A Man Named Dave

forgot who her employers were, or if she did remember, they had somehow fled the area. Once, when I persisted in trying to find where she had worked, Patsy broke down in tears and we had an argument.
    The pattern always seemed to repeat itself. Patsy seemed surprised that I recalled her continual crises that she had forgotten over the short period of time. It seemed like an obvious lie, but I could not understand why she would concoct such elaborate stories. And I couldn’t get myself to confront Patsy. Part of the reason was I so desperately wanted to believe her. I knew deep inside Patsy was a terrific person. But every time I tried to trust her, some bizarre situation would come between us.
    Sometimes we’d clash because I didn’t go out enough. I understood that Patsy liked to go out and party, but, as I tried to explain to her, the night life just wasn’t for me. At times the disagreements ended with Patsy storming from the apartment, only to return drunk hours later. She’d stumble into the bathroom to throw up. As I tried to get her to lie down in bed, Patsy would wail that no one loved her, or that everyone was trying to take advantage of her. Several times before she passed out from the booze and exhaustion, she clutched my hand, sobbing, “Don’t leave me, please. Everybody else does … don’t you leave me, too.”
    Because I was worried, I always stood over Patsy until I was sure she was asleep. At times, because of the hour, I wouldn’t get any sleep. All I could do was take a shower, zip on my flight suit, and drive off to report for a flight, praying I didn’t lose my focus and make a critical mistake during a mission.
    Sometimes upon returning home, either late in the afternoon or early evening, I’d find Patsy, seemingly embarrassed, looking as if she had just rolled out of bed. What was it that made her drink to the point of losing control? Something had to be eating at her. I knew part of it was me. As the pattern progressed, I sometimes became so frustrated when Patsy, in all sincerity, tried to make up. I’d retreat inside myself, ignoring her for days at a time. As much as I wanted to believe the line “It won’t happen again,” the act was wearing pretty thin.
    Probing only made matters worse. My only concern was to stop the cycle, as I desperately wanted to ease her pain. Having seen my parents deteriorate in front of my eyes, I couldn’t allow it to happen to someone else. No matter what had upset Patsy in the first place, though, her responses were always evasive. “Oh, it was nothing,” “I got into an argument with my mom,” “I met an old friend,” or “Someone just pissed me off. It’s no big deal, it’s all right.”
    After months with no change, one evening I lit into Patsy. “Enough! It’s not all right! We live together … and when you come home like that and I have to take care of you, it is my business. I feel like, at times, you expect it of me. Okay, I realize I have a few beers, but I know my limit, I don’t lose control. Do you have any idea how many times I’ve broken crew rest before a flight just to take care of you? Do you realize if the air force found out I’ve lost sleep prior to a flight, they could pull my wings? I could be grounded!”
    Patsy broke in with a vindictive tone, “Oh, Mr Perfect, Mr Control, Mr Self-righteous –”
    “No!” I cut Patsy off, fighting to explain. I was not trying to be overbearing, but after months of closing my eyes to the situation, I had to get my feelings off my chest. “Where do you get that? I am in no way perfect. You know I’m not like that. I just don’t live like this. This whole thing is a problem for me and … if that makes me self-righteous … well, so be it. I thought you knew: my parents’ drinking destroyed my family.” I was breathing hard as I raised my finger. “I cannot and will not live through that again. For some folks, like your friends, I know it’s okay and a part of their everyday lives. I don’t care. I’m not better than anybody else. It’s simply not for me.” I began to cool down. “That’s not my way of life. You’ve got to get this under control. Please?” I pleaded.
    “You’re not my father!” Patsy fired back. “No one, no one tells me what to do! Not you, my mother, my family, no one! All my life everyone’s been bossing me around. You have no idea the shit I’ve been put through! I’ll do what I want, when I want. Why do you care what happens to me? You can’t even say the words. I know you don’t love