Sarah Waddell

Word Count 566

I am out of money and out of booze. I put on my favorite black dress and take myself out to the Mexican restaurant around the corner. It’s comforting just walking in the door. It smells like frying onions and cilantro and has the reassuring sound of ice in blenders. The waiters are setting the tables with white tablecloths. I sit down at one and order chicken mole and margaritas for two, inventing a dinner companion. Inventing a husband who I tell the waiter will be joining me soon. I sip my first drink, congratulating myself.

When the first drink is gone, I order another, telling the waiter that my husband, the surgeon, has had an emergency and will be unable to join me. The problem is that I left my wallet in his car, and all I have is my driver’s license. Would I be able to leave that until tomorrow? The waiter is very polite and says it won’t be a problem. After my third margarita, I notice an attractive man eating alone. I make eye contact and being flirty, make my way over to his table. The waiter puts my husband’s food in a doggie bag and brings it to me. I explain the story to the man now sitting next to me. I have a few more drinks until the waiter doesn’t want to bring anymore. I leave with the man, and we pick up a six pack and bring it back to my apartment, where I sleep with him and send him home. I am very pleased with the whole evening.

***

Three years later and seven months sober, I hope I am not going off the deep end. Then I remember I already did that.

***

Another day with no cash and no alcohol, and I don’t feel well at all. There is a pioneer grocery store about 20 blocks away in the orthodox Jewish neighborhood. I put on long sleeves and a long skirt and wrap my head in a scarf. It’s about 100 degrees outside, but I walk it. I can smell the sidewalk baking. I feel my clothes sticking to my skin. I let myself into the market, where it is blissfully cool. I begin to fill my cart with fruit and vegetables and paper towels. I linger over the meat and pick up a nice brisket. When I get to the spice aisle, I slip a large bottle of Durkee vanilla into my pocketbook. I add a few more items to my cart before abandoning it in the laundry soap aisle. I drink the vanilla on the walk home and, two hours later, do it all over again.

***

My mother says, ”You certainly are.... “

“Creative?” I ask. 

“No, not that...”

“Determined,” I add.

“No, a better word... “

“Resourceful,” I say.

“Ah yes, resourceful,” my mother says.

***

Another day that same hot summer, I simply stroll into the bodega and walk out with a six pack of Sierra Nevada. About a block away, I hear someone calling, “Lady, hey lady, you forgot to pay!” In desperation, I thrust my brand new iPhone at him. He takes it and lets me walk away with my beer. I feel pretty good until it’s all gone.

***

Once, I lived in the Dakota and dressed in Chanel. Now I live in my pajamas in my mother’s house.  

“Take a shower,” says my mother.

*

Sarah is a writer living and working in Woodstock, NY.