American Outlaw - Jesse James [80]
“Jesse,” Rick said, hooking an elbow around my midsection, hoisting me to my feet. “I think it’s time to go.”
11
“Sir? Sir? Is everything all right in there?”
Each brisk rap against the airplane’s restroom door felt like an ice pick jabbing into my brain.
“Sir? Excuse me?”
In response, I vomited loudly and explosively, spattering the small stainless-steel toilet with a frightening-looking gush of phlegm and blood. Turbulence rocked the plane and, sweating, I let my forehead play back and forth against the cheap industrial mirror, trying to find some coolness there.
“He’s been at it for half an hour,” I heard the stewardess complain to a coworker. “It sounds like he’s dying in there.”
I groaned. “I’m fine,” I mumbled miserably. My voice was so low, I knew no one had heard me. “Honestly.”
But the saliva was building up in my mouth again, acidic and nauseating. An icy shiver surged through my arms and chest, and I knew what was coming next. I positioned my mouth over the toilet and once more retched convulsively, my eyes tearing up, my diaphragm clutching, tight and miserable.
I squinted down at the toilet. It was filled with vomit.
This isn’t me, I thought. This isn’t how I want to live.
“Excuse me.” The stewardess knocked relentlessly, annoyed. “Sir, is everything all right in there?”
“Yup,” I gasped, leaning up against the wall. I pushed the flush button with my knee, and tried to steady myself. “I’m coming right out.”
——
“I made a decision,” I told Karla on the ride home from the airport. “I’m quitting drinking.”
She said nothing, just gripped the steering wheel tightly.
“Seriously,” I said. “I know I can do it. Will you support me?”
She remained silent, staring instead into the thick traffic as we weaved our way down the 405 South, toward Long Beach.
“Well, hell,” I said, slightly offended. “I knew you wouldn’t be happy to see me, but I guess I was . . .”
“Jesse!” Karla cried. “Shut up! Just shut up!”
My insides curled up inside me. I could tell something bad was about to happen.
Karla began crying. She sobbed softly, as she gripped the wheel, her forearms tensing.
“This traffic,” she whispered finally. “It’s ridiculous.”
“Karla,” I said. I put my hand on her knee. “Karla, please stop. What’s going on? Tell me.”
“I just . . .” she said. She sniffed, shaking her head. “I just can’t live like this.”
“But I’m going to stop boozing, I told you. I promise.”
“It’s not the drinking, and you know it.” Her face was the picture of exhaustion and resignation. “You’re not here for me. You haven’t been for years.”
I sunk back in my seat.
“I’ll try harder.”
Karla shook her head. “Jesse, our marriage hasn’t worked for a long, long time. You’re obsessed with your business. And when you want to have fun, you choose going out with your friends over spending an evening with me, every time.”
“But I can change,” I protested. “We could go to a counselor, or something like that . . .”
She gave me a tight, sad smile. “I’m sorry—it’s just too late. It’s over, baby. And you know it.”
I sat there in silence, absorbing the news. The wheels of our big black truck rolled across the pavement quietly, sunlight streaming into the cab, harsh and unwelcome.
——
Only a few days later, I moved out of the house. At first I slept at the shop, but soon I was able to find an apartment down the street from Karla and the kids. No matter what happened between us, I wanted the kids to have both of their parents nearby.
I felt awful, like I’d failed. But I knew Karla was right in ending it. I had never prioritized her needs. Though in my heart I’d known our marriage was falling apart, I’d never attempted to fix it. My own desires had always come first: work, partying, getting fucked up with my friends. Deep down, I felt ashamed, and I promised myself I would never make that same mistake again.
I consoled myself by vowing to be a better dad—there, I could still redeem myself.
“Why are you picking me up from school, Daddy?” Chandler asked me.