After Rock Bottom: A Collaborative Collection of 'There And Back' Short Stories and Poetry

By Ruby J Black, Serenity Hawk and Dennis J. Smith

This is not your ordinary collection of short stories and poetry -- the theme of this book is the ever growing problem of substance abuse. Some of these stories don't have that happy ending, and several of the poems will tear at the innermost part of your soul, because they point out the fatal nature of drug and alcohol addiction. Seldom is the user the only unfortunate person involved. Substance abuse all too often affects friends and family members who are deprived of love and support. This is not a simple matter of will power or the lack thereof, it is the unyielding symptom of a devastating sickness. Though some choose to continue to "use and abuse" this book will also make you aware that there are those who have learned how to fight this persistent disease -- some stories do end happily.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Apr 5, 2011
• ISBN: 9781257392438

Book preview

Black

AFTER ROCK BOTTOM:

Part One

Featuring the works of:

Dennis J. Smith

Without realizing it, the use of toxic substances gradually dims any vision of optimism and decency; any quality of life is gradually diminished. Selfish satisfaction of the need to get that next buzz or fix causes relentless erosion of moral and ethical behavior.

Then by some miraculous intervention, an awakening to this dismal reality happens. The awareness of a repugnant lifestyle -- the lack of sufficient willpower to change and the most defeating of all, the loss of loved ones -- becomes brutally apparent and we hit bottom face down. At that point there are only two alternatives, to recover or meet an untimely and ugly death.

These poems and stories are intended to throw the pitfalls of addiction into sharp relief. The power of courage and faith leading to recovery is projected against the only alternative, inescapable fatality through continued abuse and denial. This volume, a labor of love and gratitude, is dedicated to those blessed and brave souls who regained a measure or more of what they had lost through substance abuse -- who have struggled back to recovery one day At A time.

A CHRISTMAS STORY

Dennis J. Smith

At roadside on the outskirts of a rural Iowa community, two small crosses lean awkwardly toward one another in the summer heat. Neglected over the years – a tawdry roadside memorial to a long forgotten, tragic Christmas Eve…

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Lingering aroma of incense was a parenthesis to Midnight Mass. Black cassocks and starched white surplices were put away. Father Murphy, retired pastor of the rural St. Mary's, remembers blessing the boys on their way out the side door of the Sacristy.

Only a mile away, kerosene lamp lit windows glowed warmly from a small house in the tranquil Iowa village. Inside, ginger spritz and sugar cookies graced fancy glass plates on the family dinner table. Heirloom ornaments gleamed from every branch of the tinsel draped tree above piles of gaily wrapped presents. Marshmallows would soon be floated on the surface of chocolate milk, waiting to be heated in a white enamel pot on the kitchen range.

Crystalline flakes of falling snow veiled boughs of blue spruce that lined the country road. An aging Model A casually made its way back to town. Twin altar boys huddled in excited anticipation under warm, back seat quilts; to them, the drive seemed to last an eternity. At the edge of town, a black pickup with no headlights, sped a zigzagged course from the parking lot behind the town’s lone tavern. The inebriated driver didn't see the oncoming Ford. Both doors of the truck flew open on impact; the driver thrown into a snow bank. He staggered to his feet and ran into the darkness of the countryside.

The sudden broadside conflagration shattered rural quietude. Startled townspeople rushed to the scene and stood aghast; bloodied dreams and splintered glass debauched their Yuletide contemplation of peace on earth to all people of good will.

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A year after, to the day, an inmate in great emotional pain escaped from a prison construction crew working outside the penitentiary walls. He subdued a careless guard, took his weapon and left him locked in his own handcuffs. He loaded the needed materials into the transport van and drove through the night, arriving at his destination hours before dawn. In the frigid, dark morning hours, his remorseful task completed, he stripped bare naked and sat hunched up in the snow. As first light of dawn began to appear the violent shivers had ceased; a calming numbness permeated his body. With deliberate effort, he put the barrel of the guard's sawed-off shotgun in his mouth and pulled the trigger.

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.. in the tall grass at the bottom, on the plank that supports the crosses, a barely legible inscription reads:

"All careless drivers who imbibe remember this is where Tom and Timothy died on Christmas Eve 1942 I drove drunk and killed them two boys"

PROBLEM EDDIE

Dennis J. Smith

Eddie knew he had a problem. The problem was, he wouldn’t admit he had one for way too long. In his more lucid moments he recognized that normal people did not suddenly find themselves looking up at the computer keyboard tray at 3:30 A.M. -- chair flung to the corner of the room and a highball glass upside down on the floor.

When his colleagues at work revisited his amorous antics at The Shamrock TGIF gatherings, he laughed it off as just unable to control his baser urges -- not to mention that he usually closed the place down. Mike the bartender would say, "it’s two in the morning, I’ve got a situation here, you’re it and serving you one more drink is not going to make it go away". At which point he would help Eddie to his car, take his car keys and leave his phone number on the dashboard.

Ten years ago, Eddie had a near fatal wake-up call. One Friday evening, Mike was finally fed up. He decided to cut Eddie short -- sent him walking after only three drinks. Barely sober, furious and given the boot from his favorite hangout, Eddie’s greatest concern was what to do to keep from losing his buzz. He accelerated his small sports car out of the parking lot, tires spinning a smoking black trace on the concrete. Without looking, he sped into oncoming highway traffic and was broad sided by a fully loaded semi tractor-trailer. The front wheels of the semi caught Eddie’s car just behind the driver's seat, shearing the vehicle in half. The entire mass of tangled steel jack knifed and traveled two hundred yards farther down the freeway.

The horrorstricken truck driver climbed down from the cab and warily looked into what little remained of the mangled automobile. What the hell, he muttered rubbing his bruised arm, where’s that lunatic driver? Sirens began screaming and soon flashing red and blue lights surrounded the crash area. "Hey you, get away from there, now firefighters yelled -- they began to spray retardant on the smoking heap, that wreck could explode in a heartbeat!"

No one was able to see where the other half of Eddie’s MG had careened into a clump of thick roadside shrubbery. He was in a daze, and driven primarily by numb instinct, he inched himself out of the mangled shell into tall grass. What seemed miles away, he heard the tumult of sirens coming from the emergency vehicles. The realization raced through his mind, OH GOD! They don’t know I’m here, I'm going to die! Terrified, he gathered what was left of his strength and screamed. I'm here! I'm here! Help me! Someone please help me, before he lost consciousness.

Eventually, emergency crews searching for what might remain of the wreckage, found him lying in a pool of blood, his mangled legs bent sickeningly behind his back. Had they been only minutes later he would have been dead. Instead, he lay comatose in the hospital for 3 weeks.

Today, Eddie has no qualms about admitting his problem – he sits in a glass walled workspace with a gorgeous view of a forested river valley, a view he doesn’t see because he is blind. His only means of traversing his moderately spacious office is