The Drunk Logs by Steven Kuhn Page A

wife. Domestic violence or something. That’s why we keep him here. She doesn’t want to send him to prison. Like the other day, we found him on the second floor in a counselor’s office trying to use the phone. It’s like he has no concept of where he is or the help we’re trying to give him.”
    I began to wonder why Molly relinquished so much information about patients, considering there was confidentiality among all individuals inside the center. I found out later that there was an unwritten Vegas style rule here. What happens at the center stays at the center. Besides that, who in their right mind would want anyone to know they were here , I thought.
    The blood pressure monitor beeped and the belt deflated. Molly pulled it off and checked the readings.
    “Good, your blood pressure is down, quite a bit, but we need to get approval from the doctor before we release you from detox.”
    I was ecstatic. But I need to pass that tremor test, I thought.
    “So why don’t they take him to a nursing home?”
    “More than likely, they will in the end. And to think he’s only fifty-five and already has wet brain.” Molly positioned herself in front of me. “Okay, raise your arms out front.”
    I held my arms out straight, but refused to look at my hands.
    “So what exactly is wet brain?”
    Molly stared and held my hands gently in the palm of her hand.
    “It’s when your brain turns to mush from too much alcohol or drugs. You lose control of your bodily functions, you think and do things irrationally, and you shuffle your feet like an elderly person. Basically, your body is shutting down and you need twenty-four hour care. You can lower your arms.”
    “Fifty-five years old and he looks like he’s seventy?” I said, stunned.
    “You can lower your arms now, Matt,” she repeated, as she looked up from her clipboard. “Your tremors are at a minimum now, which is good, and the swelling in your face definitely looks like it has gone down. In fact, it’s healing quite nicely.”
    She walked over to the medicine cabinet and pulled my medication. “Here you go, Matt,” she said as she handed me a cup of pills and a cup of water. “The doctor will be in tomorrow, so he’ll see you before noon. You’ll have time to get some breakfast, but make sure you’re in your room after that.”
    I swallowed the pills and drank the water with one hand. The tremors had gone down , I thought.
    “Can I go now?”
    “Sure, unless you want to sit in here all day and help me with the other patients?”
    “No, thanks,” I said, grinning as I proceeded out the door.
    I walked past the nurses’ station and looked to see if Barry Eugene was still inside, but there was no sign of him. Maybe they finally released the old fool like he wanted , I thought.
    “Have one for me, Barry Eugene, because that’s what they call you,” I said as I giggled.
    I was glad to see that there was no sign of Barry Eugene inside the room, as I walked over to my nightstand and opened the folder given to me when I first arrived. I could still smell the hypnotic perfume from Sarah on the front cover. Inside was the schedule for the entire week, from wakeup, to meals, to classes and extracurricular activities, to lights out. From the clock on the wall I noticed that I was already ten minutes late for one of the lectures, so I grabbed a notepad and pen from the desk, and scampered down the hall.
    The room was completely dark as I slowly opened the creaking door, while a movie played on the screen. I tiptoed in, shut the door quietly behind me, and sat at the first available spot that was open. As I slid into an aisle, I kicked a cane that lay on the floor. Turned out, the cane belonged to Father Tom.
    “Sorry, Father Tom,” I whispered, as I looked around to see if I had woken anyone.
    Father Tom bent over, grunted, and picked up his cane. “No harm, I shouldn’t have had it on the floor anyway.”
    Still excited that I might be leaving detox the next