Relapse Christopher G. Bremicker d gotten over a huge hump in life and thought I had recovered from my nervous breakdown. I’d been sick forty years. To celebrate, I decided to have a drink—after twenty-five years of sobriety. I made this decision at night, when I got over the hump. I knew to never make big decisions at night. Wait until the clarity of morning, my brother, who was an administrator by profession, advised. I knew this but got out of bed, put on my clothes, and headed for a bar. First, I called my Alcoholics Anonymous sponsor to notify him of what I was doing. I got his voice mail, left a message, and thought he was in bed. He turned off his cell phone at night, I thought. The first order of business was to get some money. I did not have any cash on me and did not know if bars took credit cards. So, I walked to the Super America gas station a block from my apartment building and took out sixty dollars from the ATM. I did not know what a drink cost these days, it was so long since I drank. I took the bus toward downtown. I was excited and scared. I felt like I was going to basic training in the Army. I decided on Louie’s Bar, but the bus stopped at Smithy’s for another passenger and I got off. It looked like a friendly place and Louie’s was a Hell hole. I opened the door of Smithy’s and walked in. I outgrew bars at the time I quit drinking. If I did not outgrow them, I would never have quit. I used to love the places, from cement floors to chrome and glass. I expected Smithy’s to be crowded with people having fun. There were a few people in the corner, next to a pull tab booth, and the bartender was picking up salt and pepper shakers. He wore an argyle sweater tucked into old blue jeans. I took off my coat, placed it on the back of the bar seat, and sat down. I felt at home. The bar was dark and neon signs lit it. I ordered a Manhattan. I told the bartender I wanted cheap bourbon, with bitters, cherry juice, and a cherry. “What kind of vermouth do you want?” he asked. “Sweet,” I said. He looked under the bar and found a bottle of sweet vermouth. “What kind of bourbon are you using?” I asked. “Makers Mark or Jim Beam,” he said, to give me a choice.
I’
24 Summer 2018
