The Admission

         I drifted my 1998 Ford F-250 to a stop. Putting the truck in park, I turned off the ignition, and then turned the key back so the radio would stay on. I flipped around to a couple of stations, before I hit a country song that I liked. Southern Voice by Tim McGraw, I love that song. I reclined my chair back a little, and reached over into the passenger seat and grabbed a beer from the open twelve pack. Smooth as the hickory wind that blows from Memphis down to Apalachicola…..I rolled down both front windows and let the breeze roll through the truck. I took my baseball cap off and put it up on the dash. My brown hair was kept short. I scratched at my beard. I hated it, but it helped. It served a purpose. The beer tasted good, it always tasted good. I finished it off, and reaching through the window I tossed it into the bed of the truck with the others. I’m an alcoholic. Took me years to admit it, but I am. It may be beer tonight, or it could be whiskey tomorrow, who knows. It’s a never ending cycle that’s ruled my life for almost fifteen years.





I had pulled my truck up onto the one spot of elevation for miles around. Oklahoma’s not known much for their elevation, so this place was special. Since I was a kid we called it the “Lookout”. Nothing more than a hill really, the dirt road ran up the east side. At the top there was room for about tens cars, and an area to turn around. Yep you could sit up here and lookout over the entire town. Everton wasn’t much. Used to be back in the eighties, when the wells, went up. Now that the wells are gone, most folks left. I stayed, so did Mandy. So did a handful of the boys. Most headed off to Oklahoma City, some to Tulsa, wherever they could find work. Mandy…..what am I going to do about that girl? From up on the lookout I can see her trailer, the lights still on. Nobody knows I came back, and for the time being, I almost feel free. It’s been two years since she divorced me. It’s been four years since I’ve seen my boy, Wes.





For years the county deputies had been looking a blind eye, at my drunk driving. Hell I was the all state quarterback, brought Everton their only State trophy. I got hurt at a spring camp at Oklahoma State. My knee went the wrong direction, courtesy of one giant of a defensive tackle, and a lousy offensive guard. One hit was all it took, to knock out the dreams of Everton’s hero. But at least back in Everton I was still the “man”. Everybody loved having a drink, hearing the stories, and that’s when it started. For fourteen years, I would drink all day tell the stories, and come home blasted. I even lost the gas station that had been in my family for years. I lost it all. Rookie deputy from out of town caught me heading home, had no idea who I was, and ran me in. Can’t say I didn’t deserve it, but hell I’d never been caught. The judge who was a townie tried to take mercy on me, but I still got three years in the federal pen over in Sayre. Got divorced while I was in the joint, but I didn’t get cured. I got out nine months ago, worked some odd jobs, whatever I could find. It still isn’t enough. How is a man supposed to live if he can’t even see his boy? His own son.





The beer wasn’t doing it. During my reflection I had finished the last three beers in the twelve pack. I took a bottle of Jim Beam from the glove box, grabbed the empty box of Budweiser, and got out of the truck. I threw the box in the back with the other one. I sat the bottle down and took a leak over in a bush. “Beer’s running right through me tonight”, I grabbed the bottle of Beam and took a pull. It made my nose and eyes feel warm. I leaned up against my truck I could still hear the radio. Billy Currington, singing about God being great, beer being good, and people being crazy. ‘Sure as hell got that right, but I wouldn’t let Ol’ God off the hook so easy.’ I said to myself. I stretched my leg a little and felt the pain in my knee. I took another pull. I contemplated thinking about how my life would have turned out had it not been for that one hit. Just as soon as the thought came to me, I got rid of it. I have to stop that shit, just always gets me depressed and makes me hit the harder stuff. No need for that now.



Leaning back farther, I stretched out my full six foot two frame. I saw the thousands of stars lighting up the sky. Like a thousand candles, that’s what I used to tell Mandy. I took a small paper pad from my back pocket, got a pen from my truck, and scribbled a few things down. For as long as I can remember I’ve always been jotting things down, kind of a habit. I put the paper back in my pocket. A coyote let out a howl nearby. I howled right back. The town caught my attention. A few lights were going out. Like I said Everton wasn’t much, maybe a thousand people now. The Dairy Queen was still open, The Hog’s Ear was still jumping, my old gas station was still open, but one by one the lights in the neighborhoods were blinking off. It was almost eleven at night.





I woke with a start, the alarm was going off. I looked at my watch it was twelve thirty at night. My bottle of Beam had fallen, about half was spilt out. My head was throbbing I could really only open one eye. I must have looked like an angry pirate. I looked back at the town the best I could, it was mainly black. Everything had pretty much shut down at midnight except for the Hog’s Ear. One light was still on. I looked down at Mandy’s trailer she was definitely a creature of habit. Just after twelve thirty, I could see someone’s shadow walk across the lighted window, and turn off the lamp. The trailer went black like the rest of Everton. That was my cue. I grabbed the bottle of Beam. Taking the last drop of the bottle, I threw it into the bushes. “Good night Mandy, Good night Wes, Daddy loves you”, and just like every night for the past six months, I got back in my truck, and slowly made my way down the hill with the lights off. Once I got to the bottom of the hill I turned my cab interior light on so I could see the radio, I looked for the yellow line, and lined my truck up against it. About twenty miles away I had rented my own trailer in the little town of Grady. It wasn’t much, but it had a bed. I reached the interstate, fumbling with the radio; I pulled out onto the road. Didn’t realize I was going the wrong way. Didn’t realize I was in the wrong lane. I was just trying to find a good country song. Finally found one….Willie Nelson.



I looked up just in time to see the headlights barreling down on me. Suddenly I could hear the squealing of brakes, I could see the face of the woman driving, as she got closer and closer. I could see her screaming, and saw the way the old man in the passenger seat cringed up as she tried to swerve. Then I felt a sudden jarring impact like I had never felt before. I saw the V-8 engine of my truck smash through the passenger’s seat, and my windshield shatter into thousands upon thousands of web-like cracks. I heard the transmission seize up. A split second later, I was rammed in the face and chest by a giant air bag. The dust from the bag settles in my mouth as I try to yell. My leg cracked right above my busted knee. The V-8 engine next to me exploded through the dash sending plastic shrapnel every which way. A giant piece wedged into my gut. All of this happened in the space of less than a few seconds, but I see it in one agonizing slow moment, where time literally just stopped so I could see everything that I caused. It was almost as if God himself was saying “Mike look what you gone and did”. It happened so fast, and my reaction so delayed, I never even hit the brakes I was still riding the gas pedal to speed up on the highway. I see my buddies Chuck and Big Hank, but we look younger, out there playing football. I see my mom and dad, long dead but they are there. I see Mandy, and I know it is a mental image of the first time I ever saw her, the first time I knew what love meant. I see Wes, first as a baby then as a boy, and lastly the look on his face when I said goodbye to him four years ago. One by one images flash in front of me each one lasting just long enough for my mind to register what I was seeing, and for my heart to show some sort of emotion. It was like a rolodex of memories. Suddenly it was over, and like the crack of thunder, I’m slammed back into reality. I feel my truck actually leave the ground I feel like a stuntman in one of those police chase scenes in the movies. Finally I feel the truck spin one hundred and eighty degrees, and then the sickening screech of metal against metal engulfs all forms of sound around me. The truck slams down on to the asphalt upside down, my head bangs sharply, there is an explosion of light, and then instantly everything in my world went black.





My name is Mike Hardin, I’m thirty-six years old and I’m an alcoholic.