Heart Jacks Heart

I met Jack at a Narcotics Anonymous meeting. The first time he barely noticed me. The second time, it was what I shared in the meeting that piqued his attention. Afterwards he followed me out with his styrofoam cup of coffee and asked me if I was okay.

I said, not really.

I was eleven days clean and sober and could feel the wheels turning in my head. It was only a matter of time before I was able to find a way to use again. But I was glad that he stopped me going out the door, offered me a cigarette, which I do not smoke anymore but that afternoon, I sure wanted one.

How are you doing in your head? You got plans? I mean plans to use? Jack asked.

As much as I have a desire to stop using and I have stopped using…I still feel like I want to get high, sometimes. I replied.

Jack told me about how it had been about six weeks since he had started truly feeling good again and that I should hang in there and give it some time. We talked about our glorious histories of usage, and I was aware of glorifying it a bit but then I said, it was a nightmare to try and offset the humble brag of tripping down memory lane to the beat of the most wonderful times of my life when I was on drugs tune.

I was honest when I told him I had a pain management appointment coming up and did not know if I could trust myself to stay clean. Instead, I could see trading one substance for the other. And while I so did not want to do that, I could feel the idea of relief from my pain steadily increasing until it was the roar of a thought. A roar of the summary of ten thousand thoughts. All of it being my pain will end, and I will no longer be in so much agonizing pain, I thought while searching for the answers.

Jack and I spoke for an hour. He mentioned his wife and children and I felt the familiar pang of defeat and impossible things to imagine suddenly I was kissing his scruffy face. This sudden and wild dream is part of the reason I feel and can honestly say without hesitation, that I am truly a drug addict. I have an addictive personality and want the worst things sometimes. And in this instance, I wanted Jack. Not just because he was the one person who took the time to speak with me, to give me his time and attention, but because I could suddenly feel a chemistry sparking between us and I felt the warmth of his voice and smile and the pain behind his eyes that was not unlike my pain.

He mentioned that his family was going away to Chicago soon, leaving him unchaperoned. I could instantly imagine handing him my phone number, but I did not. He was unavailable, even I knew that while I was thinking about how I did not know that. I could never break up a marriage, I thought.

And I admonished myself. I would never do such a thing. But then I started to think, what if it was me and him supposed to be together all along? What if he was just looking for a way out? Families break apart all the time, people move on. But no, I squinted at him under the glare of the bright sun and smiled warmly in friendly laughter at something he said.

Then the leaders of the group came outside and were standing all around and I suspect, making sure we were not being inappropriate with each other by way of flirtation or suggesting that the other one-use substances or something equally offensive. We were not. We were merely talking about our past experiences and how we were finding it tolerable to stay clean and sober nowadays. But I could hear the others talking and smell their cigarette smoke nearby and I could feel the air charged between us all as we spaced ourselves out from one another and took our stands.

Jack was an extremely understanding person who I could instantly envision myself with. And it hurt me to feel that way. I knew it could never be. He was married for God’s sake and had mentioned that he was so proud of that fact—that he was still married by the grace of God— that his boys still had a father and an intact family, something he never had.

It was something I had never had either. My parents had divorced due to my father's infidelity when I was in middle school. It was a transformative time for my mother to be so insecure and filled with sadness and rage all the time. It trickled down to me. I became distrustful of men and their intentions from an early age. My mother had ranted and raved about her feminist ideals anyway and that had been part of it.

I looked at Jack, and I felt for him in several unusual ways. I wanted to hear what he was saying while at the same time he made me want to share what I had to say. Our conversation was fluid, and it flowed naturally. There was a moment when I thought I was being overly eager perhaps or rather too much somehow, but I tried to forgive myself of that judgement and instead just enjoy the conversation that streamed out so easily between us.

I can’t say if Jack developed any feelings for me during this time. Probably not. He was just being a good guy, a nice guy, a supportive friend. Isn’t that how it always starts?

I brushed off my insipid little commentaries that were coming from, I don’t know where. Maybe a place of absolute insecurity and jealousy as I am alone and single and have always been. Well, I have not always been alone and single. I have had my own share of lovers and ex-fiancés who did not treat me well or we did not get along, and the relationship ran its course and ended one way or another.

I am not an insecure person who would ever want to destroy a family. That is not me. So, I questioned my desire for this man, wholeheartedly. It boiled down to a strong chemistry between us, I thoughtfully considered.

I had to admit, I was feeling desperate. At 40 years old I was staring my mortality in the face every day now when I gazed into the unforgiving mirror. Jack was right, we were all on the other side of our brilliant youth. He had also been kind enough to say he thought I was in my mid twenties, no way was I forty. I appreciated that little kindness. No woman likes to think of herself as aging spectacularly every day, at every moment. I had just noticed my first white hair. White?! Why not grey? I would be an old white head of the cotton candy hair of my grandmother and my mom.

Jack looked at me in my eyes, and I could feel his arms enclosed around me. I tried to stop myself from thinking like that. Stop. Stop. Stop. I admonished myself repeatedly in my head.

I wondered if he liked me too. I did wonder if I liked him liked him or just wanted to be less alone. It would be nice to have a partner or someone to talk with about life and things, I admitted to myself upon leaving the patio.

Jack was the first to break away. He was giving another lady a ride home, and she didn’t tell him they had to go but she didn’t say they didn’t have to go either. And he was, I could see, a very thoughtful and kind person.

Good to see you again, Sam. Jack said, giving a sort of little salute as he walked away from the picnic tables, towards his car in the parking lot.

I was parked on the lower level and had to walk down the concrete steps. I waved goodbye. Then I thought about him in the car the whole way home. I had to run some errands, and I had to meet a girlfriend who wanted to give me a belated Christmas gift. A sweet plant with pink and green leaves in a cute little baby pink pot. It was easily one of the most thoughtful gifts I had ever received.

My friend Alma is also in recovery. She has many more years of sobriety than me but does not judge me and is a good friend of mine now. It used to be I only hung out with men all the time. I had no female friends. But all that has changed now that I am back in recovery. Taking it seriously this time. I do not want to lose her and so I don’t plan on a relapse. Except for the pain management appointment, that I did not disclose to her.

If I go back to pain management, it would be like having a relapse. But I reason that it would also be quite different than taking to the street for illicit street drugs. I would be under a doctor's care. I would handle taking the meds as prescribed. It would not get away from me. Not this time. I know I am full of stupid lies but I am trying to make myself feel better, like it is going to be okay no matter what.

Take it one day at a time, Alma reminds me, while we sit down for coffee at an area Starbucks and the whir of an espresso machine drowns her voice out.

I can stay clean for the rest of today, I say, confidently.

Because I know that I can. For the rest of today. Now tomorrow? Tomorrow is not as assured.

I met a married man today. Well, I met him the other day, but he remembered me today. I say and I blush thinking about my inappropriate thoughts about the man and the situation.

We married people are people too, Alma replies.

I want to tell her how much I like this guy, but I know she will not appreciate it or approve of it. So, I say nothing. I ask her about her day. Her family. Her baby girl. Her husband.

We sit and talk for so long that we start to reminisce about September 11. She looks at her watch and says, oh my goodness, I have talked for too long. I must go to the grocery store. My family is depending on me.

I feel bad that I have kept her so long, but our talking was good. We should have recorded it and we could have had a podcast to share. We talked about many things like faith, God, our recovery, the glamour, and the nightmare of it.

I could not stop thinking about Jack. I did not know his last name and therefore could not stalk him on social media. For the best. To say I yearned for him would have been a slight understatement. I was passionately invested, interested, obsessed. I knew it could never be and that firm belief held me back from the edge of unreality. I ran my errands. I thought about Jack. I drove home and could not get his serious face out of my mind. I repeated his words in my head. I replayed the conversation again. I tried to sort out how we might make it work. Even though I knew, I always go for unavailable men. Even though he is happily married. Even though I am not that girl.

I still wanted to be with him, badly. I could not get his image and style out of my head. His whole vibe was drug addict chic bum. But I was still madly attracted to the man. I knew it could never be. That did not stop the thoughts from percolating in my mind. We could have a one-night stand. He would find me. Our love would be the most fabulous love to ever be. I knew it could never be. But I wanted him. I wanted to be with him. I wanted to know more about him. I wanted to listen to his music and know him. But Jack was off limits and entirely unknowable.

I kept alive in my breast that little spark of celestial fire called Conscience.

But oh man, I could not stop thinking about Jack. I envisioned our fleeting future together. We could travel the world. Our families would forgive us for changing the game. I knew I had never met anyone like him before and I wondered if he felt even remotely similiar to me. Ours was an instant connection and a gravity of chemistry.

Oh, tell me I am the one, I thought as I pined.

Knowing fully that it could never be.

Watch and pray, that ye enter not into temptation, I heard on the old timey Bible radio program, when I returned home finally, and it spoke to me.

But then I heard, God is love.

And I felt a lot of love. It was infatuation. Lust, even. God, I wanted to sit with him, hear his thoughts, laugh again. His beloved wife was a blurry photograph in the back of my mind. I wondered about her. Was she beautiful? Did he love her? Of course, he loves her. Do not be ridiculous. And they have been through so much together. She has stuck by him through thick and thin. That I should find a love like that one day. Ah, to have a partner in this life. I do not mind being alone but sometimes it is a harsh reality. I have a long way to go. And miles to go before I sleep.

Do you think about me, Jack? I wondered, sitting at my desk.

I shook the thought loose from my head and tried to find pleasure in distractions. I searched the web. I read some headlines. I rearranged my desk. I turned the dial on the radio and picked up static. I listened to old rock music. And I felt sickly, in love. I had fallen in love with the man. No, it was just a crush. I did not know what to do.

Do nothing for there is nothing left to do. He does not want you like that, I remind myself.

Oh, but what if he does? I ask the air between all the shapes and spaces.

I seek inspiration. Jack is inspiration to me. If he could only know how I feel. But that is wrong. Do not trouble the man. Do not make any aims. Do not go about scheming, I remind myself.

I sigh and I swoon. Oh, Jack, my man, be mine. Even if just for one moment.

He had mentioned that his family was going to Chicago. That he would be unchaperoned. I twist in my chair in anguish as I lament the fact that I do not have a way to contact him or to control my runaway thoughts. My feelings are vast, complex.

I think about the future. He would never cheat on his wife. I know that I would be glad to make that dream a reality. I hate myself for that.

Send me a postcard darling, send me a postcard now, I sing.

But then I think about the next time I might see Jack. I will return to a meeting. I will see him again. I tell myself to be a decent human being and to stop this madness about Jack and about loving (or being obsessed) with him. If Jack were a drug, I would relapse so fast. And that is the truth. Jack is a new drug that I must resist. Yes, Jack is the high I crave. But I can stop this madness. I can say no. Be good. Throw myself into a new hobby. Go to the gym. Use the unrequited love as fuel to inspire and motivate me.

The gym is mostly empty when I get there. I try not to look around at the people who come in to lift weights or bench press or run on the treadmill. But I cannot help it. This is a symptom of being alone too long. You crave human connection.

I know I do. Be good, for all that is pure and holy.

The pain management people will help me. If I can get pain meds again…I will not need Jack or the thoughts of him to sustain me. I will have everything I need. No pain. Another unsustainable dependency, though.

I will go to the appointment. But I will decline if they offer me pain medicine. Won’t I? I will. And I will forget about Jack.

Love and know thyself, I chant my new mantra.

It will never work. It does not change the fact that I want him. Oh, I want him so badly. It can never be. The heart is a lonely hunter.

Heartbreaker, I whisper to myself.

Heartbreaker, I repeat.

But I am the only one breaking my heart with false start fantasies and dreams of new painkillers—the true forbidden love that I seek.