Read The Unconventional (A Short Story) for Free Online

called PTSD.”
    “ I know what it’s called.
I’m fine.” I got every pamphlet on the planet handed to me after I
flew back to the states. I was on a hospital bed recovering from
third-degree burns on forty percent of my body and lacerations cut
to my bone, unlike Gary and Jerome who traveled cold and in
coffins. Every pamphlet was the same. Usually they were some shade
of blue with soldiers hugging or a soldier with his hands covering
his face or some variation of the statement “When your life falls
apart.” Every therapist was the same. Useless as hell.
    “ Come on, man. That’s like
saying a camel doesn’t have humps or Peggy down there doesn’t have
the clap,” he says, nodding his head down the bar to the blonde
with botched red lipstick and fishnet stockings. Peggy Olsteen is a
regular here. “It’s a support group for addiction.”
    “ Are you kidding me?
Addiction? I’m not – ”
    Brad puts his hands up. “Hey, just try
it. Just once. For me. You’re not the same Archie I remember from
back in the old days. I miss that Archie. The guy that let a goat
loose in the middle of the hallway during the last day of school or
the guy that chased Morgan what’s-her-last-name down to the docks
just so he could grab her boob.”
    “ You want me grab Peggy’s
boob?” I ask.
    “ That’s not what I’m saying.
I’m saying that you’re almost forty and you don’t have a wife or
kids. You haven’t had a girlfriend in the last five years. You run
an illegal gaming table in the back of a restaurant, which only
stays open because of the money you earn from the ring. I don’t
think you’re happy, man. That’s all I’m saying.”
    “ Are you happy?” Archie
asks.
    “ Just go. Once. Make Sarah
happy,” Brad says, leaning against the bar again.
    “ Isn’t that your job?” I
throw down a five, spin off the chair and put on my jacket. Brad
stares at me and then takes the piece of paper and crumples it in
his hand. “See you tomorrow.” I head toward the front door and slam
it open with both hands. The bell clangs a feverish, high-pitch
sound.
    I would have said something different
had I known better. Hell, the whole conversation would have been
completely different had I known better. But the thing is, you
don’t know any better.
    All I hear is the goddamn
ringing.
    ***
    The streets are dark and silent except
for the spotted glow of streetlamps. My ears are burning, and I can
barely feel my toes in my sneakers. I’ve been walking for the last
fifteen minutes back and forth on the seventh block of Richmond
Street. The faint flicker of a light catches my
attention.
    It’s a basement room in
United Methodist Church. The window is half-covered in snow, but
there’s no mistaking the light in the room is on. It’s the room
where the opening meeting is being held for people unlike me, addicts. I
don’t do drugs. I don’t do prescription painkillers. I’m not
addicted to sex. I, on occasion, drink more than I should, but I’m
not an alcoholic.
    But there was something that
made me walk down this road. Maybe it was the sadness in Brad’s
eyes or maybe it was disappointment in his voice or maybe it was
because for once, he did something completely unexpected and
different. Whatever it was, something made me walk to this church
in the goddamn freezing wind with my hands shoved in my jacket,
trying to conserve any ounce of heat.
    I’m standing in the middle of the
sidewalk when I realize how stupid this is. How idiotic it is to go
to a meeting like this where real people have real problems. People
I potentially know. For Christ’s sake, I grew up here. It’s a town
people don’t leave. They grow up, get married to the girl down the
street, and breed here for generations. The odds that I know
someone here are high. and that’s the last thing I need. Poor
Archie Briggs, wounded veteran, turns to addiction.
    I’m about to turn and hightail it back
to the pizzeria when I hear the faint breath and