Ten Years Sober by Adam Kelly Morton

Ten Years Sober


26/01/2018 10:57
Ten years ago, at about this time, I woke up after a night of heavy drinking...

26/01/2018 10:59
I was on a pile of clothes the floor, because I’d pissed my mattress again...

26/01/2018 11:02
After propping the mattress up against the open window, I took a shower, had a few cups of tea and a bite to eat...

26/01/2018 11:05
No problem. It was a Saturday. I didn’t have to work at the restaurant until Monday...

26/01/2018 11:05
I was going to be okay...

26/01/2018 11:11
Dieu du Ciel was opening at 1pm...

26/01/2018 12:55
I stood outside the pub, waiting for them to open. It was cold...

26/01/2018 13:06
I sat down to my first pint...

26/01/2018 13:25
Second...

26/01/2018 14:05
Third...

26/01/2018 14:45
Fourth...

26/01/2018 15:30
Fifth...

26/01/2018 16:16
Sixth...

26/01/2018 15:16
Seventh...

26/01/2018 17:50
Ate some food...

26/01/2018 17:56
Eighth...

26/01/2018 18:30
Ninth...

26/01/2018 19:11
Tenth...

26/01/2018 19:26
Eleventh...

26/01/2018 19:45
Twelfth...

26/01/2018 20:08
Thirteenth...

26/01/2018 20:15
After that pint, I bought a six-pack and headed to a party...

26/01/2018 21:47
Finished four of the six and had had enough of the party. Called up my buddy to meet me at Cock and Bull...

26/01/2018 22:41
Got in the cab and drank my way over the mountain...

26/01/2018 23:06
Into the Cock and pitchers were ordered...

27/01/2018 00:48
It was about now that we left the Cock. On St. Marc, my buddy tried to get me home in his car. I refused, and spat on him. They left. I wandered east on Lincoln...

27/01/2018 01:32
Picked up off the street and put into an ambulance...

27/01/2018 05:02
Woke up around now in a hospital bed, wearing only a green gown. IV line in arm, heart monitor on chest. I sat up. I was in a hallway. A nurse was nearby. I asked her if I had to stay. She said it wasn’t a good idea if I left. I asked her if I HAD to stay. She said I didn’t. I thanked her. Took off the monitor. An oval patch of my chest hair had been shaved. I plucked out the IV, and got down off the bed. My clothes were in labelled see-through bags underneath: Hôpital Royal Victoria. I took my clothes and wallet out and they were soaked—stinking of piss. I took off my gown and there were bruise patches down the left side of my torso. I put my clothes on and walked down the hall.
I had to pee, so I found a washroom. After, I saw myself in the mirror: there was a massive bruise along my left temple and eye. It didn’t hurt.
I made sure to say goodbye and thanks to a doctor on duty. He didn’t seem to know who I was. Down five flights of stairs, I walked out into the night.
The cold slid under my jacket and coated my piss-soaked clothes. I walked down Pine as fast as I could, watching out for cabs, and for ice.
I reached Parc. Wind tore down the mountain, up toward the blue lights of the Transat building behind me. Some cars drove by, including cabs with their signs off.
I waited, shivering. No cabs.
A sound came out of my mouth from somewhere within me: a moan. It made me feel warmer, so I did it again, louder.
And again.
And again.
And again.
Louder and louder.
It had turned into a moaning wail.
I wailed.
I was all alone.

​

Adam Kelly Morton is a Montreal-based husband, father (four kids, all under six), acting teacher, board gamer, filmmaker, and writer. He has been published in Black Dog Review, (mac)ro(mic), Soft Cartel, Spadina Literary Review, Fictive Dream, The Fiction Pool, Open Pen London, Talking Soup, and Menda City Review, among others. He has an upcoming piece in A Wild and Precious Life, an addiction anthology to be published in London, UK. He is the editor-in-chief of the Bloody Key Society Periodical literary magazine.