1
“Thank you so much for meeting me this morning, Karen,” the eager young man sitting across from me said as I sipped my morning coffee. I gave him a lazy smile, not out of rudeness, yet sheer tiredness. The baby had me up all night and I was exhausted. I don’t know what I was thinking when I agreed to a seven a.m. meeting. “So, again, thank you for meeting me,” he said as he fidgeted in his seat.
He was starting to annoy me, but I knew I had to be patient with him because Ethan used to be a patient here. After he was discharged, he started taking some classes at a local college. When he e-mailed me to say that he had to do an interview for his Journalism class and wanted to interview me, I was honored and couldn’t say no. But my lack of sleep last night is killing me right now and I’m struggling to keep my eyes open. I’m hoping this is short and sweet.
“No problem, Ethan,” I replied, trying to slap on a smile. “You’re looking well. How’s school going?” I asked.
“It’s going really great, Karen.”
“That’s awesome, Ethan. I’m so proud of you,” I told him. “So, let’s get started. What will you be interviewing me about today?”
“Well, my class was given an assignment to interview someone who has influenced our lives. I think most people are going with their mothers or fathers, but I don’t see how I could have chosen anyone but you.” His words made my heart happy and perked me up more than my cup of joe.
“Wow, how flattering. That means so much to me,” I said, because it did. I remember the night that Ethan's’ parents brought him into the center. We had only been open for about four months and were still getting into the swing of things. I was getting ready to leave for the night, when Ethan's’ father walked through the door with his son in his arms and his wife at his side, sobbing.
“Well, what you’ve done here at the center saved me, and I will be forever grateful to you. You take in addicts and you rehabilitate them, at hardly any cost. You’re amazing, Karen. You are the epitome of role models.”
I was always very proud of what I have accomplished here at the center, but hearing it come out of a recovering patients’ mouth made it all the more rewarding. My eyes swelled up with tears as I said, “Thank you, Ethan. Now let’s hear that first question.”
He took out a steno pad, which I assume held his interview questions, as well as a small tape recorder. “Do you mind if I tape the interview?” he politely asked.
“Oh not at all,” I replied.
“Ok, thanks,” he said as he pushed a button on the recorder. “Ok, so my first question is what made you want to work with addicts? It’s not a very glamorous job for such a young person, especially a woman, so how did you get into it?”
Oh God, I hate this question. It’s the question that always drags me into my past. But over the years I have sculpted the perfect answer to sway reporters from digging any deeper. I wasn’t ashamed of how my life finally came together, but I hated going back to how it fell apart. I hated reliving the grief over and over and over again.
As I opened my mouth to answer the question, I paused before I responded. I had been interviewed on this topic plenty of times, but never, ever by a former patient. As much as I wanted this interview to be over, I somehow felt obligated to purge my story to this young man, who overcame so much, all because of my past.
“How much time do you have?” I asked as I answered with a chuckle.
“As much time as you need,” he answered.
“Ok then, I’ll start from the beginning,” I told him and then began my tale. “It was June of 1996…"
1996
The payphone outside of the Seashore Motel was mine for the taking. I sat on the green bench that stood beside it, put quarters in and dialed David’s phone number for hours. Nobody ever answered but I continued to do it anyway, hoping that I’d eventually hear his voice on the other end. I never did. Instead, it was a different David’s voice that surprised me on that hot, June afternoon.
“Are you Karen?” the voice asked.
Startled, I looked up, blinded a little by the Jersey sun. I saw a tall, dark and handsome guy standing there, smiling at me with the biggest smile I had ever seen. I was just staring when he asked again, “Are you Karen? Lauri’s friend Karen, from Queens?”
“Um, yeah, and you are?” I asked with a confused sniffle.
“Cool. I’m David. David Ramsey,” he said putting his cigarette in his mouth so he could hold out his now empty hand to shake mine. I curiously extended my arm and placed my hand in his, never really making eye contact with him. We shook hands as he said, “Lauri told me that you were coming down here with her. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”
Once he said his name and moved out of the glare of the sun, I realized that I had met him before. David was an upstate guy, whom everyone referred to as Ramsey, and if you knew one of them, you knew them all. But Ramsey was different, he stood out. He was very tall and extremely handsome. From what I had heard, his body was built like a God and when he smiled he could light up a room. He was the pitcher for his high schools baseball team and one of the most coveted guys at Middle Woods High School. He had liked my friend Jenn for a little while and met us at a club one night a few months back. I remember watching him put his arms around her waist while he stood behind her, whispering something in her ear. I remember being jealous of her in that moment, not because I longed for love, I had my David at that time, but there was just something about him that was enticing. Their love affair however, was short lived. It actually ended that night when Michael, Jenns ex boyfriend, showed up at the club. I guess old boyfriends bring up old feelings because Jenn wound up going home with Michael that night, and David was soon forgotten.
And seriously, his fucking name was David.
“I wish I could say the same, but it’s nice to meet you, Ramsey,” were the words that flowed out of my mouth. I couldn’t bring myself to call him David. It would just make me want to cry.
“Can I ask what you’re doing here, crying?” he asked in a tone that implied he found humor in what I was doing.
He popped another Marlboro Red in his mouth, and faced the open box in my direction offering me one, as he waited for my answer. I reached in the box and grabbed the soft brown filter of one of his cigarettes. I wasn’t a smoker, but I enjoyed a cigarette every once in a while. Ramsey held his lighter up to the tip of the cigarette that was hanging from my lips. After I inhaled my first drag, I looked over at him. He was just standing there smiling at me, patiently waiting for me to speak. He looked amazing in a white tee shirt and red shorts, which was most likely a bathing suit. He donned a red baseball cap with the letters MW embroidered in white, probably standing for Middle Woods.
When I thought about why I was actually sitting there crying, tears began to stream down my face.
My vision was blurred by my feelings but I could see Ramsey coming closer to me. He crouched down right in front of me so that our faces were somewhat level to each other. Again, he popped his smoke in his mouth and used both of his free hands to gently cup my face. He proceeded to gently wipe my tears with his thumbs. He kept his hands on my face for a few more seconds and just looked into my eyes. In those few seconds, I forgot about how much I hated when people touched my face, but instead took in what was going on.
I closed my eyes and took in his scent. His hands smelled of cigarettes, but his cologne also lingered on them. As I breathed him in, I could smell the slightest hint of beer. My mind was racing trying to figure out what he was doing there with me. Why was this gorgeous stranger sitting on a payphone bench with me, when he should have been enjoying his prom weekend? I let him keep his hands on my face until I opened my eyes, only to see his brown eyes staring straight at me. He smiled. I smiled back.
“Thank you,” I said as I placed my hands around his forearms and lowered them from my face. “I feel like such an idiot,” I said, and as the words came out of my mouth I began to cry, again.
He