She Fumbled and Stumbled

She fumbled and stumbled. I watched as the intoxicating liquids took hold, their effects inevitable. I observed the entire process, knowing exactly where it would end. I watched each drink go down, every one declared to be the last. I knew this dance—far better than she ever could.

I sat by, aware of the pain she was masking, and tried to gently steer her toward an end. I tried to persuade her, understanding what she herself did not. I knew, all too well, that the drinks were meant to drown out a moment of deep sorrow. But I also knew that speaking those words would only bring fury and denial.

I watched, feeling something achingly familiar. I knew that feeling, that pull, that refusal to acknowledge the truth. I sat as the experienced one while she drank as the novice. As she stumbled and fumbled through the inevitable result, I stood the guru. I stood and guided her, imparting nearly two decades of hard-earned experience. Yet even as I did, I flashed back to my own novice days.

I stood there, the guru, leading yet allowing the consequences to unfold. I let her live through the moments, guiding as best I could through the haze of the booze. I watched as some actions mirrored my own, while others diverged sharply.

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This first appeared in The Havok Journal on February 15, 2024.

Jake Smith is a law enforcement officer and former Army Ranger with four deployments to Afghanistan.

As the Voice of the Veteran Community, The Havok Journal seeks to publish a variety of perspectives on a number of sensitive subjects. Unless specifically noted otherwise, nothing we publish is an official point of view of The Havok Journal or any part of the U.S. government.