cEverything okay?\u201d Dave said, putting his phone back in his pocket as he came back over toward me. \u201cI was just keeping Alison in the loop.\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cThey\u2019ve got it covered,\u201d I said.<\/h4>\n
\u201cAnd what might you be grinning about?\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cIs it that obvious?\u201d<\/h4>\n
He laughed. \u201cYeah it is. Go with God. Godspeed. Don\u2019t do anything I wouldn\u2019t do. All that jazz.\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cRight,\u201d I said. \u201cIf I hear anything more, I\u2019ll keep you updated. About Rusty.\u201d<\/h4>\n
\u201cSomething tells me if I need to get ahold of Debbie about anything, I know who to call.\u201d He patted me on the shoulder, then walked over and got in his car, pulling away from the curb and doing a U-turn to head north on Broadway. I got in my car and thought about how what I was about to do was probably a terrible idea, that it was going to rekindle a bunch of old feelings, that it wasn\u2019t going to end up the way I wanted it to, and that I\u2019d be better off just going home, taking a cold shower, saying a prayer, and hopping into bed. Alone.<\/h4>\n
But she was right. I still had a key.<\/strong><\/h4>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"