Frantically I looked for my keys. Goddamn it, I left them in my coat pocket in the house. I had to climb out of the car, put one leg through the front window, reach to the couch, grab the jacket, thread it through the window, yank the ignition and slam the car door. I had to find Lira. I knew she’d be at the quilting factory. I speed there so fast I almost broke the knob off of the steel shift stick. I ran to the front door, nothing. I ran to the back door, nothing. I heard the garbage can lid slam and ran around a brick wall to find Lira kneeling down between cans of assorted trash.

“Hey,” I said solidly stupid as I stood akimbo looking down at Lira. I tried to pretend that nothing ever happened. When she looked up at me, I could not pretend anymore.

“I’m power cleansing. Making careful choices between what piles of trash go in the garbage can, the recycle can, or what can go to the second hand store, sold as a remnant, or be of some use elsewhere. I figure I have a choice here. I can get something beautiful and throw it away, send it to the landfill. Which if it is the wrong choice and I send it to the landfill, it is a sin in some religions. So I am choosing very carefully what to do with this trash as trash is not a chore to be taken lightly in my world,” Lira said.

I know Lira will not be easily persuaded. She is an observer with no interest in bothering me, but when she’s had enough she’ll tell me her opinion. The day I hoisted her up into the ox cart and she sat next to me on that first ride, I was more in love with her than I’ve ever been. I knew she was proud of me and enjoying the ride, the way she slightly turned to look at me while I was holding the reins, her brown eyes lurking in my side vision. I still smile when I think of it. Still I had to try and rewrite the last few weeks of extremely drunken behavior to Lira.

Lira said, “I know this must seem boring to you, but try, just try, to see these pieces of material as something valuable to someone. It will make it more interesting. Oh, no, try thinking of these as bottles of vodka with wheels on them, then you’ll see the value of what I’m doing.”

My sour laugh made my shoulder tighten, but I did not want to challenge her tonight. I just wanted her to get in the car and come home without having to explain something I cannot explain. But I knew I had some explaining to do.

“I have no excuse why I’ve drank these last few weeks. Yes I’m upset over Trees Smith’s news, but I can’t explain the drinking after that. I can’t,” I said.

I was puzzled as to where I was going with this, but pushed on in a low, pensive voice.
“That hot, fiery sensation of hard liquor going down my throat and burning my stomach sour, it makes me want to blast it back up. I literally have to breathe myself through it otherwise it’ll come right back up,” I managed to mutter this out. I gazed my shameful eyes at Lira who was looking down, but listening to me.
“This is nothing but an ugly sunrise over a cheap dime store. Don’t ask me to drink wine or beer it’s not about that. It’s about knowing that I can hold the grind down and control myself while this grit consumes me from the inside out,” I held my breath as I said what I never could. “I don’t know why I drink. It stinks. The empty bottles…I know they always get recycled,” I smiled to her but she had no reaction.
Quietly I said, “The bottles landing in the trash, empty and useless, like me. Tonight I am that drinker. I am unable to stop to the point of earning stripes, just to find they’re on sale to people with coupons.” I laughed pathetically and had my arms crossed so tight it hurt.
“I’ve got to stop and there’s the rub,” I said, “I’ve got to stop.”