It’s close to seven thirty and I haven’t heard a pip from Kiki. I wonder if she’s okay. I’m calling her.
Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring.
Straight to voicemail. Is she on the subway? Strangely enough, I have a weird feeling she might still be at home. And her phone is stuck under the fridge.
Shit.
Knowing her condition, she might be in worse shape than I thought. I should never have left. How could I be so stupid? No time for a guilt trip. I got someone’s life to save. I jump on the subway walking so fast I’m almost flying. Every minute that pushes me closer to Kiki, makes my anxiety skyrocket too. How am I going to find her? I pray all my concerns are only in my head, but deep down, I expect the worst. She never truly opened up about her worries, and talked very little about her divorce. I have no idea whether her heart troubles are the reason for her drinking. She is too secretive. Even if we’re friends, there’s too little I know about her.
I’m not stupid though. The girl went through a lot, I can tell. She puts a happy smile but does she realize she can’t hide her feelings all the time? She’s terrible at keeping a poker face. Do I say something about it? Is it cool for me to be that blunt with her?
Right now I gotta focus on her well being. I’ve wasted too much time already. I won’t forgive myself if… Stop. You’re making the situation worse. You don’t know if she’s been drinking. Have faith. Alcoholism is a disease. Willingness achieves nothing if you don’t have the right tools to fight the disease. Is she an alcoholic? All the signs say she is. She might just be depressed. She might just need to talk to a shrink about it. Who are you to impose on her to go to rehab? She needs help. She’s too afraid to ask for it. She should find the way out herself. I’m only being a guide. Are you overbearing? Are you getting out of your way to help this girl?
No idea what Kiki is up to. Maybe she’s passed out on the floor of her bathroom, half unconscious, dreaming of a better life she could have in a different world, without these ugly memories she has to carry around everywhere she goes. I feel sorry for her. I know none of her doom is my fault, yet I wish I could fix everything that went wrong in her life with a magic wand. Would she be happier if the memories went away for good?
I sense she’s so used to being miserable, she wouldn’t know what to do with herself in happiness. Just like the way I felt when I stopped drinking. Drinking is only one part of the problem. Repeated patterns and behaviors are the other side of the medal that need serious attention. Probably more than the drinking itself.
Gosh, this subway is going so slowly. Why does God punish my arrogance this way? Haven’t I done everything I was supposed to do? I break the bondage of self constantly. Pray about it, meditate about it, ask my higher power to remove all my character defects. And where does this bring me? I want to help a friend, and relieve her from the pain she’s feeling because of drinking. Yet, the battle is far from being over. Kiki’s battle is my battle. Her disease is my disease. There’s no recovery possible unless I accept I have no control over her well being. Only God knows. Only God can save her. Only God can save me.
I’m powerless. In fifteen minutes, I’ll be at Kiki’s house and we’ll see how I find her. Until then I must be patient. Please God allow her to be okay. Please make sure she’s safe. Please guarantee she’s still sober.
Calling her cell phone has become a pointless exercise. She doesn’t pick up. I rush out of the subway station and sprint to her building. Almost run away twice by a cab, I disregard my safety because I want to get close to her as fast as I can. When I enter the lobby, the doorman lets me go after he recognizes my face. I don’t even say hi, or give an explanation. The elevator is too slow to arrive, so I climb up the stairs. Faster. Faster.
I’m panting when I reach Kiki’s door. I knock. Ring the doorbell. No one opens.
“Kiki!” I scream.
I run back downstairs. The doorman will let me inside. He has a spare of every key in the building.
After a few minutes of rambling and panting, the doorman and I are back at Kiki’s door. He inserts the key into the lock. The door opens and I rush inside. I don’t see her right away. She’s not in her bedroom, or the living room. The bathroom door is closed. Placing my hand over the knob, I take a deep breath before opening. I really expect the worst at this point.
The knob turns and I see her bare feet on the white tiles.
“Kiki!” I grab her head, and press her warm body against mine. Whispering in her ear, I feel tears running down my face. “Wake up. Please, I’m sorry. I should have stayed. Wake up. For the love of God!”
What happens next is a blur. I wake up sitting by her hospital bed holding her hand. She’s asleep, but alive. I smile. Thank you God for not letting her die on me. I promise to be more cautious in the future.
To be continued…
Welcome to the World of Kiki 