Chapter 2: First Love

The next two days, I had the hardest time suppressing the strong feelings of anticipation leading up to the second session with Peter. I normally do not think about patients between therapy sessions, but in this instance I did. I was clearly invested in him.

When he entered my office, Peter looked strangely empowered, not the desperate man I met on the first occasion. He seemed battle-fatigued but alive and soldiering on.

I caught myself scanning him for signs of intoxication but could find none. Unconsciously, I had been preparing myself for a likely confrontation with a brutal case of relapse. I felt both relief and a bit of surprise that my strategy had worked.

He was sober all right but it had clearly taken all of his powers to remain so. His eyes were bloodshot and his “I-just-woke-up” look suggested it had been a short night. 

He glanced at me with the bewildered smile of a shipwrecked person who had just washed ashore and could not believe his luck in meeting another human being.

“It sure is good to see you, Doc. It's been a long two days.”

“Peter, welcome back. How are you?”

“Well, a question has been burning in my mind, Doc. How the hell could you know I would take the challenge and stay clean? Quite the gamble on your part, was it not?”

I had anticipated this remark and responded: “Not a gamble, Peter, but I do admit it was an educated guess. I felt you had proven over and over that you could handle rehab but what you needed now was to show yourself you could also bridge those dreaded first days out in the real world, on your own.”

Peter nodded slowly, as what I said seemed to resonate.

I continued: “I believe you’re now resting on a more elevated platform of self-esteem, am I right? You went into unchartered territory and you persevered. You went deeper into sobriety than ever before, and that has earned you street credibility on the road to recovery, mostly with yourself but also with me as your therapist."

He nodded, so I continued: "In our first session, you said you lacked the backbone to abstain even for the next hours. Now, we are two days later, and here you are, still sober. You did it Peter, you and you alone!”

I paused for a moment to let this sink in. To make it even clearer, I decided to use an analogy: “If we were on Mount Everest right now, I’d say over the last two days, you just crossed over from Base Camp to Camp One, with bragging rights. And with me as your Sherpa to ascend further up to Camp Two. It was necessary for you to spend these past days and nights alone, without my direct supervision, to acclimatize to this new height if I can further use the mountaineering imagery.”

“Peter, the healing did not stop because you were not physically here in my office, your brain kept working and sorting through its priorities in an effort to move forward. And now you find yourself, to your own surprise, at a higher elevation.”

Peter cleared his throat and said with a weak smile: “I like what you say Doc, I like it a lot. You sure talk a good game. It feels indeed like I’ve moved beyond absolute beginner, so to say. Training wheels are off. The thought of that is scary but it also feels good. I feel like somehow, I’m on more solid ground, or at a higher elevation, as you put it. At least as far as drinking is concerned, that is. Truth is, even if I plow ahead and deal with the relentless cravings, still, I get these dark thoughts and I cannot help but wonder, is this it and is it worth it?”

“Dark thoughts? Can you elaborate, Peter?”

“I cannot stop thinking about the absurdity of it all. What’s the point really? I do not understand why I have to suffer so much? Is this really my life now? Is this all there is? Sobriety sucks.”

I thought for a moment on how best to respond to this typical reflex reaction of a long-time alcohol: “I see. I think I know where you’re going with this, Peter. It is quite common for recovering addicts for having existential doubts early on in their new-found sobriety. After all, you are looking for a surrogate meaning to life, something to replace the easy fix that alcohol was to you for so many years. There is a reason they call it liquid relief, it has been the instant solution to all your problems for so long. But the only thing alcohol ever did was make things worse.”

“I hear you Doc, but with all due respect, these words get me nowhere at this point. My misery feels complete. Nothing I do or say seems to have any meaning. How do I dig myself out of this hole?”

“The first thing we have to do is to go back to the very beginning, Peter. It is important to understand how drinking became so deeply rooted in you, so we can reverse engineer our way out of the maze. Tell me, what is your earliest memory of experiencing the effects of alcohol?”

Peter remained silent. He seemed angry and irritated with me, for not offering a quick solution to his acute problem of being faced with a complete lack of purpose.

He took a full minute to ponder my question. But when he finally spoke, he was his usual cooperative self: “I was seventeen when I went to summer camp in the mountain village of Sank-Moritz. I can still see the picture-perfect scenery in my mind’s eye. Thirty years ago and I still remember every street and every corner of that place. The lake, the snowy mountain tops. And I see the faces of my friends at summer camp like it was yesterday. We enjoyed each other’s company against the amazing backdrop of the Swiss Alps, without a care in the world. It was, without doubt, the best summer of my life”

He paused and then said: “And it was during that holiday that I fell in love twice.”

“It sounds like it was quite the summer indeed, Peter. Tell me more, who were these two young ladies who captured your heart?” I looked at him with a bemused smile and wondered where this was going.

“Ah, it was slightly more complicated than that, Doc, let me explain. A year before that summer, I developed a terrific crush on a lovely girl back home. Her name was Connie. A classic and sad case of unrequited love, it turned out to be. I know it sounds funny now, but it consumed all of me, back when I was sixteen. It took me months to get over her, it was pure agony. Even now, my stomach hurts when I think of her. Lovesickness is a b***h, I can tell you."

He looked at me to check whether I was not mocking him, but luckily I had put on my doctor’s face.

He took that as a safe sign that he could continue without being ridiculed: “Anyway, the summer after that, I was looking for anything but love and yet it happened up there in the mountains. The girl’s name was Sarah. She was delightful, with long brown hair and the kind of smile that a young boy simply cannot resist.”

Peter clearly felt encouraged when he saw me smile. He continued: “We were both quite innocent, at seventeen, imagine that. I saw her in group orientation on the first day, at the opposite side of the briefing room. The group was loud and rowdy and yet our eyes found each other and locked. I still remember that feeling of elation, when I saw her looking at me in that special way, in a sea full of people.”

He paused, cherishing the memory.

“Anyway, despite the obvious instant attraction, it took us tree days of talking and walking side by side, hiking up and down the Alps, before anything else happened. We deliberately lagged behind the rest of the group and held hands until the mountain guide told us to catch up or go back. I remember him mumbling that he couldn’t be expected to take responsibility for a couple of teenagers in love." 

"In any case, Sarah’s girlfriends started to tease her, while the boys whistled and told me in no unclear terms I should make a move or be considered a coward. You get the picture.”

“Why did you wait so long to show her how you really felt, Peter?”

“I honestly do not know that Doc, I guess I was shy. Gravitational forces between Sarah and me reached an absolute maximum until there was no way not to kiss her. And kiss her, I did. Finally. It was glorious.”

He looked at me and said: “That was crush number one of that summer.”

His romantic story in the Alps had captured my full attention and also my curiosity. I said with a smile: “Wonderful, Peter. I treasure some fond memories of my own at that innocent age. But what happened then, you fell in love with someone else?”

“Not someone, but rather something, Doc. On the very last day of camp, we crossed over the mountain pass from Switzerland into Italy and we had lunch at this lovely outdoor fish restaurant, right on the banks of the majestic Mont Blanc glacier river. When ordering for the group, our mountain guide asked who wanted to taste Suave, the local dry white wine.”

It started to dawn on me where he was taking this. I did not want to interrupt him, but his elaborate window dressing triggered a lot of questions in my mind.

He continued: “Before that day, I had never tasted any alcohol, strange as that seems now. I had no idea of its effect. I just said yes because the rest of the group did and because the wine was served by two dazzling Italian waitresses and poured from large cooled carafes."

"I remember sipping my glass and gazing with curiosity at the golden liquid. I sipped some more, tentatively, as if I had a premonition that I was about to set forces in motion that I could not control.”

He paused for effect: “And then the strangest thing happened.”

“What’s that?” I found myself completely engrossed in Peter’s story. I was used to leading the dance in this office. But not so with Peter.

“The best feeling ever overwhelmed me, Doc. I can only describe it as pure joy. All my worries seemed to evaporate and all the background noise in my mind stopped. All that was left was this otherworldly feeling of blissful calm. It felt like magic.”

Now he was deadly serious: “Bottom line Doc, I fell deeply in love with alcohol, right there and then. That is what you wanted to hear, right? The original sin, the first bite of the forbidden apple. I remember thinking I had discovered the key to adult living. Finally, I could do away with all my inhibitions and boost my confidence in one clear sweep, just by raising a glass to my lips. And look cool while doing it.”

Peter waited for just a moment and then said with a sad expression: “And you know, ever since that first glass of Suave, I’ve never been able to be just a social drinker, I’ve used alcohol in order to ease my worries, to become calm, to be myself. Or so it seemed.”

“So drinking seemed to fill a gap in your life right from the start, is that it Peter?”

He nodded and said: “Yes, it seemed to fill a basic need, like breathing or eating."

He was shaking his head and said: "I have never understood how friends could stop after one drink or discipline themselves to lay off the stuff for a month or so. In stark contrast, I was craving for it every day, and much later, I needed it every hour. Which brings us back to that fateful night we discussed last time, when I woke up at three in the morning, shaking and trembling because I needed my fix. Hitting rock bottom.”

I sighed and said: “Hmm, you kind of took me by surprise there, Peter, comparing young girls with white wine. However, I hear you and I do believe there is deep relevance in the fact that you compare your discovery of the alcoholic high with the feeling of first love. To you, they are of the same epic importance, are they not?”

“Well, my infatuation with Sarah soon faded once we returned home, as these summer flings usually do. My love for drinking, however, only became stronger and deeper with time. So I guess crush number two, the one with alcohol was, in fact, the real love affair of that summer. An affair that turned into quite the tragic and addictive relationship.”

“I understand that drinking is looming large and preoccupies all of your thinking right now, Peter, but let us park it for just a moment. I want to go back to the girls for a minute."

He nodded he was ok with that. 

"While Sarah, who reciprocated your affection, is now only a fond but distant memory, you still hurt from remembering Connie who did not love you back. You said she was the real first love and the one that got away. Clearly, this is a painful thing for you to talk about so it must have a lot of meaning. It was a first major disappointment in life, a devastating event. I want to explore that some more, go into that pain.”

“Hm Doc, are you sure? It has been quite a while since I last thought about Connie. I have her hidden away in a room full of hurt, it seems. But you have to understand, she has taken on this larger-than-life place in my memory, while in reality, I never even got to know her up close. She’s a ghost, an idealization. Talking about her feels awkward, do we absolutely have to?“

I did not want to push him further, at this point: “Our time for today is almost up so let me propose an alternate route here. I know you are a thinker, Peter. Tell me, are you also a writer?”

“Funny you should ask, Doc. I used to write when I was younger. I remember I would totally get in the flow when writing essays for school and stuff. And I was told I could write great love letters. But I’ve done nothing with it since. Why?”

“I want you to find the key to your hurt locker and write about Connie. Whatever comes up, write it down, free format. We can then discuss that in the next session, or not. No pressure. But believe me, it is important to get this out of your system and into the open.”

“How is Connie is relevant to where I go from here, Doc?”

“First love is a meaningful event, Peter. The crushes number one and two which you described so eloquently, were, in fact, numbers two and three. We have to trace it back to Patient Zero.”

Lovesick by Peter Baer

A week after my sixteenth birthday, I am sitting in a classroom with twenty-two other boys, pretending to listen to a Latin teacher. Our minds are everywhere but here.

I for one cannot stop thinking about Connie. She is the reason for the lovesick state I have been in for weeks now.

She is the epitome of perfection to the sixteen-year-old me. She has hazel brown eyes and a classic face of beauty. She is wearing a navy school dress accentuating her figure. For a moment, it makes me wonder whether the school has intended this effect when making girls wear a uniform. With her hair in a boy cut, she is simply irresistible. I do not fight it, I am powerless. I recognize a higher force.

She walks with an air of carefree confidence, seemingly unaware of what she does to boys and men. With hindsight, that was a pretty naive thought on my part, I know by now that she was aware of her powers. Pretending she wasn’t just made it perfect.

It starts with a smile.

Dexys Midnight Runners are playing their signature song Come on Eileen as a backdrop to the epic scene that follows. 

I am looking at Connie walking towards me along with two other girls, all wearing winter jackets, woolen mittens, and hats. She looks like an angel. She is laughing out loud because of something her friend said. Her gaze crosses mine and it seems that her smile is now directed straight at me. She simply says “Hi, don’t you just love this song?”

That’s it. That is all that happens. I am in awe.

Awe is called the eleventh emotion, beyond the basic ten known by science. Awe plays on the boundary between pleasure and fear, inspired by great beauty or mystery. It causes us to completely forget ourselves in a moment of great wonder, feeling the presence of something greater.

Yes, right on the mark. I am in awe.

And I am not equipped to deal with it. I manage to say a profound “Hi, yes I do” back at her and she gives me a coy glance that will stay with me forever.

A few days later, I even ask her out in a burst of supreme confidence. She hesitates for a brief moment.

That moment lingers on in my eternity. It is a moment in which all is still possible and yet you feel that it is not you but fate that will prevail.

She said no.

Later in life, I learned how to see rejection as a useful step in the pursuit of victory. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger and all that.

But back then, it took me apart. When it comes to drama, there’s nothing quite like unrequited love. For weeks I did not sleep or eat. It seemed to me that the meaning of life was found and instantly lost again.

If rejection hurts, rejection without a reason is a killer. It tortured me in the most intense way that she denied me the chance to that one date. To my endless frustration, guys who were not paralyzed by her loveliness did manage to go out with her. And they did it in a casual way, nothing to it.

A lesson in love right there! 

She needed a cool guy, a guy she had to fight for. Why did I not know that? Why was this life-or-death foresight not genetically pre-arranged in my moves? Why did all the males that preceded me let me go empty-handed to an unfair fight?

Thinking back about it so many years later, it makes me wonder. Why was I in awe looking at her and not at other girls, who were in fact even more beautiful? Why did her smile hold that much power over me, like I felt her sweet innocence was out of this world and I had to pursue her with everything I got?

Exquisitely painful as it was, I wouldn’t want to have missed it. This First Love which did not go beyond “Hi” and yet took on legendary proportions in my memory, inspired me to look for experiences that brought me the same feeling of bewilderment and wonder. But somehow, I never quite reached the same high octane level in my emotional fuel and probably never will.

By design it seems… you can only be truly lovesick once.

Author's Note

NEW version uploaded, thanks for all your feedback! All comments are welcome.

Reviews

[Sami Khalil]

I feel the inner struggle with past love and the addiction at hand. You are very detail oriented for you spare none. You lead gradually whether backwards in the story or forwards. Plus you keep us addicted to know the more and more. Wonderful....:::)))

[Andrew Leister-Frazier]

I enjoyed this. The writing kept me reading all the way through, manner of fact and a bit playful with words. This is good writing, I wonder if you could write this well with more interesting topics. The problem with your writing is what you choose to write about. Who is your audience? I don't expect publishers would want to publish this.

[Ted Kniffen]

I like it, Philip. It's a good continuation of the previous bit. I think Peter has become a more defined character as has the doctor. The dialogue is believable as is the story line. I am getting a feel for of the setting which is good. Good write.

[Stan Lee]

Anther great chapter. Thoroughly enjoyed. Thanks for sharing! :)

[Dr. Ryan Nolte]

Rejection is a powerful motivator certainly. Funny thing about addiction, it never rejects us. Finding comfort, even in destruction, is an all too human response. Seeking that which we will never find, like the first buzz of the first drink or the first glance, propels us beyond our control sometimes. Well done.

[Ruth]

I think it is a superb chapter, I felt as if I were there listening and absorbing the conversation...the dialogue is excellent, I find your depth of characters inspiring and realistic Philip and always find your writing offers a chance for reflection, much enjoyed :)

[Serge Wlodarski]

Good job. I've known several alcoholics for 40 years now so I'm waiting for you to write about all the stuff I've observed. Peter reminds me of one in particular, who is 65 but still talks about the girlfriend that got away in college.

While I was reading this, something occurred to me I will need to consider in my writing. How to make the characters in a story different from each other, and not just an extension of my personality. I find that story telling is fairly easy, developing characters is much more difficult.

I visited Switzerland when I was very young, it was springtime and I remember lots of flowers against the backdrop of the Alps.

You've got a typo, "tree" days.

[Lyn Anderson]

Yes, it brings interest and lightness. I would have but one suggestion -- I find it awkward to read something that is set in the past that uses present tense. If I am reading correctly, I think that your intention is to have it feel like a conversation, which, sometimes, people lean in and tell it like it is the present. If so, that needs to be clear, and stay in present tense throughout. Changing tenses in the middle of the retelling and moving to past at the end has a remove the person from the story effect. It would be easier to tell it all in the past, but it is possible to do it as I suggest, and clearly delineate it as a story from the past told conversationally in the present.

[wordman]

i agree,it reflects the write in a different light

[JayG]

The opening section is, clearly, someone who is watching the scene mentally and describing what's happening as THEY see it, witout making the reader see it. As a result, it reads as overview and summation in the beginning, informing, but not entertaining.

Then, when character interaction occurs, the characters speak soliloquies AT each other. It's a record of what was said. But how things are said carry the emotion, not the words. Call someone a b*****d in one tone and it's a complement. In another it's deadly insult. But as words on paper or the screen? Just words. It's the emotion that the reader is with you for. In a conversation, people change expression, they hesitate and rephrase. They stop to think. They frown, smile, or otherwise demonstrate how they feel. Can a transcription of what as said compare to that?

Story happens, it's not talked about. It's lived in that tiny slice of time we call "now." So don't think in terms of events. The events are only the thing that challenges your protagonist and makes them act, and react.

List the events and speech and you have a historical record. And when was the last time anyone you know bought a history book for entertainment. People do, but not all that many are seeking the detailed history of a fictional character.