By Dennis Siluk Ed.D.
Emery Golf shut his eyes. He was starting to hear noises, those that were not within his physical reality, wolf sounds. He knew this kind of nausea would create a long enduring craving, soon to come thereafter the D.T.'s, and the visual appearance of the wolf, all this combined drove the wolf out to be one might say, his unwanted sidekick. The sickness he was feeling was nothing compared to the wolf, if he came completely materialized.
He was a middle aged man, thirty-nine years old, short and robust, worked at the can factory, in the Midway Area of St. Paul, Minnesota. He had worked there since he was a kid, a spot welder.
He drank up at Bram's Bar, on Sycamore and Acker Streets, in the North End of the city, where he lived. He liked drinking, and he didn't want to stop, he simply wanted to pump himself silly with alcohol every night, and recently during the day. He was starting to look bloated, his heart was being affected, as was his liver, blackened and deadened as if it was frost bitten.
"There should be a law against self destruction," said his friend Ron Sims, who had once lived in his drinking neighborhood, and moved out, and worked for 'American Can,' as well. He had met Emery, three hours after work, at the bar, knowing he had went to the bar right after work, and would most likely still be there, perhaps until its closing time.
"Listen Ron," said Emery, "I want to tell you something, it's all or nothing with me. I can't have one beer without having twenty more. Therefore, I might just as well have twenty, and get it over with, although I don't like seeing the wolf."
"The wolf," said Ron, "what is the wolf?"
"He's a wolf, that comes out of the walls, or from under the bed, or watches me from the back seat of my car, he comes out, when I drink too much, or when I stop drinking, if I drink just enough, and in the morning take a quick drink, he fades away before he completely materializes. I don't know his name if that is what you're asking; I just know he's a wolf."
Emery now shut his eyes, sitting next to Ron on a bar stool, his hands on his forehead, somewhat covering his face, his elbows on the bar counter, several people are around the pool table, behind him, and someone is playing a guitar on a stage no bigger than the size of a large table.
Ron Sims, took another drink of his coke, he went now and then to the bar to see Emery, or his old friends but he had to work the next day, and seldom did he drink on working days and for Emery seldom did he not drink on work days.
"Yes," said Ron, "I think I understand."
"What do you think you understand?" said Emery from underneath his somewhat closed posture.
"What you were saying."
"What do you mean, what I was saying, I wasn't saying anything, I'm hiding from the wolf."
"What did the wolf say?" asked Ron.
"Now you're being funny, you know wolves don't talk," replied Emery, now taking his hands away from his eyes, and forehead; as if the distraction helped.
"It's getting late, I think I'll head on home," said Ron. A waitress standing to his side orders some drinks, "How you been Ron, don't see you around much anymore?"
"Too many wolves around here, Sandy," Ron commented, and chuckled to Emery a little.
"Funny, funny, my friend, but when the wolf comes it's not so funny anymore," commented Emery, taking in a deep breath, as if to fight for oxygen.
"You ok, Emery? Should I call an ambulance?"
"You're joking, what for?"
"No reason, I best be on my way," and he slipped off the bar stool onto his feet.
"The wolf is here," said Emery, in a slightly panicked voice.
"Yes, you've already told me that," said Ron.
"No, no, I did not, I said he was...almost here, now he is," and he starts to cover his eyes, the bartender looks down at Ron and Emery, "I don't want any of that howling at the wolf stuff tonight, tell your buddy to keep it cool Ron, or else!"
Ron nods his head, up and down, giving a gesture he understands, then turns back to Emery.
"What about the wolf?" asks Ron.
"If you lived in my world, you wouldn't think this is so funny, but Ron, he has sharp teeth, he stares at me with yellow eyes."
"I got to go Emery, see you tomorrow," Ron tells Emery for the last time.
Emery grabs Ron by the shirt, "Don't go yet, wait until the wolf is gone."
Ron is standing by Emery now, Emery is sitting on the stool, the bartender glances again down at the two. A few minutes go by.
"So you're fine, right?" asks Ron.
"Of course, I've never been so happy in all my life, why do you ask such a silly question. I thought you were going?" says Emery randomly.
"Ok, I'm going Emery," and Ron starts to walk towards the door, stops and looks back at Emery, he is telling the bartender he will have a few more drinks then go on home.
The next day...
Ron calls Emery on the phone, "Why are you not at work, Emery?" asks Ron.
"I got a hangover, I need a drink then I'll be in."
"Listen up, I'll have to go talk to the Union again for you, the boss just fired you."
"No, don't do that, I've missed several times already this past two months, they'll want to put me on a sober program, and if I don't go, they'll fire me anyway for not showing up or for not passing their stupid tests, and so I'll just save them money and time, and let them fire me, because I don't want to quite drinking! Then I can cash in on my pension, and use that for drinking, been thinking about that anyhow."
3-8-2009 (The story was written of a friend I knew, who died of alcoholism, back in the early 70s, and the story you have just read, is somewhat fact except for a few fictional add-ons; names have been changed, and he died with the complications he mention in the story, at 39-years old.)
Emery Golf shut his eyes. He was starting to hear noises, those that were not within his physical reality, wolf sounds. He knew this kind of nausea would create a long enduring craving, soon to come thereafter the D.T.'s, and the visual appearance of the wolf, all this combined drove the wolf out to be one might say, his unwanted sidekick. The sickness he was feeling was nothing compared to the wolf, if he came completely materialized.
He was a middle aged man, thirty-nine years old, short and robust, worked at the can factory, in the Midway Area of St. Paul, Minnesota. He had worked there since he was a kid, a spot welder.
He drank up at Bram's Bar, on Sycamore and Acker Streets, in the North End of the city, where he lived. He liked drinking, and he didn't want to stop, he simply wanted to pump himself silly with alcohol every night, and recently during the day. He was starting to look bloated, his heart was being affected, as was his liver, blackened and deadened as if it was frost bitten.
"There should be a law against self destruction," said his friend Ron Sims, who had once lived in his drinking neighborhood, and moved out, and worked for 'American Can,' as well. He had met Emery, three hours after work, at the bar, knowing he had went to the bar right after work, and would most likely still be there, perhaps until its closing time.
"Listen Ron," said Emery, "I want to tell you something, it's all or nothing with me. I can't have one beer without having twenty more. Therefore, I might just as well have twenty, and get it over with, although I don't like seeing the wolf."
"The wolf," said Ron, "what is the wolf?"
"He's a wolf, that comes out of the walls, or from under the bed, or watches me from the back seat of my car, he comes out, when I drink too much, or when I stop drinking, if I drink just enough, and in the morning take a quick drink, he fades away before he completely materializes. I don't know his name if that is what you're asking; I just know he's a wolf."
Emery now shut his eyes, sitting next to Ron on a bar stool, his hands on his forehead, somewhat covering his face, his elbows on the bar counter, several people are around the pool table, behind him, and someone is playing a guitar on a stage no bigger than the size of a large table.
Ron Sims, took another drink of his coke, he went now and then to the bar to see Emery, or his old friends but he had to work the next day, and seldom did he drink on working days and for Emery seldom did he not drink on work days.
"Yes," said Ron, "I think I understand."
"What do you think you understand?" said Emery from underneath his somewhat closed posture.
"What you were saying."
"What do you mean, what I was saying, I wasn't saying anything, I'm hiding from the wolf."
"What did the wolf say?" asked Ron.
"Now you're being funny, you know wolves don't talk," replied Emery, now taking his hands away from his eyes, and forehead; as if the distraction helped.
"It's getting late, I think I'll head on home," said Ron. A waitress standing to his side orders some drinks, "How you been Ron, don't see you around much anymore?"
"Too many wolves around here, Sandy," Ron commented, and chuckled to Emery a little.
"Funny, funny, my friend, but when the wolf comes it's not so funny anymore," commented Emery, taking in a deep breath, as if to fight for oxygen.
"You ok, Emery? Should I call an ambulance?"
"You're joking, what for?"
"No reason, I best be on my way," and he slipped off the bar stool onto his feet.
"The wolf is here," said Emery, in a slightly panicked voice.
"Yes, you've already told me that," said Ron.
"No, no, I did not, I said he was...almost here, now he is," and he starts to cover his eyes, the bartender looks down at Ron and Emery, "I don't want any of that howling at the wolf stuff tonight, tell your buddy to keep it cool Ron, or else!"
Ron nods his head, up and down, giving a gesture he understands, then turns back to Emery.
"What about the wolf?" asks Ron.
"If you lived in my world, you wouldn't think this is so funny, but Ron, he has sharp teeth, he stares at me with yellow eyes."
"I got to go Emery, see you tomorrow," Ron tells Emery for the last time.
Emery grabs Ron by the shirt, "Don't go yet, wait until the wolf is gone."
Ron is standing by Emery now, Emery is sitting on the stool, the bartender glances again down at the two. A few minutes go by.
"So you're fine, right?" asks Ron.
"Of course, I've never been so happy in all my life, why do you ask such a silly question. I thought you were going?" says Emery randomly.
"Ok, I'm going Emery," and Ron starts to walk towards the door, stops and looks back at Emery, he is telling the bartender he will have a few more drinks then go on home.
The next day...
Ron calls Emery on the phone, "Why are you not at work, Emery?" asks Ron.
"I got a hangover, I need a drink then I'll be in."
"Listen up, I'll have to go talk to the Union again for you, the boss just fired you."
"No, don't do that, I've missed several times already this past two months, they'll want to put me on a sober program, and if I don't go, they'll fire me anyway for not showing up or for not passing their stupid tests, and so I'll just save them money and time, and let them fire me, because I don't want to quite drinking! Then I can cash in on my pension, and use that for drinking, been thinking about that anyhow."
3-8-2009 (The story was written of a friend I knew, who died of alcoholism, back in the early 70s, and the story you have just read, is somewhat fact except for a few fictional add-ons; names have been changed, and he died with the complications he mention in the story, at 39-years old.)
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