LaRose(102)

WHEN ROMEO LEAVES the Alco parking lot, he wanders, now empty of purpose. All of his being was concentrated on this one attainment.

It is finished, he says.

He has triggered events over which he now has no control.

My work here is done.

Who to visit, what to do? Nothing appeals. And now that the adrenaline is spent, this is a low day, all energy in the air sucked away in spite of sunshine. Romeo should sleep before his shift. He only got a couple hours last night. But he can resort to several chemical enhancements to keep moving. He doesn’t feel like sleeping right now. These are hours of destiny. If he could only talk to another person! But as usual, nobody wants a visit from Romeo. His treasured captain’s chair sits empty in his gracious home—he could go there. He could arrange the window blankets, put the light on, read the tribal news or some of the literature he’s picked from the hospital trash. People toss perfectly good books away. In theory. When he opens them they’re always crap.

Where to? Where to, my man?

The AA meeting beckons. Destination? Romeo recalls that the group was maundering on about the step that includes a searching and fearless moral inventory. Romeo’s favorite. He loves to listen to his compatriots’ new inventory items every week. Romeo’s avid listening skills sustain the group narrative. His later comments provoke humor and tears. The staginess of the meetings suits him and always improves his mood. So off he goes. Catches a ride up the hill, slouches around the side of the church, down the steps, along the corridor and into a homey room with mildewed carpet. Chairs in a circle, waiting. Nobody here yet. Romeo sits down and realizes that he may not have the means to get himself into the right mood to withstand assaults of fellowship. He has some means, which he exits into the bathroom to safely take advantage of, and feels himself fortified when he returns.

Still, nobody. And a dry Mr. Coffee.

The sun leaks in and there is the smell of funeral power-cooking down the hall. Good eats later. The hard chair becomes more comfortable as the chemical fortification builds. Plus, there is gloating to accomplish. The attainment of his ends is now Romeo’s to nibble on. Thinking back, he calls up each word, each exchange, each emotion loosed in the Alco parking lot. These moments are his forever, his to taste singly. He lingers over the initial confusion, the dawning dread, the vertigo, the resolution, which will mean a big fat comeuppance at last for Landreaux. Maybe death, even, fast or slow, though unlikely. And would he want that for real? He had set things in motion. That’s all.

My work here is done.

I like that, says Romeo out loud.

He leans back with his head resting lightly in crooked arms, legs outstretched, the sad one shorter and now quiet. This is the pose of satisfaction Father Travis comes upon as he enters the meeting, and sits across from Romeo, who slumbers in that unlikely position. Eventually, the priest calls his name and wakes him up. The meeting was supposed to start ten minutes ago.

Guess it’s just us two, says Father Travis.

Hardly worth it.

Romeo is disappointed—there will be no entertainment.

On the contrary, says Father Travis. A chance for special attention to your growth in the program, Romeo.

I am supposed to be somewhere, says Romeo.

You’re supposed to be right here, says Father Travis.

They pass the page-protected ritual greetings and organizational prompts back and forth. They read the steps aloud. Father Travis says, You’re up.

I’m up?

You’re the speaker of the day.

I got nothing.

Sure you do.

Romeo wants to say the f*ck with that, but his mouth surprises him by uttering other words.

Okay. I’ll start.

His mouth, his tongue, his voice box, seem to be working separately at first. His Adam’s apple shivers, the skulls vibrate, his voice quakes. What’s going on? It is as if a different Romeo is speaking, an interior Romeo. This unknown alternate Romeo has staged a coup. This Romeo Two has infiltrated his communication infrastructure. Are the drugs betraying him? What did he take again? What shape of pill? Romeo thinks it was a big white oval but there also were some smaller yellow articles. Perhaps crisscrossing side effects. Romeo is startled to silence even as Romeo Two becomes voluble, moved to unload certain acts undertaken for certain reasons. Romeo Two’s mouth claptraps, his voice shifts gear, high and higher, until Romeo One understands in despair that Romeo Two has frog-leaped all the way to that holy step somewhere beyond three, maybe four, five, where you tell God and another human the exact nature of your wrongs. Talk about combined side effects. Where among the vertigo, gastric pain, incontinence, shortness of breath, and possible kidney failure was telling the truth? Meanwhile, Father Travis, another human, and God’s representative on earth, is caught up in the fever of Romeo’s surprise recital: I wasn’t always this scumbag a person, Father Travis. Once, I was somebody. Once, I was considered the most intelligent kid in my class. I was the treasured confidant of Landreaux Iron himself when Landreaux was a cool guy. This was before his sad-sack days. It was when he was new at boarding school. Landreaux at the time had a kinda rock-star quality, always leaning on a board. Then Landreaux tempted me to run away. A fiasco that would change my life. That would . . .

Tears, not the eye-welling teasers he used to gather the information-spilling sympathy of others, but choking, wretched, wracking. His voice scratches out. Ruin my life! Romeo tries to take control of Romeo Two, but it’s too late to stop. They merge. He keeps talking.