**Author’s note: I started my own publishing company in late 2019 — It’s A Go Publishing — in order to distribute my electronic short stories online.
Rags to Riches continues to be free below, but at present, it remains incomplete. I look forward to reviewing, editing, and continuing this short story in the coming months.
If you happen upon this post, and you would like to provide your feedback before I continue, please comment below. As always, thanks for reading. It’s A Go!**
Hi everyone,
Thank you for joining me to read part 23 of my first Saturday Story:Rags to Riches.
Have a great weekend! Happy Thanksgiving to my Canadian readers!
Thank you for joining me to read part 17 of my first Saturday Story:Rags to Riches. If you’re new to my blog, you can find parts 1-5 here.
Please note that I updated part 16; I’ve come to learn that a person with alcohol poisoning would not be discharged from the hospital on the same day of admittance. I updated part 16 to reflect a realistic timeline for Chris’s discharge, but the rest of the story is the same.
Thank you for joining me for part 16 of my first Saturday Story:Rags to Riches. Please check back next Saturday for part 17.
Give your life the green light. It’s A Go!
Amber Green
**Note from the author: Please note that this part of Rags to Riches touches on the topic of suicide. Rags to Riches is intended for an audience of adults/people in their late teens, but please be forewarned, just in case you don’t feel like reading about a dark, difficult subject in the perspective of my (fictional) characters. Thanks.**
***The below was revised on Saturday, July 28th, 2018 to reflect a more realistic timeline to treat alcohol poisoning (according to a trusted medical professional, a person suffering with alcohol poisoning would never be discharged from hospital the same day they were admitted).***
Thank you for joining me for part 15 of my first Saturday Story:Rags to Riches. If you missed part 14, you can find it here.
Please check back next Saturday for part 16, and have a great weekend!
Give your life the green light. It’s A Go!
Amber Green
…
Rags to Riches
Rags to Riches. Art by Dixie Foxton; used with permission.
To Riches:
It’s not a big deal. Everyone is just so damn sensitive, Chris thought to himself, justifying yet another drink on a Wednesday evening.
Dave was on a business trip for their chain of auto repair shops, and Chris was sitting alone on their beautiful terrace. Ice cubes clanked around in the glass as Chris drank deeply.
The sun shone down. It was a beautiful day. How many gorgeous afternoons had Chris spent on a patio enjoying a few too many? (He really couldn’t even wager a guess…)
Throughout the years, Chris had worked every program, read every self-help book about alcoholism, sought counselling and meditated. For decades, he had been on a continuous roller coaster between the lows of alcoholism and highs of sobriety (though, sometimes sobriety felt very, very low).
Every time he was sober for a while, he felt good; he fooled himself and those around him into thinking that he finally had his drinking under control. He wrangled alcoholism; beat it into submission- only to drink again (whether it be days, weeks, months or even years later, it didn’t matter. It classified as failure in his eyes- and worse, in the eyes of his partner and family members).
How did this thing that started out as fun (and even celebrated) in his twenties turn into a crutch? Alcohol had slowly crept in to form a large part of his very lifestyle over the years. He ignored it as best as he could (which was probably the worst thing for him), but when he forced himself to confront it, he was ashamed. He ignored his sisters’ watchful eyes and his mom’s pursed lips when he openly drank in front of the family (those times were few and far between, but they had happened over the years). He ignored Dave’s anger and resentment. He ignored the gnawing feeling that he himself deserved better. Ignore, ignore, ignore. I really am my father’s son, Chris thought to himself, bitterly, as he poured himself another drink.
Dave could never know that Chris had been drinking today. He had had so much hope for Chris’s sustained sobriety this last time…
From Rags:
“Should I call Mom?” Priscilla asked Franca from the passenger seat.
Franca’s hands gripped the steering wheel tightly; she focused on getting them to the hospital where their brother was being treated for alcohol poisoning. Franca exhaled a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.
“Yeah, Dave said Chris is unconscious. Call them,” Franca said.
Priscilla called their parents’ number from her cell phone. “Hi daddy,” Priscilla said calmly when their father answered the phone. Franca rolled her eyes- their mother always answered the phone; in fact, this was probably one of five times their father answered their home phone throughout their parents’ marriage. Where the hell is mom? she thought.
“Daddy-” (whether it be because she was their first child, or because she had always been a ‘Daddy’s girl’, Priscilla was the only one of his adult children to call him this; Chris and Franca always stuck with plain ol’ ‘dad.’) “-where’s mom?” Priscilla waited for him to respond. “She’s on her way home now? Okay. I’m sure everything is fine-” Franca grimaced at this, as she knew her father was probably suffering from a mild heart attack at this less-than-comforting phrase, “-but Chris is in the hospital. He’s being treated for alcohol poisoning.”
The hospital was just ahead of them now. Franca thought one more prayer for her brother’s recovery, as she turned into the hospital’s entrance.
“What do you mean, ‘how do we know?'” Priscilla asked their father patiently. “Dave called us, and said-” Priscilla paused. Her tone changed from calm and patient to short and icy with her next sentence. “What do you mean, ‘mom will meet us?'” Priscilla scoffed and gave me her Are you kidding me? look through a side glance. Anger entered my sister’s voice, “Dad, this has gone on long enough. He is your son. Come with mom,” she paused again as our father responded. Priscilla flushed, and her voice shook with equal parts disbelief and rage. “Yeah, well, dad, fine. Just know that it’s probably your fault that Chris in the hospital to begin with.” She ended the call.
I almost hit a parked car as I whipped my head around to stare wide-eyed at my sister.
“What?” Priscilla asked, exasperated.
“Nothing- no, it’s just, I can’t believe you said that to dad.”
“Yeah, well, usually I talk to him like his daughter, but today I had to talk to him like a parent.” In that moment, my father- the man my sister thought hung the moon- was just another person, focused on all the wrong things. “Would you park already?” she asked, frustrated.
I pulled into the next available spot, and we raced for the hospital’s entrance.
*This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
