A Front Blows in on a Saturday Night

Here it comes. Slowly. Far off flashes of light become more defined, almost threatening, but not quite yet, a low rumbling creeps up out of nowhere, pines do away with an eerie silence, temperature drops by about five degrees. I look forward to the storm ahead of me.

I think it’s getting worse, the storm before the storm, my heart skips a beat at the loudest clap yet, my sheltering porch shakes and the rain picks up again, it’s not over yet, another round for my hungry heart, watch the lights go out in a pop, electricity takes out electricity, entertain me until early morning hours.

The first day of autumn takes the edge off. My mood is anxious and bored, monotonous and predictable, my time quickly leaks by.

October 1, 2006

Emotions take over in situations like this and guilt is beginning to take the lead at this point. I am an enabler and I hate myself for it, but you never understand the extent of severity until you witness it blatantly, face to face. I now realize how bad things have become and how self-absorbed and conveniently removed I have been. I dabble in the recesses of drug induced fun from time to time myself, but a pill here and a pill there doesn’t compare to the full-blown addiction my loved one has taken on. I accept his offer of a Vicodin or Soma, just for a nice buzz for the night while I watch him thirty minutes later nodding off on the couch. Open crackers lay dormant in his mouth with his hand still stuck in the dip attempting to eat another, but his eyes are closed and his mouth is wide open. He’s dead still and sitting up against the pillowed couch. My heart skipped a beat. I took the box of crackers from one hand, the dip from the other, and to my relief, he responded by revealing an open slit in his eyes. I helped him up, followed him into the kitchen where he drank some water, his puffy eyes still half closed. I said goodnight to him and watched him walk off into the back room and collapsed into bed. I checked on him three times that night to make sure he was still with us, and was relieved to hear him snoring the third time. I found his pills the next morning in my car, and without his knowing, I flushed them down the toilet. I will no longer be an enabler, and I won’t stand idly by as another link of my shrinking circle breaks off.


Author: Lindsay Niemann

Writer | Graphic Artist