We All Fall Down

was honestly thinking about having you committed to lockdown psych ward. But now I just look at you and, I’ll tell you what, Nic, you have single-handedly made me the proudest I’ve ever been in my five years of substance-abuse counseling. I was starting to have doubts about the effectiveness of my work, but you’ve made me see that what I’m doing really is important. You’ve helped me to care again. I’m very grateful to have been able to work with you.”

She laughs. “You’re like a second son to me.”

I laugh at that, too—but mostly ’cause something just started eating away at my stomach lining.

“Yeah, right, the son you never wanted.”

She shakes her head. “No, I’m serious, Nic.”

I look up at her, and she’s smiling with her whole body, and I suddenly can’t help feeling a heat building in my eyes. I mean, she is just a stupid ol’ cow, but still. I feel tears burning down my face. My voice cracks some when I try to speak.

“I’m really grateful for you, too. I mean, you’ve saved my life. I owe everything to you. And, uh, I just… you know… thank you so much.”

Of course, now she’s crying, too.

She stands up and I stand up and we hug each other.

For the first time I actually do feel aware of the progress I’ve made. I mean, even if I keep making mistakes, I’ve still been clean for almost three months—I’ve broken it off with Zelda—I’ve started talking to both my parents again—I’ve made friends here—I’m enjoying my life—sober.

I cry about it.

I mean, I don’t even care how pathetic I must look in front of her.

“Well, good,” says Melonie, wiping her face with a tissue. She sits back down. “Enough of that, right?”

“Right,” I say, both of us laughing.

She rolls up her sleeves and fans herself with her white, pudgy hand like she’s having a hot flash or something.

“So, anyway,” she tells me, struggling for breath suddenly. “Like I said, in regard to this whole Sue Ellen thing, I really do believe you. But the thing is, based on what her counselor’s told me, I’m not so sure Sue Ellen is looking at your friendship in the same way you are. I realize that you are very open and sensitive and caring, but for someone like Sue Ellen, that can open the door for a romantic attachment. You’re a handsome kid, Nic—though I know you don’t think so—and you can be very charismatic. So my worry is less for you and more for Sue Ellen. And her counselor agrees that she may be looking for something more than just friendship and that it’s keeping her from fully engaging in work here.”

I interrupt. “Oh, man, well that’s totally the last thing that I want.”

She continues. “I know, Nic, I know. So that’s why I want you to sign this contract, okay? Saying you and Sue Ellen, at least for the time being, won’t talk to each other, interact in any way—passing notes, whatever—or be in the same room alone together.”

I tell her I understand. I don’t fight at all. I sign the piece of paper and stand up to leave.

“Thank you so much, Melonie. I mean, for everything.”

She hugs me again, saying, “Thank you.”

I shut the door behind me.

A shiver wraps itself serpentine around my spine.

I walk out into the snow.

*   *   *

After my conversation with Melonie, I realize I have only a short time before group, so I figure I’d better write some sort of letter to Sue Ellen—just telling her that I’m sorry and that I really do care about her. It seems like the right thing to do.

I hike back up to my cabin, which, thankfully, is empty, so I sprawl out on my plush bed. Honestly, the beds here were, like, the only thing that kept me going the first couple weeks I was here. It was such a relief after coming from detox, where we slept on hospital beds with rubber sheets—freezing always—with only one thin-ass blanket apiece.

But here, yeah, the beds make you never want to get up ever.

I take out one of the composition books I brought with me from LA. The first half is already filled with rambling, repetitive attempts at writing while coked outta my head.

But today I flip straight to a blank page, scribbling Sue Ellen’s name at the top.

I write about how I’m starting to fall for her.

I write about how I’ve made the decision that I want to be with her.

I write about how amazing and strong and beautiful she is. How brilliant. How sensitive.

I even find myself using lines that I clearly remember having written to Zelda when we first started hanging out.

I mean, in a way it feels almost like I am writing all this for Zelda.

Writing to her.

Writing about her.

I substitute the name.

But it’s okay.

I know this is the best thing for both of us.

Sue Ellen needs a love like this.

She needs a love like I could’ve given to Zelda.

I fold the note in on itself several times and then hurry off to the main lodge to find her before group.

“Sue Ellen, hey,” I whisper, standing right up close next to her. “Hey, we’ve been put on contract saying we can’t communicate with each other anymore.”

She squints up at me. “What?”

I kinda shrug my shoulders.

“I know, right? But it’ll be okay. Here, read this when you’re alone and then, uh, write me back, okay?”

Still staring up at me, she takes the crumpled piece of paper from my hand. Her face somehow looks even younger than I remembered it.

In my note, I tell her to meet me in the woods below the cabins after curfew if she feels the same way about me as I feel about her.

Time moves slower than it should, but finally ten thirty comes around, and I feel my way through the tangled bramble in the half moonlight. The night is cold, and I’ve got about five layers of sweaters and shit on. But, I mean,