Why are good days so full of crap? She didn't understand why that always seemed to happen. Today was here first day of classes and everything seemed to go wrong. The Registrar was painfully ignorant of the basics of common decency, and it went down hill from there. But she'd made it through her first day and felt she was on her way to something so much better than what she'd ever had. She was not kidding herself, it would be difficult, he'd told her as much. But she was ready for difficult, difficult didn't bother her. It was success that she was worried about. She'd never done success well and it terrified her. But he said she could do it, and she believed him.

The rocks were worn smooth by the water. The sound irritated her. Everything irritated her. The birds, the kids and their harpy mothers, the bright blue sky and the crystal clear water. It had been three days now and she was hurting. Physically and spiritually. She didn't even believe she had a spirit, but it hurt like hell. She couldn't stop thinking about the guy at the store. He just stood there, looking at her...why? She couldn't shake the feeling that she was at a crossroad. She could chose to do what her body and mind screamed for her to do and find a fix or she could stop. For good. She was beginning to regret the decision she'd made. She had to find some help.

Soon the classes and school work seemed to melt into one. The gauntlet of the first day had given way to an easy monotony of classes, smiles, stale jokes and homework. She had never met people like these before. Sure, some were like her, trying to rebuild themselves, but others were fresh and unspoiled. In someways she envied them, but was old enough to know that it was useless to want to be them. She was who she was, through experience and choice. And for the first time in a long time she was beginning to enjoy herself, to enjoy who she was. The class work was hard, but not insurmountable. She was glad she could begin using words that were more than four letters long, words with rich almost forgotten histories. In fact, she found a thirst for words she had never known before and was drinking in new ones daily. In an odd way, words were her new fix. She had to learn a new one daily and felt cheated if she didn't. Some words were beautiful, some just felt good to say, some conjured mystery and others felt ordinary but strong. Much like the people in her life.

Rehab is a joke, full of losers and half-wits! At least that was what she'd thought when she'd started. Until it hit her that she was in rehab too. Then she started working for her sobriety. She'd graduated the 28 day program with high hopes and was lucky enough to find some housing that continued her treatment. They had made her get a job, but she was no longer picky abut what she did. After all, nothing could be as bad as what she had done in the past. Nothing. Bagging and delivering groceries wasn't half bad though. She got out, met people and enjoyed her country surroundings. Always the city girl, she had despised country people, but found that they had a wisdom missing from the city. They approached life honestly and with a realism that only seemed naive.

Graduation brought change. Graduation focused the mind on change. But change is not always bad. She had changed and that was a good thing. But more change was coming. The offer of a job, making good money, in a smaller city close to the coast was her dream come true. The offer had come out of nowhere and shocked her. She had been putting out resumes in the big cities, but never got anything back. Then the call had come to work in an established art house with the work requirements fitting her strengths almost perfectly. She wondered briefly if he had had a hand in the offer, but dismissed it as superstition. It had been a long time since she'd thought of him and the Incident.

She stood on the dock, about to make what she thought was a routine delivery. It was eerie though, standing here is in the dusk. The air was cool and whispered of winter to come. The woods looked like they were brooding and she she shivered from the looks of them as much as from the air. She had missed the early signs that might have alerted her to the coming events and so she went in ignorance to the woods.

Remembering now, it seemed strange how much her life has changed.

The woods quickly turned dusk into night. Her thoughts darkened almost as quickly. Why come here, why do this? Why continue the charade of sobriety? The beasts hidden in the woods, she imagined she could see their gleaming red eyes, howled back her thoughts. Their cries of anguish complimented her growing melancholy. And she almost turned back.

It was pointless to wonder what would've become of her if she had turned back, because she already knew. She would've been dead by now.

The woods gave way to what seemed to her a dismal clearing cluttered by a dilapidated shack. Weeds, unpainted shutters, and dim windows didn't help her impression. She'd always hated coming here, the place gave her the creeps. Being here at night didn't help. She'd never met the people who lived here - they were usually out on the lake or something, she wasn't sure. That they trusted her to come in their home and leave the groceries while they were not home creeped her out too. Surely they had to have something wrong with them if they trusted so much, right?

The memories came flooding back...

The house itself was dark, felt empty. Something was missing, but she couldn't put her finger on what. Whatever it was, she didn't want to get blamed. She rushed over to put the groceries down and that was when she saw it. An envelope addressed to her. She opened it without thinking...

The "Incident"

Dear -,
I daresay you will not remember me, but I want to thank you. You gave me hope the day we first met, and saved my life the last time we met. You may think these are the mad musings of a mad man, but they are not. I owe you a debt that I am afraid I can never repay, and I thought you should know. I have come to think of you as an Angel, one of God's divine creatures, sent to me in times of doubt and self destruction;sent to wake me from the stupor of my life.
The first time we met, I was walking without purpose through my life. I was in a dead marriage and a dead end job. I put on a good show though, and I don't think any but the most observant knew what I was hiding. Then you came flying into my life and stirred me from my slumber. It was your first attempt at getting me to see the important things of my life, though you did not know it. I have called you an Angel, but you were a dirty one. You did not know of your own divine nature. You were trapped in the filth of the world, but I could see you ached to be free of it. I could tell you wanted better. And somehow, I knew you deserved better. Then you left me, running into the night. I am sad to say I quickly returned to sleep and went about my life as if you'd never been.
So God sent you again. This time you made sure I would listen. I can vividly recall staring into your eyes as your gun was pressed to my forehead. I could not believe what I saw. They looked dead at first glance, consumed by desire for death. But underneath, where you were barely aware, was beauty. My God! You had the most beautiful eyes I had ever seen! I am not talking of an earthly beauty to be lusted after, I am talking a beauty of divine origin. A bountiful spirit and drive, a capacity to do great things. Yes, your outward appearance was that of a junkie, but inside you were a Godsend. I realized then I had to wake up.
And you let me live. You saved me physically and spiritually. A double gift! It was the next day that I was diagnosed with cancer. You see Ihad not been feeling well and had gotten rather depressed over my condition. I was quite prepared to kill myself that night, until you put the gun to my head and showed me my own cowardice. Such was the power of that encounter, and the beauty of your eyes, that I was able to hear my diagnosis without sinking into despair again. I then set out to free the people around me. As I said, my marriage was bad, so I let my wife out - to pursue her own happiness, a happiness she so richly deserves. I removed my self from the world to die on my own terms, in the place I loved best. Not as an act of despair, but as one of acceptance. I also set about learning about you. I know that sounds very "creepy," but I had to know who my Angel was. And learn I did.
Thank you, Angel. I can never repay my debt to you, but that does not mean I cannot try. I know that you have thrown off the yolk of addiction - but be ever watchful for its call - and that you want more for your life. I have arranged for you to be enrolled in school, if you so choose. I have made arrangements for your tuition, so you need not worry about cost. I know you can succeed, I know you are worth the effort and time. I know because I have seen it, in your eyes. My only hope is that you can now see it as well.
Please, accept my meager efforts and leave this place. Do not look around or pry. Leave and call the authorities, for if you are reading this, I have gone. I have loved you from afar for the gifts that you unknowingly gave. Please, accept that love, and learn to make it your own.

It was a little over two years ago that she'd first decided that her decent into Hell had gone far enough. The memories crashed in on her tonight; she was not sure why. Maybe it was the sound of the man's voice in alley, maybe it was the weather, maybe it was just fate or fate's cruel cousin, spite.

Barely able to stay awake, it had been a day or two since she lasted used. Who could tell how long it had been? Going from one cesspool to another, giving everything she had, including herself, to some sleaze for a few moments of peace. She stumbled along the alley and heard bits and pieces of an approaching argument.

"Forgiveness is the main theme, at least the way I look at it, but I see your point about redemption," said Voice One.

"Redemption is vital, without it we cannot approach the throne!" was Voice Two's response.

"But we can't afford redemption. We've tried and failed. That's why redemption had to bought for us. It was a gift in the form of forgiveness and sacrifice..."

And she was upon them. Middle aged suburban scum who should've stayed home tonight. She needed whatever they had - money, watched, cards - so she could get what she really needed. She jumped the second voice and he immediately fell. The first grabbed he and pried her off. Surprisingly strong for his looks. He looked at her and it was his eyes that stopped her.

She didn't remember if it was the drug, if it was withdrawal or just his eyes, but she stopped cold. There was something different about those eyes, but indescribable. She wanted to stare at them all night and at the same time rip them from their sockets. She hated what they represented - family, peace, love, self worth and joy. All the things that she needed.

Home, she loved thinking about that word, was a one bedroom sublet. The money she made as a delivery "boy" was just enough to pay the bills. For now. The "Incident" (It had now become capitalized in her mind, perhaps to emphasize the change it had brought) was changing that. She would be starting school next week, something she thought she would never do, much less look forward to doing. Graphic Arts. It had been her dream as a kid and had been destroyed by the choices she'd made. She could hardly believe that she was enrolled and her tuition paid in full. But it came at a price, like all things of value.

She saw those eyes one last time before going clean. They were alone at Mom & Pop store she was about to clean out. The gun made her feel in control, at least when she wasn't shaking form withdrawal and fear. He just stood there, by the chips and looked at her. Even when she pressed the gun to his forehead, he didn't say a word and just looked. It wasn't a stare, really, but a look. And all those things were still there, leaping out at her, begging her to go after her real dreams and hopes. Commanding her to give up the chemical chase and instead accept hope. A thousand things flew out from those eyes that she could barley comprehend, but she was secretly thankful for each and every one. She left without taking a thing and within a week was struggling with her new sobriety.

The price was only as high as she allowed it to be, though. No one was around to ensure its payment, except her. But she knew she was more than capable of paying this debt. The only price she had to pay was to be successful, to work hard, and to become the artist she knew she could be. The artist he knew she could be.

The incident almost certainly changed her life. If you could call it that. Incident, it sounded so clinical and not at all like what it had actually been. But she couldn't think of a better word; words were not her thing anymore. She was an ex junkie making a real run at recovery. It had been two years since she'd last used and she was thankful for every one of those days, she'd earned them.

Come on, try it. She knew it was the stupidest line she'd ever heard and yet it made, in this briefest of seconds, an irrefutable argument.

If only she'd been able to come up with a suitable argument, she'd never have had to go to rehab, she'd never have had to live at the halfway house and she would never have gotten the delivery job. Maybe there really was a reason for everything. If she'd never gone along with the argument to just try it, she would have never experienced the "incident" in all its horror and glory. (She'd begun to think of the "incident" with quotes, since it seemed to better describe some essence of it without having to go to the trouble of actually using the best word, which she wouldn't have known anyway.)

We are alone. Physically, I mean. I do not know why it took me 40 some years to realize this, but it is true. We are truly alone. People may wander in and out of our lives, but we are alone. I don't think that was how things were meant to be, but it is still true.