The Forest for the Trees

Ya know, I had it all figured out. I knew where my life was, and where it was going, and who all of the important players were. I was good with it, and everything was fine. And then Jamie showed up at my fucking house. And now I don't know what the hell I'm supposed to do with that shit she laid on me that night. It was only a couple of days ago, but that bitch got up in my head and now I can't let it go.

I tried to call Maria about thirty five times, but her phone is either off, or she just doesn't feel like answering. I've left voicemails and I've sent text messages, only to be completely ignored. I don't know . . . at first, I was angry. And then I was hurt. And then I felt really, really alone. I have the doctor and my sponsor and the staff at the rehab center. If I wanna talk about art or movies or whatever, I can call up some acquaintances from my NA group, but I only have one best friend. One place to go when I need real girl advice. Not having that refuge sucks.

So I took three vacation days and I flew to fucking Iowa. Because that's where John told me that they were gonna be. Because he actually answers his phone still. When I got here, he told me that Maria was working out in the hotel gym, and as far as he knew, she was alone. So that's where I'm headed, because I need her to be alone. I need her to be my best friend again.

"Hey," I greet her when I find that she is, indeed, alone in the large room. Alone on the floor, in front of the mirror, stretching her legs.

She looks over her shoulder and barely acknowledges me. "You come to spot me?" she asks as she leans forward to rest her chin on the floor before her.

Is it just me or is it really fucking frigid in this room? Did I do something to her that I'm not aware of? Did Jamie say something? Did Randy? "No," I offer her a weak smile when she only glances at my reflection in the mirror. "I, um, actually came to talk to you."

Sitting, she stretches her arms above her head and arches one eyebrow. "What about?"

I take that question as the only invitation I'm going to get, and take a step forward. Lowering myself to the bench press behind her, I lean forward and clench my hands in front of me nervously. "Um, Jamie came to see me the other day. At my house." Maria rolls her eyes, and for some reason, it makes me feel a little bit better. Like maybe she hasn't ditched me for a new BFF or something. "Yeah, she seems to think that you're trying to push me and Randy back together again."

Maria glides easily to her feet and bends to the side at her waist, seemingly all in one graceful motion while shaking her head. "If Jamie's losin' her grip on Randy, it's not my fault," she dismisses the topic easily.

Now I know something is wrong. Maria's not dismissive and distant and uncaring. Not normally. Not ever. In all the time I've known her, she's never been anything short of compassionate and warm. This cool demeanor is weird, and off-setting, and downright disturbing. "Yeah, well, whatever the reason she thinks it, I just wanted to let you know. . ." I stop short, because I'm not really sure what I wanted to let her know. That I'm in love with Randy still? That I'm not? That I want things to be like they were? That I want her help? What the hell do I want?

Before I can figure it out, Maria drops her hands to her sides, shakes them out, and then rests them on her hips. "Is there a reason you didn't tell me that John came to see you?" she demands, her wide eyes narrowed angrily.

Though I know it shouldn't, her question sends a flood of relief washing through my chest. She's not mad at me because of Randy and Jamie. She's mad at me because of John. I know, I probably shouldn't be happy about that. But that's a situation I can handle.

Sighing heavily, I stand from my seat. "Technically, he came to see the doctor," I start, but she's obviously more upset about it than she should be. "Come on, 'Ria," I smile, hoping that she'll see that my hands are tied. "You know that kinda stuff's confidential information. I can't disclose the identity of any patient, whether they're admitted or just evaluated."

Apparently, rules mean nothing to her, though, because she throws her thin arms out to her sides and looks at me as though I've just told her it's okay to offer babies as human sacrifices. "I am your best friend," she shrieks. "He is my husband!" Her hand pulls through her hair angrily and she looks at me once again. No, it's not a look, it's a glare. A death glare. "The least you could have done was fill me in. You know, better than anybody, how hard this whole thing can be on the entire family."

Ouch. This isn't the first time that somebody's thrown my past into my face in a 'you should know better' capacity. But it's the first time my best friend has. And as much as it hurts, it angers me. Maria's never been anything but sympathetic and supportive of me. Never, in all of the time I have struggled with sobriety, has she ever seemed remotely judgemental. I guess she was just harboring it for the moment when it would sting the most. "Gee, I don't know," I fire back sarcastically. Sarcasm is my only weapon in some instances. Or, at the very least, my most comfortable weapon. "You're so rational lately. I'm sure you would have handled the news just fine."

"No! You do not get to pin this on me!" I don't know if it's all the practice she's had with John lately, but this Maria isn't just firey. She's firing, at anyone who might be standing in her path. Yeah, I picked a great day to visit. "Your pent up, festering feelings for Randy do not take precedence over my crumbling marriage!"

What? I've seen a lot of addicts spew a lot of shit that doesn't make sense, but how in the hell did she twist what I said to mean that I think my issues with Randy are more important than her issues with John? I mean, until that dinner, I didn't even know she had issues with John. A few snide comments here and there in texts and during phone calls do not constitute sharing a problem with your best friend, as far as I'm concerned.

And ya know what the kicker is? I know Maria well enough to know exactly what she's doing. I know that she blames everyone within blaming distance when shit starts to go south in her own life. And I know that she will try everything to fix the problem, as long as it doesn't involve changing herself. It's not her best quality, but none of us are full of perfection and popsicles now, are we?

"Ya know what?" Shaking my head, I rest my own hands on my hips. "Maybe you should start worrying about how to fix that crumbling marriage a little more than you care about fixing those of us who are not even fucking broken!" I didn't say that understanding her was going to make me any nicer. She's yelling at me - what would you do?

"Oh, so now you've got it all fucking figure out, right?" Maria fires back, red tinges of blushing anger creeping into her otherwise flawless, olive complexion. "You get to preach at those of us who aren't so lucky?" Crossing her arms over her chest, she studies me for a second and then says, "My best friend didn't used to be so fucking judgmental."

I'm judgemental? Me? Because I told her that she could only fix her own problems? Isn't that what she told me all the fucking time while I was in recovery? And I'm the fucked up one? "Yeah, well mine didn't used to be so crazy psychotic," I shout back, suddenly too angry to look at her. For the first time in more than a year, I have needed my best friend more than anything in the world. And she's not here.

I spin on my heel, dramatically headed toward the door for my exit when she calls, "Don't you walk away from me, Tatum!"

"Talk to your husband, Maria," I call over my shoulder as I push the gym door open. "Fix your own shit, then we'll talk!"