Another brilliant piece from a GUNNAS WRITING MASTERCLASS WRITER
There was another thump, his body flew into the air and returned to his seat with a bone shuddering judder “For fucks sake!” he yelled. Sam closed his eyes trying to recapture the magic of his day-dream, In his mind the tall muscular rugby player leaned across from his poolside deckchair gesturing to the book in Sam’s hands, “I’ve just finished that one, such a good book, looks like we have the same tast-“ thud Sam went flying again, he came down hard on his tail bone, his eyes flew open, “fuck fuck fuck fuck!” he yelled, slamming his hand against the wall of the truck with each profanity. Sam was not one for dramatics but since he was sitting on metal bench in the back of a rattling truck barrelling down a potholed highway in search for his missing boyfriend he really felt he deserved to indulge himself.
Ironically this wasn’t Sam’s rock bottom. That had come two days earlier when he had come too lying in a pool of his own vomit on the hotel room floor. Eyes blinking as he slowly came to his senses, wrinkling his nose trying loosen the crust of vomit from his nostrils wiping has hand across his face and realising that Mick was missing.
Arriving back in the present with a thump and a rattle Sam shook his head trying to rid himself of the memory. Sam wasn’t sure who he was trying to fool, saying he had hit rock bottom was just to try to convince himself that something was going to change. Sam didn’t really think he had hit his rock bottom, more like he was hanging three quarters of the way down a cliff, gazing down into the crevasse and feeling his hands slipping. Sam knew there was a lot further to fall. If it wasn’t so serious it would be entertaining, a guessing game to decide what would his rock bottom be.
The worst part about rock bottom was the expectation that he would want to claw his way back to the surface. Everyone assumed that rock bottom meant you wanted to change, needed help to become a better you, they all wanted you to want to be a better you. Sam had seen it many many times. One of his friends after a few too many binges or one too many lines, would crash and burn, they’d retreat and curl up in their flats while hordes of friends streamed in with casseroles and muffins, as if there’d been a death in the family rather than just a sad man who was having more fun than was appropriate ‘at his age’. The casserole bringers would give rousing speeches about getting back on one’s feet in between issuing re-heating instructions. Sam had been one of these motivators, attending the bedside of hungover and bleary eyed friends, “Come on mate,” he’d say, shaking them gently by the shoulder, “You’re better than this, it’s time to take your life back”. Anyone who already lives at rock bottom is allowed to stay there but if you fall from grace and hit rock bottom everyone teams up to try and drag you back to the surface.
Sam did not have time for the self-indulgence of climbing up from rock bottom, he needed to find Mick.