“As rain leaks into a poorly roofed house, so does passion invade an uncultivated mind.”-- The Buddha
   
     Joseph hated visiting his counselor. But he had agreed to go to rehab and agreed to do it for real this time. The last time he went to treatment all he really wanted was a place to dry out for a bit until he felt healthy enough to drink again. He wanted moderation. He made promises to himself that he would regain control. That plan backfired within hours of leaving treatment. Joseph found himself stopping at a bar on the way home. This time he was desperate and willing to do anything. That included going to meet with his counselor.
     It was towards the end of his two month stay at the treatment center. Joseph felt better and was surprised at how much younger he looked compared to when he entered treatment. Inside he was a flurry of anxiety and exhaustion. It had been weeks since he slept through the night.
     The counselor was an older man, though Joseph couldn’t tell his age. The man had been a junkie before getting clean and that could age anyone prematurely. Joseph waited in the lobby until the counselor came and asked him to come into his office. He gestured to an empty chair near the desk and Joseph sat down wondering what came next.
     “We were talking about fear last time,” said the counselor.
     “Yeah,” said Joseph.
     “You said you were afraid of leaving here. What else can you tell me about that?”
Joseph shrugged. “I don’t know if there’s anything more to tell you.”
     “You said you were afraid of leaving here and going back to work. Do you still feel that way?”
     Joseph thought, Is this guy stupid? “I don’t know why I wouldn’t. You’d feel that way too. You’re here working in a safe place. I work in bars and play music. I’ll be surrounded by temptation,” Joseph said. “It would be easy to go back and end up talking to you or someone like you a year from now.”
     “That sounds frightening,” he said. “And understandable. Have you considered some other form of employment? Something you can do that doesn’t involve playing music in bars?”
     Joseph sighed. “I don’t have any other skills. I’ve been doing this since high school. I have a blank resume. And I have a criminal record. And the economy is busted. I’m pretty much fucked.”
     The counselor nodded. “You believe you don’t have any other options.”
     Joseph nodded. The counselor scribbled something in his notepad. “You think you can make a living playing music again? From what you’ve told me, you haven’t done any performances in years.”
     “My agent thinks I can manage it,” Joseph said. “I can still be billed as the guy who wrote the song for the Mary Ann show. A lot of people watched that show. He’s already started booking gigs for me and sending tapes to different television shows.”
     “So what will happen if you aren’t able to perform again? What will you do then?”
     “I can perform,” Joseph said. “My hands still work. And I can still teach.” Joseph thought, What is he getting at? Why is he assuming I can’t make it? It’s like talking to my parents all over again when I was sixteen.
     The counselor scribbled some more. “I just think you might benefit from being a little more flexible,” he said. “Open to other possibilities.”
     “This is my life,” said Joseph. “Music is my life. I’m good at it and love doing it. And I don’t appreciate you implying that I can’t do it anymore.”
     “I’m just worried about you leaving here and going to work in bars. Drinking and music are tied pretty closely together with you,” the counselor said.
     Joseph shook his head. “Not that way at all. The drinking got out of hand when I stopped performing. When I had enough money I didn’t have to gig every night. I was bored and lazy. Work will help.”
     “If that’s the case,” the counselor said, “what are you afraid of?”
     “What am I afraid of?” Joseph pondered that question for a moment before answering. “Everything. Absolutely everything.”
​

     "Those who know the real is real and the unreal as unreal arrive at the real, being in the realm of accurate thought."-- The Buddha
 
     She listened to Joseph's music all day in the car.  It moved her.  It showed signs of complexity and deep emotion and it inspired her enough to listen to it over and over again.  The more she listened, the more she received glimpses of something else.  There was a perfection in it.  Complicated but precise, like Joseph himself.  Joseph wanted perfection.  And behind that perfection, she suspected, was fear.
     That was what drew her to him the most.  He kept himself so stiff and controlled.  Even his religious practice was that way.  She peeked at him often enough during the meditation sessions to know.  His posture was always perfect.  If it was difficult for him to sit in the lotus position for the full hour, he would never complain.  His back perfectly straight.   
      But when she gazed into his eyes, she saw the truth.  She saw how much it was a show.  There was an intensity when Joseph looked at her that cut her to the point where she had to turn away.  There was chaos going on behind those eyes.  All that he did, his meetings, his music, his meditation, was just to keep that insanity at bay.  She could lose herself in that unspoken madness.  I wonder, she thought, what he would be like if he ever really lost control.
     She had cleaned the house a few days before. Anne came across a box of things left to her by her grandmother, Lily. The woman had been dead for over twenty years now, but Anne could not find the heart to go through her belongings until then.
     The items she found surprised her only a little. Anne knew her grandfather was not Lily’s first choice or even her first boyfriend. Her grandfather belonged to a large family of ten children and Lily first dated her grandfather’s brother, Hank. It was only for a short time. Her grandmother told her that she chose her grandfather because she knew he would be a good family man. Hank was too reckless and she wanted a family. Her grandfather was safer, religious, and a family man. It was an easy decision for her. That’s what Anne always thought.
     Among the letters was a black and white photo of Lily on the back of Hank’s motorcycle. It was an old Indian, brand new at the time. Lily tilted her head back, a white scarf blowing back in the wind. And she smiled in a strange way. On the back of the picture were the words “Remembering you and how beautiful we looked when we fucked by the lake.” The words shocked Anne. She wondered if this could possibly be the same woman. For the first time, Anne realized she came from a long line of women who chose security over passion. Anne wept, but she didn’t know why.
     But Grandma was right, she thought. Hank was dead just a few years later after crashing that motorcycle. Anne could only imagine what she might have felt at the man’s funeral. Anne thought, Are those the only choices? Choosing a man that’s safe, or men who are dangerous to the point of killing themselves? There have to be other men out there.
     When she listened to Joseph’s music, Anne thought she had found that man. Yes, he was definitely dangerous. He made it very clear what his life used to be like. But he was better now. She knew then that she was in love with him and had no idea what to do about it.
     The CD came to an end and she hit play a second time and imagined what those talented hands would feel like on her body. I’m so sick of making good decisions, she thought.
     When she got home, she grabbed a bottle of wine and a corkscrew and went to the small room where she meditated. She opened the bottle and drank straight from it, feeling the wine gush down her throat. Anne played the CD some more.
     As she felt the wine go to her head, she reached down and unzipped her jeans, then slipped her fingers inside her panties. Her fingers were cool from holding the bottle but her folds were warm to the point of burning her.
    Anne played with herself, listening to each note of the CD. She imagined what it would take to get him in her bed and how much she wanted to please him. I’m yours, she thought. Completely and totally yours. And you don’t even know. You could have me any way you wanted, as brutally as you wanted.
     The thought of him ravaging her and pounding her with his cock drove her to orgasm quickly. She drank some more wine and touched herself some more, coming three more times in quick secession.
     I am so screwed, she thought.

                                                                              Day Two
 
     "Mindful he breathes in, mindful he breathes out.  Breathing in long, he understands: 'I breathe in long'; or breathing out long, he understands: 'I breathe out long.' Breathing in short, he understands: 'I breathe in short'; or breathing out short, he understands: 'I breathe out short.'"--The Buddha
 
     Her presence filled the room.  Joseph kept his mind on his breath to the best of his ability.  His focus on his upper lip and nostrils, feeling the subtle breath as he inhaled and exhaled.  He tried to keep his eyes shut and not think about Anne a few feet away from him. 
     She looked good that day.  Although she wore no makeup, she had on her yoga pants and a loose T-shirt.  He was just settling in that morning when she walked into the meditation hall. 
     It was 4:30 in the morning.  The first real day of the retreat.  The first day had been a struggle just to get centered.  Now things were serious and he could give himself over to the sensation of the breath. 
     But the thoughts kept returning.  Continuous thoughts about the two of them and the last time they had seen each other. 
     It was before she left for Japan.  She had checked out of the treatment center and said she was leaving the country.  He had just returned from L.A., new contract in hand and plans to make a record with Crystal.  They loved her voice and loved the songs they wrote together.  He was truly happy for the first time in years.
     "Why do you want to go now?" he said.  "Things are looking better.  I'll be making money again and you're sober.  It will be better this time."
     "You're fooling yourself," she said.  "I don't think you understand.  I can't do this.  Being with you makes me crazy.  Crazy enough that it almost killed me."
     "But that was before," he said.  "We've both changed."
     She held him tighter.  "I know we have.  And that's why it won't work."  She turned away and then was gone from his life.
     And then two years had gone by.  Two years without hearing anything from her.  And things really had changed.  Crystal's death had taken an album which sold only a little into a major album that left him with offers from all over.  He was writing songs for several acts now and had a steady income from not only the TV show, but the songwriting royalties from the album as well.  
     But where was Anne?  Where had she been?  What had she done all this time?  He wrote her often, telling her what he was up to.  But his emails and texts got no response and he stopped after the first year. 
     Back to the breath. 
     Seriously, where the fuck have you been, he thought. 
     Back to the breath. 
     He felt his muscles ache.  They were already tense from the ten hours he had sat the day before.  He had another ten hours of sitting to go.  And this was only the second day. 
I can’t do this, he thought.
     Back to the breath. 
     I fucking miss you, he thought.  He opened his eyes and saw her sitting there with her eyes closed.  He imagined what she looked like underneath her clothes.  Joseph felt himself get hard at just the thought. 
     Back to the breath.
     Soon, the morning chanting started and Joseph listened to the voice.  The chanting was all done in Pali, and Joseph only understood some of the words.  He settled into it and allowed his breath to align itself with the chants.  His erection went away.
     Back to the breath. 

     "One who has vomited out all filth and concentrates on moral practices has self-control and is genuine, thus is worthy of the saffron robe."--The Buddha
 
     Anne attempted to read the obituary without sobbing.  "Neal Stephens, who died suddenly at 38," it read.  Died suddenly is what they write when someone kills themselves, she thought.  "He was a graphic designer and worked on many successful campaigns for Widen and Kennedy and had a successful art studio where he worked and taught other upcoming painters and graphic designers."  Then the article listed the place where the memorial would be held.  There was a request that those attending donate to the art college.
     The whole thing disgusted her.  She had spoke to Neal the day before it happened.  She knew he struggled.  Everyone knew he struggled.  But that was Neal.  That's the way he was.
     She thought about the last phone call.  He mentioned some disappointment about a gallery showing which fell through at the last minute.  But that had happened before, and he usually found another gallery shortly afterwards.  His work had been in demand for some time. 
     He mentioned breaking up with Kelly, but the two of them had been on and off for the last five years. 
     She didn't want to think about it, but she knew it was possible that he was on heroin again.  Oh Neal, she thought, you fought it for so long.  She wondered if it was a suicide or an overdose. 
     Anne set the obituary down on the table.  It was too dry.  It didn't say what kind of person Neal was.  It said nothing of his sense of humor.  She remembered how he teased her for being middle class and how she abandoned the ideals from college to settle down and have health insurance.  "I'm not you," she told him.  "I'm only a muse.  You're the artist.  All I can do is lie around naked and be inspiring."
     And she had.  She had posed for him many times. Anne remembered her nipples hardening in his freezing studio while he told her to stay still and drank cocktails from plastic cups.  But that had stopped long before she moved in with Ben.
     Neal scared her.  She knew of his troubles with the needle.  She was aware of the women who climbed in through the window of his loft at night brandishing knives and telling of their eternal love for him.  He brought that side out in women. 
     She was aware of the two years he did in jail for selling cocaine to undercover cops.  All of this was left out of the obituary as well. 
     The thing she would miss the most is how alive he made her feel.  When she posed nude for him or when they snorted coke together off of stained glass, she felt free and beautiful and reckless.  No other man ever made her feel that way. 
     She remembered posing for him one day and he got that look in his eye that told her he was no longer interested in her as an object to study.  He set down his brush and walked straight toward her without saying a word.  "Are we taking a break?" she said.
     He stood in front of her and unbuckled his belt and opened his pants.  She took his member into her mouth as he grabbed the back of her head.  He said nothing.  There was no need.  She had craved him all day.   He was forceful and passionate.  Neal removed himself from her mouth and laid her down in the floor of the studio.  By the end, her body was covered in spots of paint: greens and blues  and reds all over her legs and breasts and back.  She became a canvas for him to work on.
     Now he was gone and she had no idea what she was going to do with her life.  She never regretted and would never regret going off with Ben.  She loved him.  He was the single best thing that ever happened to her.  But he could never give her what Neal gave her.  It wouldn't enter his mind.
     I miss being a muse, she thought.  I miss being the kind of woman who inspired men and drove them to make great things.  I don't think I inspire anything in Ben but jealousy. 
She put the obituary away and sobbed.  She cried more at the funeral.  Months later she was still crying.  

     "One who would wear the saffron robe while not free from impurity is lacking in self-control and is not genuine, thus unworthy of the saffron robe."---The Buddha
 
     Joseph didn't let too many people into his basement anymore.  At one point in his life, the basement was his prize.  He gladly let visitors down inside to see his walls of guitars and the recording equipment.  Now it was like a graveyard, filled with hooks and empty guitar stands and an elaborately built home recording studio, complete with a glass panel so those in the recording section could keep eye contact with those laying down their tracks.  Everything was covered in a fine layer of dust.  Everything that could be removed and pawned was gone.  All that was left now was the mixing board, the piano, and Betty.
     It had been a magical place for a few good years.  But there were only a handful of those.
     If Joseph was honest with himself, he knew it wasn't for recording.  Though there were a few sessions in the basement, it was mostly for himself to show off, to prove he had made something of himself.  It was a place to bring women he met at the bar so they could understand just what kind of man they were with.  Back then, the whole place reeked of money.  The instruments were just a way of showing how much money there was. 
     He had loved the instruments though.  There had been the Martins, of course.  Half a dozen of them.  Dreadnaughts twelve strings and nylon stringed beauties.  Some had pickups and some didn't.  Three of them he had kept permanently in open tunings for when he wanted to play slide.  There were two or three Ovations that he didn't play but liked the look of.  There was a rare old Gibson where the wood had aged just right after fifty years and was then at its peak.
     On the other wall he had kept the electrics.  There were a few Strats and Teles from the pre-Columbia days when Fender still made guitars worth playing.  There was a Gibson custom triple pickup model with gold-plated hardware that sounded good no matter what amp he plugged it into.  There were the Paul Reed Smiths that he bought only because Santana played them.  A twelve string Rickenbacker that he worked out Beatles' songs on.  There were Explorers and Flying V's and Teardrops and other oddballs that he never even played because they were uncomfortable and not his kind of thing anyway.  But they looked good lined up against the wall.
     On a third wall were the arch tops.  Mostly Guilds, but a few Gibsons as well.  It almost made him want to be a jazz player.  Below those were his stack of amps and heads and speakers.  Marshall and Mesa Boogie were his favorites, through there were others.
All of it was gone now.  His Yamaha grand remained in the corner, but only because he couldn't figure a way to take it to the pawn shop.  It all disappeared when the easy money went away.  Soon he was left with nothing but the addiction.
     "Is this where you bring all your girls?" Crystal said.  Joseph was jolted back to attention.  I've wandered so deeply into my self-pity I forgot where I was, he thought.
     "Only the ones I like," he said.
She walked over to him and kissed him on the cheek.  Her breath smelled of cranberry juice.  She sat down on the floor and pulled a cigarette from her purse.  "Are you going to play me something, or is all this shit just for show?"
     "Now?" he said.  "I'm a little sloshed."
     She laughed.  "I thought all you fuckers played that way."
     "We do," he said.  "But I'm at the point where I’m seeing double now.  I'm not even sure if I know who you are."  He went to reach out for her and she seemed to get farther away.  Then he felt himself falling toward the ground.
     He woke up many hours later in his own drool.  Joseph opened his eyes.  He saw a pair of red pumps next to his guitar.  I guess she stayed the night, he thought.
     Then he heard something.  It was the sound of an out of tune piano.  The girl was in the corner playing.  She's good, he thought.  Really good. 
     As he rose from the ground, she began to sing.  Holy fuck, he thought.  Holy fuck. 

     "One who lives as though the things of this world are impure, with senses guarded and appetite moderate, faithful and diligent, will not be overpowered by bedevilment, like a rock mountain unshaken by the wind."--The Buddha 
 
     She was nervous.  There was no telling how he might react.  He watched football in the living room, the dog draped across his lap and his bottle of beer in his hands.  Ben's eyes were so intent on the game, she felt she could have left the house then and it would be weeks before he missed her. 
     I'll wait until half-time, she thought.
     Anne went to her meditation room up in the attic where she had placed her Buddha statues and a translation of the Tibetan Book of the Dead, Joseph gave her when the first met.  She closed her eyes and brought her attention to her breathing.  The sounds of the game echoed in her ears.  It was too much.  Can't he see what I'm going through, she thought.  Can't he tell that I'm about to make one of the biggest decisions in my life?
     After what seemed like hours, her alarm chimed and her session was over.  She had been restless, but kept her mind going back to her breath, her anchor, her connection to her body no matter where her mind wanted to wander.
     She went to the bedroom and turned the game on, the same one he watched.  Anne turned the volume down, but eyed the screen so she could see when halftime started and then she could talk to him.  She touched her chest and took out her mala and began changing the 100 syllable mantra, hoping that the sound of her own voice would drown out the sounds of the game.  "Om Benza Sato Samaya
Manupalaya." Every so often, she opened her eyes and peaked at the score on the television set.  The Bears are winning, she thought.  He'll be in a good mood.
     When the game reached halftime, she stole into the living room and approached him.  "Can I get you another beer, or some chips or something?" she said.  I am such a coward, she thought.  Thinking if I do him a favor he'll take the news well.
     He shifted in his chair.  The dog yawned.  "I'm good," he said.  "Are you okay?  You're acting a little weird today."
     She felt her weight alternate from one foot to another.  "I've been working up the nerve to tell you something," she said. 
     He sat up and the dog jumped down to the floor and scurried away.  He set his beer down.  "This can't be good," Ben said.  "Let's hear it then. Tell me what you've been meaning to tell me."
     "I've decided to go for refuge," she said.  Her right hand went to her mala tucked under her shirt.  "It's time."
     His eyebrows narrowed.  "What the hell does that mean?" he said.  "You're going somewhere?"
     She shook her head.  "Nothing like that," she said.  "It just means I'm officially becoming a Buddhist."
     He shrugged and took a sip from his beer and turned to watch the TV again.  "Sounds like bunch of hooey, but it's your life.  Do what you've got to do."
     "It's not a bunch of hooey," she said.  "It's my religion.  You know that.  I'm just making it official, that's all."
     "And that's fine," he said.  "Don't get defensive.  I'm not trying to stop you or anything."
     "You couldn't stop me," she said.
     He rose from his chair.  "And I'm not trying to.  That's not what I meant.  You know that."
     "Do I? Do I really?"
     He raised his voice just a bit.  "I'm not going to pretend that I understand any of this, because I don't.  The girl I married was an atheist.  I don't know who you are anymore. "
     "I've been growing," she said.
     Ben sighed.  "You've been changing," he said.  "Go and do what you think is best.  Join an ashram.  Give all your money to an Indian in diapers for all I care.  It's none of my business anymore."
     "I love you," she said. 
     "I love you too," he said.  "I don't know how this turned into an argument.  I want you to be happy, and if this is what makes you happy, I support you.  You know that."
     She went to him and hugged him.  Anne wanted her words to be true.  She wanted to love him the way she just said she did.  But she knew it was a lie.  Suddenly she knew that she hadn't loved him for years.  My marriage has been over for a long time, she thought.  I didn't know it until now.  She held him tighter, thinking that if she held him tightly enough she could put the pieces back in place. 

     "One who lives as though the things of this world were pure, with senses unguarded and appetite immoderate, lazy and weak, will be overpowered by bedevilment, like a weak tree blown over by the wind."---The Buddha
 
     Joseph didn't recognize the figure approaching him.  That is, he didn't recognize him at first.  The man held Betty, his favorite steel string.  The one Joseph based his career on.  The man sat down on a stool and played.  He was confident and flawless.  the double made the hard parts seem easy and the easy parts seem like the sweetest melody Joseph ever heard.  That's me, Joseph thought.  Not the real me, but the one I pretend to be.
     Next to the figure was a bottle of whiskey.  In between the songs, the double reached down and took a few drinks, but it didn't seem to alter his performance.  If anything, the man's playing improved.  Joseph involuntarily licked his lips. 
     He knew the whole thing was an illusion.  A trick of his mind.  It wasn't the first time he had drinking dreams since getting sober.  There was some part of his mind  that wanted to drink, even after several years had gone by.  His sponsor had told him of such things. 
Joseph turned away from his doppelganger and looked at the attendant crowd that cheered the figure on.  He scanned the crowd and searched for her, for Anne.  He saw many others; his parents, his sponsor, former bandmates, girlfriends, his agent, everyone he knew was in the crowd.  At last, he found her in the back row, sipping on a glass of wine and smoking a cigarette.  She seemed happy.  Not the frantic kind of mad girl that he had come to know and come to love.  Anne wore a blue sun dress that hung on her just right.  Anne was the image of innocence,  perfectly at peace, tapping her foot and slapping her thigh ever so lightly to the rhythm of the music his clone played. 
     He thought of forcing himself awake.  He knew nothing good could come from this illusion.  He knew he had enough things to worry about.  There was the meeting with his agent the next day, the meeting with the TV producer.  He had to sell himself.  He had to be charming.  It wasn't about his music anymore.  It never had been.   He had created a melody perfect for a daytime TV show.  He was good at it.  The beautiful image of being on stage and playing before the world the melodies from his heart was just his illusion.  Just as much a dream as his clone being able to drink without anything bad happening.
But the Joseph on stage didn't care about that.  This was the image of Joseph before things got bad.  Before he was making money and things went to hell.  Long before the drinking went out of control.  Back then, he only drank at shows, and he only drank then because that's how the clubs paid him.  He was relaxed, carefree, poor, and had nothing but the future to look forward to.
     He turned back to Anne.  She looked so much in love and so beautiful in a cloud of cigarette smoke illuminated by the stage lights.  He felt a sense of loss that she could never know him as he was then, back when he felt alive.  Back before his innocence was lost and the booze got to him.  He could have loved her sweetly then, not the angry way he fucked her now.  He could make love then.  That's what she deserved.  Now he could hardly look at a woman without wanting to punish them for breaking his broken heart.  He could only fuck the way a broken, jaded man fucked, like he was out to break them the way he was broken. 
     He blinked.  The figure was gone.  It was him on stage now.  And Anne walked onto the stage and approached him and touched his shoulder while he played.  "What are you so worried about?" she said. 
     He set his guitar down.  The imaginary audience didn't seem to mind.  In fact, they were all gone and all that was left was Anne and him.  She pulled the whiskey bottle from the ground. "I can't drink," he said.  "Bad things happen.  I'm a fucking mess."
     "Don’t' worry, baby," she said.  "No one's gonna know."
     He placed the lip of the bottle to his lips. 
     The world shook.
     His eyes burst open.  Is this what happens, he thought.  I drink and God shakes the world. 
     He went to the window, stumbling as the world continued shaking.  Earthquake, he thought.  I'm in California.  It's just a fucking earthquake.  

     "Others do not know we must pass away here; but for those who know this, contention thereby ceases."----The Buddha
 
     Anne hated being helpless.  It was all over the news.  The earthquake ripped L.A. apart and, she was sure, took Joseph along with it.  The phone rang all day with calls from friends, but none from him. 
     This is nonsense, she thought.  I don't know for sure that anything happened to him.  I wish he would call though.  She hadn't liked the thought of him sticking her in rehab and then leaving so suddenly.  He said that it couldn't be avoided.  He said his career was on the line and the only way to get out of poverty was to play the game.  There was another TV show that wanted his guitar playing for their closing credits.  It might lead to more royalties, perhaps even a recording deal.  She knew how hard he worked for this chance.
     But the sense of betrayal didn't go away.  She saw the wreckage on the freeways and the collapse of the buildings and felt justified in telling him not to go back then.  She had begged him to stay.  She was twenty five days sober now and her emotions were out of control.  Her anger towards him was gone now.  Just a few weeks before she felt resentment for being in rehab.  Now, she wished he would come back to her alive.
She prayed for him.  Anne missed him.  She knew that, whatever his other faults might be, he missed her as well.  And she needed his guidance.  He had been down this particular road before.  He knew how to fight addiction and recreate a life.  I need him more than ever, she thought.
     Anne heard a light tapping on her door and she turned to see Ben standing there with yellow roses in his hand.  "I thought these might brighten up your room a little," he said.  He walked up to her and hugged her and gave her a peck on the cheek.  "How have you been doing?"
     She turned off the TV.  "I've been watching the news all day and waiting for the phone to ring," she said. 
     "What's been going on?" Ben said.  "I've been at the office."
     "There's an earthquake.  In California.  Down in L.A. where Joseph is supposed to be signing that TV contract," she said.
     Ben scowled at the mention of Joseph's name.  "Don't look that way," she said.  "If he wasn't down there, he would be in the room with me and you would have to deal with him in person."
     He set the flowers down on the cart in front of him.  "I can't believe he left you here and ran off to California," Ben said.  "I would never do that."
     "I know," she said.  "You were always good in an emergency. I know how much you liked taking care of me."
     "How could he take off when you were going through this?" he said.
     She sighed.  "You make it sound so easy.  It's not.  I needed some time without him.  I needed to think this sobriety thing through and find out if it's really what I want.  I couldn't do that honestly if he was here."
     I still don't know, she thought.  Never have a drink again?  Never is a long fucking time.  I couldn’t even stick with Atkins, how can I stick with this?  I know I was acting crazy and impulsive.  But damn.  Never?
     "Is all this really necessary?" Ben said.  "I don't remember you ever drinking that much when we lived together."
     "I did," she said.  "I hid it from you.  And it wasn't all the time.  One of the reasons I was looking for spiritual answers was because I knew something was going wrong in my life.  My drinking got worse after Neal died.  I never told you.  I'm sorry."
     "I know how strong you are, Anne," he said.  "Do what they want you to do, and everything will be back to normal soon."
     "You're very sweet," she said.  "But things haven't been normal for awhile.  And they never will be again."

"Hatreds do not ever cease in this world by hating, but by not hating; this is an eternal truth."-- The Buddha
 
     Her first words were, "What am I doing here?"
     He didn't know what to tell her.  "You had an accident," he said.  "It seems there was a mix up with your pills."
     She looked away from him, at the IV in her arm.  "I'm in a hospital," she said.  "Why am I in a hospital?"
     "You don’t remember any of it?" he said.  He was surprised.  Up until this point he thought she was suicidal.  She certainly had all the symptoms.  "You were brought in after I found you on the bathroom floor.  Your pills were everywhere.  And there was a smashed wine bottle on the floor."
     "Oh God," she said.  "I know I'm not supposed to drink with those.  But I didn't think a little drink would hurt.  I just had one."
     He reached towards her and squeezed her hand.  "Please don't lie to me," he said.  "The doctors tested you for everything.  Your blood alcohol level was through the roof.  You're lucky to be alive right now with the combination of drugs you took."
     She turned her ahead away.  "Lucky," she said.  She spat out the word like a curse.  "When do I get the fuck out of here?"
     "It's not that easy," he said.  "They want to watch you for a bit.  You've been in a coma the last five days."
     "A coma?" she said.  "For five days?"  She let go of his hand and brought it to her face.  "You might as well have told me I went to Jupiter.  That doesn't seem real."
     "It's real," he said.  "I've sat with you as much as I could.  Your dad is here.  Ben's been in to see you too."
     "Ben was here?" she said.  "I can only imagine what he had to say."
     "He is worried about you.  We all are," he said.  "What were you trying to do?" Joseph's heart ached as he watched her.  It seemed he was having a conversation with himself from just a few years before.  He thought, Is this why we connect so well?  Is it as simple as one addict drawn to another?  Has it been her I've wanted or just her sickness?  My sponsor told me this was a mistake from the beginning.
     "I wasn't trying to do anything.  I wanted a drink.  I used to drink before they put me on this stupid medication," she said.  "I didn't think it would hurt me."
     Anne glanced over and saw Joseph's guitar in the corner.  She smiled.  "I see you brought Betty along," she said.  "I don't know how I feel about having my competition in the same room as me."
     Joseph smiled.  "She's been singing to you this whole time," he said.  "The acoustics aren't bad here.  I hoped playing some of your favorite songs would help you come back to us."
     She smiled for the first time since waking up.  "It must have worked.  Here I am.  Fuck.  I'm a mess.  Do I have to stay here, sweetie?  I mean, really, it was just an accident.  I didn't mean to scare you so badly.  I learned my lesson.  I want to go home.  Back home to our cabin."
     I don't know if you can, he thought.  I don't know how much longer I can stay sober with you in my life.  "Just a few more days," he said.  "Then everything will be fine."
"You don't sound very convinced," she said.
     He tried to form the words.  "They want you to go to rehab."
     "Fuck that," she said.
     "I think you should go," he said.  He regretted the words as soon as he said them.  But it's no use, he thought.  They are out now.
     "I don't give a fuck.  I don't have a problem.  This is fucking bullshit.  It was a mistake," she said.
     "It wasn't a mistake," he said.  "Your BAC was a .35.  You also had coke in your system.  And we know this isn't the first time."
     "Fuck you," she said.  "You're a drunk so you think everyone's a drunk.  No fucking way am I going to rehab."
     "If that's the case, then this is it for us," he said.
     "Are you giving me an ultimatum?  You've got to be fucking kidding me," she said.
He walked to the corner of the room and picked up his guitar.  "I wish I was," he said.  "I can't live like this anymore.  I love you, but I can't put my sobriety at risk." He headed for the door.
     "Wait," she said.  "Will you just fucking wait?"  She had more things to say, but Joseph was already down the hallway.

      Anne walked outside and tried to pull herself together.  She couldn't believe she walked into the church she was baptized in and hadn't realized it.  It was so ludicrous.  She thought of Ben and was angered that he wasn't with her.  She had asked him to come, but he had made other plans with his friends to watch the game and didn't want to interrupt them.  If he was here then, maybe, she wouldn't be staring at Joseph so much. 
     This can't be a coincidence, she thought.  The odds are just too great.  She stared at the steeple of the church.  She had gone her entire life and never experienced anything like the power of God, certainly not in this place.  There were times when she felt bored or restless or sad.  But she had never felt religious.  This is just a weird coincidence, she thought.  They happen.  Doesn't mean that it has anything to it other than just being strange. 
     As a girl, she prayed many times to the Christ figure in the stained glass.  She wanted and needed her faith then.  Her parents were divorcing and she felt alone.  She prayed every day that God would bring her folks back together.  It didn't happen and she was a devout atheist from that point on.
    That is, she was an atheist until Neal died.  Now she wasn't sure what she believed in, but she was convinced that she needed to believe something.  She knew that she had no skills for dealing with loss.  Neal had died two years before, but she still grieved for him.  If I don't learn how to handle this, it's going to destroy me, she thought. 
     Now she only had more questions.  What could have possibly brought her to this place on this day just when she was looking for larger answers?
     There was Joseph.  He was the problem all along.  She didn't know him, except for the brief talk they had over coffee that one day.  There was something electric going on.  But she dismissed it.  It had been a particularly trying sit where she couldn't get her mind to settle and thoughts of death kept coming to her.  I was struggling spiritually, and this good looking man helped me, she thought.  Why wouldn't I be attracted to him?  Having a crush every now and again is normal.  It's not a sign that there's something wrong with me or with Ben.  It's just a sign that I'm still breathing. 
     I don't know anything about him, she thought.  She remembered the sit.  She knew as soon as she sat down that day that she was going to talk to him afterwards.  There's a force that's pulling me to him I don't understand, she thought.  He was so calm and peaceful.  Several times during the sit, she cracked open her eyes to peek at him.  His eyes were closed and his chest lifted up and down so softly, a slight smile on his lips.  He epitomized all the things she wanted to be.
     Anne knew Joseph had a hard life.  She knew that he was poor and just beginning to pull his life back from the brink.  But hearing of his trials didn't scare her away.  She admired him for his struggles.  And she admired his faith and his calm.  And she knew they would have sex as soon as possible. 
     Dammit, she thought.  Why aren't you here with me, Ben?  Why can't you fucking be around when I need you?
     She heard the church door open and saw Joseph walk outside and light up a cigarette.  He glanced around as if afraid of getting caught.  She hadn't smoked in ten years, but it seemed like a good idea now.  Pull yourself together, she thought.  You don't have to sleep with him.  It's just a little crush.  Harmless.
     In that moment, she knew she had to choose.  If she walked over to him and talked to him, she would very likely fall in love with him.  She would be giving up everything.  Her house, her relationship, her stability.  And she would trade it in for a broke musician with addiction issues.  The choice was simple.  She walked towards him, cursing herself for her own stupidity the entire way.