He Isn't A Bad Man

“I should have known better.” I sighed, staring at the man I once loved. I still loved him in a way. We have two beautiful children together, so there will always be love between us. David looked hollow. He was thinner than I had ever seen him, his face drawn tight and his cheekbones sharp against his skin. Raw patches of red and sickly pale skin mottled his cheeks.

“I don’t want money, Nikky. I just need to get to the hospital.” David looked at the worn canvas of his holey shoes as he spoke to me. 

“I thought you were clean. For two months you told me you couldn’t wait to see the kids. You told me how it was different this time.” My voice broke. Grief washed over me for the man he could have been. I grieved for Lexie and Daniel, my children, who were growing up without a father because I had to keep him away.

“I was Nick. Then I don’t know what happened. I had a bad day. Hell, a bad life I guess.” David snorted. He finally looked at me with his bloodshot green eyes. “I really was trying.”

“You always say that, David. Eventually, trying isn’t enough. Let's go.” I turned and walked out of the run-down house. He was probably squatting here with ten other drug addicts, and I didn’t want to be there when they showed back up. 

David got up, and I realized quickly from the dragging of his feet that he didn’t have the strength to walk out of the house himself. I sighed heavily before wrapping my arm around his narrow waist and let him lean on me. I had to hold my breath because the smell coming off his body was a sickening mixture of sweat, mildew, and unwashed skin.

We finally made it to my little silver Camry parked on the street. I got David settled, then got in myself, immediately rolling down the windows. Cold air rushed through the car, helping with the smell, but doing nothing to clear the tension.

I tapped the screen on my dashboard. A playlist shuffled, and the opening chords of “We Belong Together” by Mariah Carey filled the car. It was our song back when he was twenty-four, and I was twenty-one, back when he had pulled me away from a creepy guy at a college party and acted like my knight in shining armor. David closed his eyes, leaning his head against the glass. For a fleeting second, the lines on his face smoothed out, and I caught a glimpse of the man I had fallen in love with.

We got an apartment together six months after we met. It was so tiny. Only one bedroom, one bathroom, and a kitchen with a dining room/living room situation. We didn’t care about the close quarters because we wanted to be together all the time anyway. On our first Christmas there, we made each other desserts for our presents because we couldn’t afford anything else. It was perfect because we were together. 

I checked my side mirror and pulled into traffic. “What are you smiling about?” I asked, noticing the faint curl at the corner of his mouth.

“Remember our first Christmas with Lexie?” David laughed softly, the sound thin and raspy. “I spent all night assembling that plastic playhouse for her, only for her to scream her head off when she saw it.”

A quiet smile broke through my somber mood. “She was terrified. She wasn’t even a year old yet. But you crawled inside that tiny door anyway, and once she saw you in there, she couldn't resist crawling in after you.”

“I miss them. I know why I can’t see them, but I miss them.” David’s voice broke. A single tear cut a clean streak through the grime on his cheek. “I’m checking into long-term rehab today, Nick. I’m done living like this.”

I stayed silent, gripping the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white. I had heard every version of this speech. David wasn't a bad man. We had years of real happiness. When the kids were born, he was my rock. He was so good with them. We bought the four-bedroom brick house with the blue front door, the place where he carried me over the threshold into what he called our forever home.

Then came the icy highway, the flipped eighteen-wheeler, and three surgeries. The doctors handed out pain pills like candy. When the prescriptions stopped, he started buying off the street, growing stronger and cheaper. I didn’t know how bad it had gotten, and I will always blame myself for that. I should have paid more attention, but he became distant after the accident. I was working and managing a household and two kids basically alone. Then the bank foreclosed on the house. Our forever home. That was when I realized how bad it had gotten. David went to rehab. He would come home and do better for a while. Then slowly he would drain the bank accounts. He would go back to rehab. I finally opened accounts without him, but then he started selling our things, including the kid’s toys. I finally had to ask him to leave. We are still technically married. I could never give up on him, and at least this way he has insurance. 

The hospital tower rose above the tree line ahead. I pulled up to the main entrance curb and put the Camry in park. David sat motionless.

“You have to go in, David.”

“I know.” He finally turned to face me, his green eyes filled with fresh tears. “Don’t give up on me, Nick. Tell the kids I love them. I swear I am going to do this for all of us this time.”

“I know you’ll try, David. I always believe you’re trying. But sometimes trying just isn’t enough. You know?”

“I know. I know. But I will get better. Lexie will be sixteen soon. Daniel just became a teenager. I’ve missed too much.” Another tear ran down his cheek. 

“Call me when they let you have phone privileges,” I said quietly.

He unbuckled his seatbelt, pushed the door open, and stepped out onto the pavement. He walked with slow, hesitant steps toward the sliding glass doors. It wasn’t a long walk but I was afraid he wouldn’t make it in his weak state. Just before the sensor caught him, he turned around and raised two fingers to his temple in a brief salute, a playful gesture he used to give me when we were young.

From fifty feet away, under the soft light of the entrance, he almost looked like my David again. He isn’t a bad man. I wanted to believe him. I always do. In his own way he is my drug that I can’t let go of. But I should know better.