A Case of Beer

Just now, something quite remarkable happened. After my daily workout with my friend Jose, we stopped at the gas station real quickly to get my daily bag of Doritos (what can I say, old habits die hard). As I stepped out of my car, I saw one of my neighbors leaving the gas station. He had a look on his face of utter despair. He looked at me but didn’t seem to recognize me, as there was no emotion registered in his face and he simply looked away. “Don’t you recognize me?” I called out to him in Spanish. This time around, he did--but he didn’t smile. He came up to me and got very close, to the point that I felt his breath on my face like a gust of wind. He told me that his mother had just passed away that day and that he needed a case of beer, just for today, to get through the trauma--or at least cope with it what he could.

I was immediately on two separate guards. The first was that his mother’s death resonated deeply with me, as my dear brother Dave passed away just under a year ago. The second was that I didn’t want to help him by buying him a case of beer; after all, this isn’t help at all but simply an insult to the injury. And I explained that to him. But he insisted. And he was very tenacious. The tears rolled down his eyes as he explained to me how sick with grief he was. He told me he needed the money because he’d simply forgotten his wallet at home and didn’t want to make the long trek back only to have to return again. I knew it wasn’t a money issue; he is, after all, a homeowner (and an impressive one, at that) and owns two vehicles; more importantly, he is well-respected within the community. He pleaded with me from the deepest wells of his heart.

I was here, too. When Dave died, I found solace in the bottle. I drowned my grief in beer. But with the help of God, family, friends and mostly myself, I broke out of it and made a conscious decision to stop drinking--forever. I’ve now been clean for eight months (the longest in my life by far), and I’m glad to say that I don’t even crave alcohol anymore. Alcohol is simply no longer a part of my existence. The way I see it is, I don’t know about ten years from now, but I know that I won’t have a drink today. That’s how you conquer all demons: one day at a time. This affirmation has revolutionized my life.

Finally, I succumbed to his pleas. I bought him a case of beer. I don’t feel good about this, but I don’t feel bad either. The simplest way of describing how I feel is: I understand. But I also understand another thing: I didn’t help him at all. Alcohol will never help him. The best thing that can help him is him. He needs to harness that strength within and re-establish his divinity. I gave him my number and told him to call me. The help this time around won’t be alcohol, it’ll be words of love, sympathy and compassion.

I have kept his name anonymous because I do not want to tarnish this good man’s name; and because, after all, that wasn’t him. He is a beautiful soul in a time of hardship.

I hope he gets better. I know he will. And he can count on me for anything.

Except alcohol, of course.