Angel in Blue Jeans

by Richard L. Coles

  “But what I didn’t know at the time was that each drink, each kick, had a downer afterward, which, after a while, left me feeling the need for yet another kick, another drink. After several months, I was in bad shape. I just couldn’t see what was happening. But thank goodness, Barb could see it, and she worked with me, bless her, and pulled me through. She told me straight what would happen if I didn’t get my act together.

  “Boy, it was hard, real hard at first. I was miserable, bitter, crabby with my family. I’d go on frantic searches around the house, to see if Barb had missed any bottles when we’d cleared the house of alcohol—but she hadn’t. Gradually, with Barb’s encouragement, I started to do things, little things that gave me some confidence back, things around the house. And things had improved so much, thank goodness, that when that meeting of Dana’s came up—you know, about this place—I was there, and could hold my head up high.”

  To Dave’s relief, Tony lifted his head and their eyes met, for a moment.

  “I—I just don’t feel good enough for anything, anybody.”

  “You know, Tony,” Dave continued, looking firmly at Tony, “this job is the best thing that could have happened to me. It has made a new man of me. It’s given me back the confidence I had lost; it’s given me a purpose. I know breaking the drinking cycle was all up to me in the end—but I could never have done it without Barb’s help. And this job, working with people, great people, has made it all worthwhile.”

  Tony shifted his position.

  “D’you have someone helping you?” Dave wondered if he would get much out of Tony at this stage.

  “Uh-huh.” A pause. “Dana and Gina.” Tony’s voice trailed off.

  “That’s good,” said Dave brightly. “How do you feel about that? What are they doing?”

  “Gina doesn’t let me do much at all, ’cept work.” Tony was rather disparaging in tone, but then he brightened. “But Dana comes when she can …”

  “Does—” Dave began, but Tony was still working through what he wanted to say.

  “… she’s got me going to this guy, a counsellor, once a week.”

  “Did you choose to go?”

  “Yeah, I guess. But Dana set it up.”

  “D’you think the counsellor is helping you?”

  “Not really. Don’t like him.”

  “Does Dana know this?”

  “No, not yet. Haven’t told her.” Tony’s head sagged. “I just feel I’m not good enough for her to be doing all this for me.”

  “If he’s not helping, p’raps you should go to someone else,” Dave mused. “Look, Tony, I’d like to help you. Would you mind if I talked with Dana and Gina, to see what we can come up with?”

  “Sure. Whatever.”

  Dave was hoping for a more positive response, but he acknowledged that it was probably the best he would get.

  - 33 -

  Dana rang the doorbell and waited. She was anxious. All that the message had said was that Gina needed help, and asked for Dana to come over as soon as possible. Dana instinctively knew why. But she could have done without this right now, right in the thick of preparing for RMC Grad. All the parade-ground practices, the drills, all the paperwork, it was never-ending—and now, this.

  She’d come home for this one Saturday in April as a last breather before the final two weeks of college life. It was four months since she had set up that first counsellor for Tony—the one that hadn’t worked out.

  But then Dave Adkins and Jane had got more involved. They’d arranged for him to go into a detox unit for a few weeks, to which he had willingly gone. That had taken some of the stress off Gina. And they’d found another counsellor, who seemed to relate better to Tony. Things seemed to be going well. Last time she had seen him, a month or so ago, Tony had seemed much better, more like his old self. But all through final exams, he was on her mind; she worried about him.

  Gina opened the door.

  “Come on in, Dan. Thanks for coming over.”

  “’T’s okay. Is he here?”

  Gina put her finger to her lips. “Shh. He’s watching TV, can’t you hear it—loud, eh? Come into my room, quick.”

  The two slid into the bedroom, and Gina gently pushed the door shut.

  “So, what happened?” asked Dana.

  “We’d been invited to this barbecue, see, ’cause the weather’s been so great all through April. One of the girls at work. She knew Tone was with me, so she invited him along, too. I didn’t see anything wrong with that; he’s been dry since Christmas—that’s over four months.”

  “That’s really good—so what then?”

  “Well, we went. There was a good crowd there already when we arrived. We got to be introduced—well Tony did, I already knew quite a lot of them. Anyway, I got talking to this couple, when I suddenly saw Tony lifting a beer bottle to his mouth. I just screamed at him. Everybody stopped and stared—I guess I really didn’t care. I just stormed over to Tone, grabbed the bottle, and threw it on the ground. That was the limit—I just grabbed his arm and dragged him away from the party. The amazing thing was, he didn’t resist, he just came along. If he’d pulled back, I couldn’t have stopped him.”

  “So what did you do then?”

  “We just came home. He didn’t say a word, just came in, sat in the chair, spent the rest of the day there. I managed to get up enough courage to phone Susan the next day to apologize and explain. She was very kind and understanding, thank goodness.”

  “He’s been going to this second counsellor, hasn’t he?”

  “Yeah, but I don’t think he likes him very much anymore—I don’t think there’s much of a rapport, now?”

  “But Tony probably doesn’t want to hear what the guy is telling him.”

  “Maybe not—but I don’t think it’s getting anywhere.”

  “How long is it since he came out of the detox unit?”

  “That was early March—about eight weeks now, I guess.”

  “But do you think he actually went for the beer?”

  “No. That’s just it, you see. Actually, Susan was apologetic when I explained about Tone—it seems her husband had just done the, like, friendly thing and tossed a beer over to Tony without waiting for Tony’s response—not that I can be sure what Tony’s answer would have been.”

  “Hmm. Seems to me the message hasn’t sunk in deep enough yet. Let’s go talk with him.”

  They left the bedroom and walked into the living room.

  “Dana’s here, Tone.”

  Tony jumped out of the chair. “Hi Dan, I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “No, you have the TV on so loud,” said Gina. “Please turn it off now.”

  “Okay.” Tony complied. He sat down again as Dana sat on the sofa, and Gina sat on the floor.

  Tony looked from one to the other, but avoided their steady gazes. “Okay, okay. I get it. You’ve come to talk about me. Right?”

  “Yes, we have, Tone,” Gina acknowledged.

  “Lookit, Tony, you’ve done pretty well these past few months, but we know, and you must know, that your problem hasn’t gone away, has it?”

  Tony looked down at the floor. “No. Look guys, I really do want to get sorted out, I really do. But it’s times like the other day—that barbecue—give a guy a break. What do you do when the host tosses you a beer? Toss it back?”

  “Yesss,” said Dana and Gina in chorus.

  “Aw, come off it. You can’t do that.”

  “You certainly can,” emphasized Dana. “That’s the whole point. You have to understand that alcohol is like a poison to you, you alone. Avoid it. Refuse it. A proper host won’t be offended. Like, there’s some people that are deathly allergic to peanuts—they just have to check and refuse, no matter what.”

  “But beer is different.”

  “Good God, man, it’s not different if it ends up killing you, is it?” Dana was raising her voice now.

  Tony remained silent, eyes downcast.

  Dana glanced at Gina.
“Look, Tony, we all want you to pull through this. Do you want to go through with it?

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Look at me, Tone. Look at me. Do you?” Dana was determined to see this one through.

  Tony raised his eyes, and for a moment they caught Dana’s. “Yes.”

  The Munro house was quiet when Dana arrived home. She was alone. Good, she thought, just what I need. She searched through her purse and found the card. Lucasz Woslewski—and there was his number. She lifted the phone, paused for a moment, and then dialled.

  “Hello, Lifeline Lodge?”

  “I’d like to speak to Lucasz Woslewski, if he’s around, please.”

  “Just a minute.”

  The minute seemed like five.

  “Hello, Lucasz Woslewski?”

  “Hello, Lucasz. This is Dana Munro.”

  “Dana, this is a surprise. How are you?”

  “I’m fine, thanks. I’m—er—calling about some help, some advice, for a friend.”

  “Now, Dana, you don’t mean—you don’t mean you? That’s the usual opener that people with a problem use.”

  Dana gave a little chuckle, realizing what she had unintentionally said.

  “No, Lucasz, that’s not what I meant—it truly is not for me. It’s—it’s for Tony, Tony Ferruccio.”

  There was a moment of silence on the phone. Then—

  “No. Not Tony?”

  “’Fraid so. He’s in a bad way. Gina, his sister, and I, and others, have worked with him for months now, and he’s been to two counsellors and a detox unit. He’s been good at times, but he can’t be relied on. He doesn’t really realize what it’ll do to him in the end.”

  “I see. But how do you think I could help? You know, when we met on that bus, you were gracious enough to accept me as I believe I am now, but I couldn’t expect Tony in his current state to understand and take advice from me, of all people.”

  “No, I realize that. What I had in mind was the counsellor you told me about—you know, the one that convinced you.”

  “Yes, Jim Broderick. Great guy.”

  “Do you know where he is now? Would it be possible for Tony to go to him?”

  “Mmmm—I’d have to do a bit of digging. I mean, when I saw him last, I wasn’t exactly what you would call high and dry, I still had a way to go along the road. But he certainly set me on the right road.

  “Tell you what, Dana, give me a few days—I’ll see if I can track him down, and see what he’s up to. With luck, he’ll be in a position where he can talk to Tony. How can I get in touch with you?”

  “Why don’t I call you next Saturday? That way you won’t have to leave any messages that might cause a puzzle.”

  “I understand—wise. Yes, leave it till after eight in the evening, the place tends to be busy around suppertime.”

  “Thanks, Lucasz.”

  “I’m only too happy to help—please understand that.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Bye then, talk to you Saturday.”

  Dana slowly put the phone down. The twists and turns of fate, she thought, how they make life so challenging.

  Dana, Gina, and Tony stood on the sidewalk outside Gina’s apartment block. Dana’s car door was open. She had just thrown her bag and the books into the backseat. She turned back to the other two.

  “So you will phone when you get a chance?” Gina had a worried look on her face.

  “Yes, but at this stage, I really don’t know what sort of a schedule I’ll be on. Don’t worry, I will keep in touch.”

  “You take care, please, Dan.” Tony had a drawn expression on his face.

  Dana smiled. “Of course, Tone. And you, too, please?”

  The past month had been hectic. Having graduated from RMC and received her commission at the beginning of May, Dana was now a Second Lieutenant in the army. She was about to depart on an extended training exercise, and would be away now for several months. No longer would she be no more than a two-hour drive from home, no longer ready to come to Gina’s aid if Tony got himself into trouble.

  But the events of the past month were encouraging. Lucasz Woslewski had indeed found his old counsellor, Jim Broderick, and Jim was available. And what’s more, he was not far away, having set up a practice in Carleton Place, half-an-hour’s drive away. Tony had been to visit Jim three times already, and was quite a different man as a result. Dana could already see cause for hope.

  She had explained to Gina, carefully, all about Woslewski, and they had agreed that Tony should not be told, at least not now. Tony had even gone so far as to join an AA group, as suggested by Broderick. Things were looking up.

  Dana reached out to Gina and they embraced. No words—they understood.

  Dana turned to Tony. They looked at one another for a moment, and then embraced.

  “Good luck, Dan, and—thanks.”

  “You take care.”

  Dana climbed into the car, and closed the door. The engine started, and she pulled away with a wave.

  - 34 -

  The lights changed to green as Tony approached the intersection. Easing the wheel over, he turned the car left onto the road home to Ottawa. The lights of the businesses and restaurants slipped by, as he noticed two police cars six-nining on the forecourt of a gas station.

  Better watch my speed, he thought, as the road ahead narrowed into the darkness of the night. There was heavy construction in the area since twinning of the highway was underway, but traffic was still using the old road.

  He had come to know this stretch of road quite well over the past few weeks as he had visited Jim Broderick. He had taken to Jim; he realized Jim understood what was going on—Tony had just not been able to see eye-to-eye with those other counsellors.

  But Dana, dear Dana, had been convinced that this one, Jim, was different, and she was right. How she knew, he couldn’t tell, and now he couldn’t really ask her easily, she was so far away. But he felt good; he felt he understood what Jim was saying. It would be hard, but he could, he would, do it.

  The lights of the oncoming traffic grew from pinpoints and flared as they passed him by. He glanced in the mirror: a set of lights not too far behind—and looked like a rig way beyond that. His eyes returned to the front. Ahead of him, lights approached the highway from a side road to the right. That’s the Ashton Road, he thought.

  Suddenly, he tensed—that vehicle did not stop as it came to the highway. It careened onto the main road heading toward him, lights glaring, brights full on.

  Tony’s pulse was racing. He gripped the wheel—the lights were coming straight at him. The idiot’s on the wrong side of the road. Closer—and closer.

  A split-second for action—Tony wrenched the wheel over, and at once felt the drag of the shoulder on the wheels. His foot went for the brake, but before he could act, he bounced upward, out of his seat. His belt pulled him down, as his head hit …

  “Hey guy, you okay?”

  “He’s out …”

  Tony could vaguely hear voices as he awoke. It was dark, but lights were flashing.

  Dazed, he looked up. Fucking hell, what’s happened, where am I?

  There was a hammering at his side; he turned, realizing he was in his car. There were men trying to open the car door. Suddenly, it swung open. Tony’s pulse shot up. “What the f—”

  “You okay, guy? Take it easy, you’re off the road. You’ve had an accident.”

  Tony felt a hand on his shoulder, and another hand took his other arm as he tried to get out. A flashlight was dancing around in front of him. Flashing lights everywhere. He straightened up as he stepped out of the car—but his legs gave way beneath him. He felt himself being borne up by strong hands.

  “Don’t worry, we’ve got you,” came the voice again.

  He felt himself being carried along, all the time aware of lights flashing around him. His head was hurting.

  “Here, we’ll set you down on this blanket. Wrap it around yourself if you start to feel chilled.”
<
br />   The voice was now in front of him. Tony looked up.

  “Hi, I’m Serge. You were very lucky to get out of that. Do you feel okay now? Does anything hurt?”

  “Er—my head’s sore,” responded Tony, unsurely, raising his hand to his head. He sensed the flashlight moving to allow Serge to check his head.

  “No blood. You probably bumped it as you went off the road, probably a slight concussion. You were out when we got to you.”

  Tony had come to his senses now, and was beginning to take in his surroundings. He was sitting on a blanket at the roadside. There were lights everywhere; vehicles were parked at the side of the road.

  There was a big rig, with all its marker lights on and a brilliant spotlight shining on the scene. Flashing lights appeared to be coming from several police cars. He could hear sirens. More flashing lights. He realized that fire-trucks were arriving. He shivered and pulled the blanket up around him.

  “What happened?” he asked, vaguely remembering the brilliant lights coming straight at him.

  “Some idiot came straight out of that side road, and lost control of his car in the turn. He must have been heading straight for you, but you managed to get off the road, out of his way. But the car behind didn’t. There was a head-on crash that took both cars off the road. Lucky the big rig behind could stop in time, too.”

  “W-was anyone hurt bad?”

  “’Fraid so, but don’t know any details. I came over to get you out.”

  “Thanks.”

  “No problem. Glad that you seem basically okay. Your car just ran off the road—I doubt it’s got any serious damage.”

  Tony groaned. “I hope not. It’s my sister’s; she’s not had it long.”

  “Well, once the police have done their checking, I guess one of the tow-trucks’ll give you a hand to get it back on the road and check it out.”

  “Yeah.”

  Another man came over to join them. “You okay?”