In early 2020, my time off from “slaving” was wearing off and most of it was spent contemplating on how I’d be able to peaceably part from my partner.  I had whole heartedly fell in Love with him but, I felt like I was a Guardian rather than a Lover.  We’d been together for about 6 years.  When we met, I was still grieving over the passing of my Poppy, Earl Thomas.  Poppy was the only one in the family I thought actually cared about my well being. It seemed many in the family were jealous of me … .Why do you ask?  I ask the same question sometimes.  How can people be jealous of someone who has nothing?  I could only imagine it was because of who I was, who I am.  I speak of jealousy and the family later on in my writings so you can come to your own conclusions.

I was grieving over my Poppy when Jay and I met. Every Night I’d drink vodka like it was water. I’d drink often after being reminded of how my Poppy had passed away, who was around him during that time, how he was being treated and the evil acts my family members committed right after his passing. Maybe I should elaborate on this before getting to my story on how I ended up back at my Grandmother’s, back into my childhood home. I’ll elaborate on Poppy after this post…

I had a serious drinking issue, and knew it. I was drinking away all the eerie acts I had seen and heard.  My life was yucky, I was working at a salon at that time and just got back from a failed move to Austin. I lived in an apartment complex that used to house soldiers, it was an old barracks. The owner of the apartment complex was nice enough to let me rent a space from him as I did before moving to Austin. Right across the street from the plex was a bar that I would go to every couple of weeks (around pay day) to get 2-3 shots of Vodka with a heineken to wash it down. The bartender was a lady that could have been at least 20 years older than me, she had platinum hair and was really nice to me. She knew I’d only come to drink and to feel a bit of normalcy.  I was always by myself, If I went anywhere, it was by myself.

One night, in July of 2015, I believe it was right after my Poppy’s birthday (4th Of July) I sat at the bar, working the last bit of my drink. Then, he walked in.  He walked to the bar, ordered his drink and asked for quarters to play pool.  I listened as he spoke with the bartender but didn’t stare. I noticed the east coast accent and thought to myself “he’s definitely not from here”.  After he made his requests, he turned to me and smiled and asked, “What’s your name?”  He had the biggest smile. He had the deepest dimples. We locked eyes.  He asked if I wanted to play pool with him.  At that moment, I felt a feeling of nostalgia, like I already knew him. We ended up playing maybe 7 or 8 games of pool that night.  I didn’t know what I was doing, I just knew my balls needed to make it in the holes.  As I played pool with him, that nostalgic feeling became stronger and stronger. Truthfully, it felt like it was only him and I in a room.  I had never felt that way before with someone else- feeling as if I had known him already when in fact, in my mind, I had never seen nor spoke with him before. So much so that, after the last game I invited him over to chat more at my apartment.  My apt was only a few steps away and I felt safe. It was my first time inviting someone over, let alone from a bar.  He was a bit hesitant to come over.  I could imagine he thought it was a norm for me to invite complete strangers over but, he had no idea how much of a recluse I was/am- he’d soon find out.

That night should have been the first night we met, as well as the night I said, “Well, it was nice meeting you, be safe, and take care”.  Why do you ask?  Well, the first 20 minutes or so of us conversing, he asks if he can smoke.  I told him it’s fine to smoke but, right outside the front door.  He opened the front door and walked outside to smoke.  There were only 2 floors and I lived on the 2nd floor, the top, which had wooden planks as steps and could be called some sort of a porch. A few seconds later I heard the loudest “plump” sound.  It sounded like he face planted- hit the floor with his face. I jumped up so fast, ran towards my front door, turned the knob and pulled it open to find him lying there on the wooden planks, face down.  I screamed. It looked like he wasn’t breathing. Freaking out, inside and out, I immediately called 911. I remember walking over to him, calling his name, trying to see if he was breathing but couldn’t tell. By the time the ambulance arrived, I was on the phone with my Ma’, leaning on the ground next to him. They ran up stairs with their tools and equipment.  As they resuscitated him, one asked if he was on any drugs, another asked what exactly did he take and I also heard someone say, how do you know this man?

I couldn’t believe what was happening. In between the questions they asked I remember thinking to myself, “I don’t even know him, I literally just met him about 2 hours ago and he just face planted on the wooden planks outside my door.” So, when asked if he took anything, in half a second I had a flashback from 10-15 minutes prior. I asked him if he did anything else besides drinking.  He told me that sometimes he would take lortabs and other pain killers I had never heard of. After that replay in my head, I answered them and let them know he sometimes takes pain pills. One of the EMS guys looks at the other and says, “No, he had to have taken something else.” Another one said, “He had to have had something else, I’m positive he had something other than pain pills. They started to mumble amongst themselves.  I started to become irritated because they were speaking as if they knew him and it just seemed like they weren’t checking his body or anything, for a moment there they were literally just staring at him. No Joke.  3 to 4 minutes later, he became conscious. They stood him up and asked him questions just to make sure he was okay and didn’t need to be brought into the hospital. I stood by his side the whole time as If I was his Mother or Guardian or something. By that time the cops had shown up. They started to ask him questions which, made him a bit paranoid and agitated.  He then switched from paranoid and agitated to belligerent with them.  

Somehow I ended up dragging him into my apartment, if I hadn’t, they would’ve booked him for making a scene.  I let the men know that I would take care of him and he’d be safe inside with me. I’m telling you-all, they treated and spoke to him as if he was a misfit and that I had no clue what I was dealing with.

Once inside, I stood as he sat on the edge of my couch with both his palms laid over his head.  I asked, “What did you take?” He was embarrassed about what happened and started rocking back and forth. He was very hesitant to answer me.  Next thing I know, he walked quickly into the bathroom, closed the door and started wailing, crying.  Right then and there, I had this overwhelming feeling that we had met for a reason, and that reason was for me to care for him.  I went from thinking I was interested in him romantically to thinking, “I’m here to help and protect him”. He didn’t want to come out of the restroom, he called himself a “fuckup” and even mentioned something about me “leaving him”. I tried to console him and with love, spoke to him on the other side of that door.  I told him that he wasn’t a “fuckup”, everybody makes mistakes and it’s okay.  I told him that I wasn’t going anywhere, I wouldn’t leave him and I was there to help. Long story short, that was the night we met. 

Our relationship was like a rollercoaster, and in 2020, I knew for a fact, it was time to get off.  I had picked up a few habits from him, and on the other end of the pole, he picked up a few habit’s from me…. He started to think more highly of himself.

To Be Continued….

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©Maxine Leola Thomas