Page 17 of The Surprise
“Wow, honey,” the checker says. “She was in a real rush to get away from you.”
She really didn’t need to tell me that. I’d already noticed. I just wish I understoodwhy.
5
Beth
If you look at the balance sheet, it’s a complete runaway slam-dunk of a decision. We, as a country, should totally eliminate alcohol.
At every single level, drinking is bad. People become dependent on liquor easily. I did a paper on it for health class and was horrified to learn that one in eight Americans, according to theWashington Post, is an alcoholic, or deals with an alcohol use disorder.
One in eight.
It causes accidents that kill innocent people.
It destroys the human liver.
In addition to liver disease, it also causes high blood pressure, heart disease, stroke, and digestive problems. It contributes to cancer of the mouth, breast, throat, esophagus, voice box, liver, colon, and rectum. It weakens the immune system and causes cognitive and memory problems. It even harms unborn children if the mother continues to drink while pregnant, which one in eight do. That doesn’t even begin to address the mental health complications and risks, or the litany of experiences people will willingly offer up about the times it has made them do and say embarrassing or terrible things.
Plus, hangovers.
And in exchange, there’s one single reason that people keep using it, one reason that its prohibition was a miserable failure.
It makes people temporarily feel good.
Never having drunk a single drop of alcohol, I can’t really speak to that. I suppose that’s why I hate it as much as I do. When your mother has been an alcoholic from the very moment you were born, when she disappears at regular intervals because of it, when she gets checked into rehab programs that never work, I suppose it’s natural to hate it.
But I’m also curious.
I always have been. I’m equal parts scared of alcohol. . .and curious about what makes it such a compelling poison that humans simply can’t give it up, in spite of the horrifying and undeniable costs on the balance sheet. How good does it make humans feel? Why are we willing to risk all that damage just to keep it at our side?
Of course, my mom’s example has been quite effective in keeping fear at the forefront and helping me remember not to even risk trying it.
The past few weeks have been good ones, though. Mom got out of a new rehab program at the end of August. Aunt Donna came home, so we don’t have Grandpa living with us anymore. Even with a live-in nurse, it was still pretty awful to have him yelling half the day and most of the night. And Dad seems excited for some reason. I’d almost thinkhewas buying the stupid ranch and not Donna, with as happy as he seems to be lately.
Last night, he straight upgave mea hundred bucks. Not because I asked for it. Not because I said I needed lunch money. He just called me to the family room, said I ought to go shopping, and then handed me a hundred-dollar bill.
Today, when I walk into the kitchen, he’s doing the dishes.
I can’t remember the last time Dad did dishes. He usually just lets them pile up until either Mom or I swerve in our usual game of Dishes Chicken.
“You seem happy lately.”
He turns around, slinging soapy water all over the floor. Mom’s not going to love that if he doesn’t wipe it up quick. He smiles, then. Full-on smiles, not just a little grin. “Sure, I guess I am.”
“Well, that’s good,” I say. “I’m happy to see you happy.”
“Your mom’s doing great, and business is, for once, going really well.”
I shouldn’t say anything. I know that. But he seems so happy that I guess I drop my guard. “Do you think you could talk to Aunt Donna about something?”
Dad frowns. That’s the expression I’m used to seeing. “Did your grandpa do or say something? Because—”
“No,” I say. “Nothing like that. It’s just that this really nice family moved here recently, and I know their kids from school.” I’m not stupid enough to admit that I want to date one of them. “But apparently Aunt Donna wants to buy their ranch, and the thing is—”
“Are you talking about the Brooks families?”
I freeze.
