There’s Something Better than Being Unashamed

I awoke slowly and tried to blink my eyes into focus. I stared at the ceiling and realized my memory of the previous night was incomplete. There were missing pieces — again I had gaps in my recollection I would have to piece together. It had been happening like this for decades now. Not every night, or even every week. But every month, certainly, I drank far too much and couldn’t remember the details.

I started looking around for clues. Were my clothes on or off? Did I brush my teeth? Was there a cup of water on the bedside table? Did I plug in my phone to charge? Did I put myself to bed, or did I simply fall down when I’d had too much?

I was terrified to wake my wife, so I laid silently still until my fear of the unknown surpassed my fear of her reaction. I didn’t roll into her and put my arm gently around her for fear of an elbow to my ribcage. I shook her shoulder gently, and braced for her reaction.

It was the same as far back as college — starting the day after a night of heavy drinking cloaked in the fog of the last night’s drunken blackout. Back then, I waited for a roommate to come to life or the friend sleeping on the couch to stir. Now, it was my bride of many years, but the confirmation I sought was exactly the same. What would their initial reaction tell me about the night before? Was there anger…