Throwback Thursday: ‘Things to Live For’ by Richard E Gropp

I was taking a piss and I fell over.

This was a low point for me — my pants drenched in urine, still spraying. And I just grunted. On the bathroom floor. And I wasn’t alone. I was at the pub, and laughter rang out as I lay on the tile. I grunted again and tried to get up. I wasn’t peeing anymore — not because I managed to stop, but because my bladder had run dry. My hands slipped on the wet tile and I fell back down. There was more laughter.

Fuck.

I finally managed to get myself up off the floor, and I got out of there as fast as I could, not quite drunk enough to be unembarrassed. I still had a tiny little bit of pride left, and that, more than anything, surprised me. I’d lost so much over the years. Who knew I still had shame?

I swayed as I crossed through the pub, not looking at Johnny behind the bar, or the people at the tables.

And this wasn’t rock bottom. I knew that. There was still a drop beneath my feet. And if I looked down, maybe I could see the rocks at the bottom now. Maybe I could feel the air whipping past my face. But there was still farther to fall. And it was freezing out on the street. There was snow on the sidewalk, and my wet pants stuck cold against my leg, cold enough to cut through the numb haze of Tennessee Whiskey. I leaned back against the nearest wall and closed my eyes for a moment, waiting for the world to stop moving, riding out the sea-swell lifts and rollercoaster drops as they surged through my stomach and head. There was very little traffic on the sidewalk. I wasn’t sure if it was still Thursday, technically, or if midnight had come and gone while I’d been drowning my thoughts in shot after shot of Jack.  

And when I opened my eyes, he was standing there, looking at me.