OOC: wanted to try and put a small finish on this piece as it will lead to some development for other characters.

RL Edgar is outside, embracing his wife among the now safe and sound hostages. Corey smiles watching Edgar from a short distance, seeing the Christmas twinkle in his partner’s eye. So RL, don’t you think Die Hard is a Christmas movie now? Edgar smiles and nods, pulling his wife closer, You’re damn right, Corey. Die Hard actually is a Christmas movie. Just like the Bastards actually are a bad tag team... A miraculous snow floats down over Los Angeles, trusting the aesthetic is good enough for me.

I dreamt of her again.

A restless RL Edgar lies all misshapen on a couch downstairs. His is naked leg slung up over the narrow back of the sofa, and his t-shirt riding up his belly. He digs his weary eyes into his cellphone screen waiting for a response to his text. Besides the phone, only the light of a quiet television flipping through images on the Weather Channel pulses light onto the walls of the room.

We can tell from the room's homely condition and modest décor that this is not Edgar's French Riviera anymore. Not by a long shot. That dream is over.

...
You can't control that

What CAN I control?

Absolutely nothing!

Even through the text message, Edgar could hear the voice of his A.A. sponsor Jason. A chuckling, matter-of-fact, sort of dickish tone that brought Edgar's teeth to a grind.

But even still, Edgar knew Jason was right, and he hated it...

He looks away from the phone to a family portrait on the wall. It's his estranged wife Marie and their five children, only illuminated for a moment in the glow of the television before dark takes hold again.

Being wrong was something Edgar was coming to terms with...

Isn't great? We don't have to fight this thing anymore.

...yeah.

He texts back,

Have you meditated this morning?

I tried earlier.

It's very early now, about 5 a.m., and Edgar was being honest, he was up even earlier trying to practice the meditation technique his sponsor taught him. It seems so simple in theory, yet Edgar has had a near impossible time practicing. After setting a timer, he sits still and upright, locking his fingers together, touching his thumbs and resting his hands in his lap. He's to sit there and close his eyes, clearing his mind of any thoughts and only focusing on his breathing.

A deep breath through the nose until his belly pulls into his spine- count 1
A long exhale back through the nose until his belly swells out- count 2

Rinse and repeat. Keep counting the breaths and discarding all of the thoughts that enter his mind. As a thought enters, especially one that fuels resentment or fear, like his wife's affair, he's to acknowledge it and let it go. Again, very simple in theory.

I got about two minuets in...

He followed up,

Not too bad. Remember this is about practice, not perfection. We can find serenity in letting go, and meditation is a great practice.

Edgar's two minuets of "meditation" that morning were anything but serene. His eyelids not resting, rather twitching and fighting not to pull open as his eyeballs rolled behind them. Hearing sentence after sentence as he sat in that living room alone, the words from his conscious antagonizing him with regret and doubt.

She's fucking him.

No, it's just a phase. She said she just wanted to be free for a while, and that she'll be back soon.

She lied to you this whole time. She's lying now too

She won't split our family up, she loves the kids... she loves me.

She's a whore.

She's a good a woman.

A good woman who's dating another man, while living with her husband. You're a pussy

This is normal stuff.

This is not normal.

...this is not normal...

When he opened his eyes and turned the timer off on this cellphone, Edgar watched his estranged making her way up the stair case. She was back from a night-out with her new boyfriend. It was almost 4 a.m. She stopped half way up the stairs, noticing Edgar's eyes following her.

"Goodnight." she whispered out, "Goodnight, Marie." She paused there for a moment, pulling her long dark hair over her shoulder, and just briefly the two seemed to look upon one another with a familiar regard. Marie's dimple twisting on the corner of her lip as she smiled. She had a thought ready to bounce off from her tongue before swallowing down and only saying: "Sweet dreams."

The dream was over...

How's the the praying coming? Did you thank your Higher Power this morning for keeping you sober yesterday?

Edgar texts back,

This was a concept Edgar had been struggling with while working the twelve steps of Alcoholics Anonymous.

Step One: We admitted we were powerless over alcohol, that our lives have become unmanageable.

The first third of the "Big Book" was dedicated to Step One, as many would agree that an admission such as being powerless over something and that your life is a total shit-show is a pretty hefty leap, even for the most humble among us. But the book laid the relatable evidence for Edgar in a way that he had no choice but to admit. It was clear-cut. R.L. Edgar was completely defenseless against the power of even one drink - and his life? Well, packing up from the dreamy shores of the French Riviera and finding his family back in Kentucky of all places should've been evidence enough.

Step Two: Came to believe that power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.

This one Edgar muddled through, and though he did all of the required reading and action to complete this step, he maybe only felt half-hearted towards. Edgar was a devout atheist, and though the wreckage of his drinking brought him to his knees inside of his kitchen- crying out for god to save him- he still had his doubts.

But as his sponsor Jason had finally put it to him just a week prior to this texting session:

"DAMNIT DUDE! Are you at least WILLING to admit that there MIGHT BE a power greater than R.L. Edgar? You know? The same R.L. Edgar who lost his dream home, pushed his wife away, and sat up every night drinking in front of a television reliving his loss to Chris Page instead of being a functioning husband and father? You admitted that you were powerless over alcohol. Do you really believe that the booze is the ONLY thing more powerful than you? How about Chris Page? Better yet, Peter Gilm-

Okay! Okay! YES! I’m willing to believe.

And thus the willingness was there, and little did Edgar realize, in spite of what would be his continued balking at this process of sobriety- he was about to embark on a spiritual journey that would lead him to a new freedom, and a new happiness. And most importantly- to his Higher Power.


The text conversation continued,



Edgar tosses the phone down on the cushion next to him, only to watch it bounce and fall to the floor. His face sinks in an ugly way at the thud between the plastic and hardwood. Though being nearly sixty days without a drink, and feeling better physically, he doesn’t look well. His eyes are sagging and sliced, like someone has squirted lemon juice in them. Who knew that learning to fall asleep sober was much more difficult than passing out after a eight hour booze bender on the front porch?

But in that moment he found some clarity. He looks at the phone on the floor, the screen cracked, and then back to the family portrait on the wall as the television continues to pulse light on its surface before fading into darkness again. For all of the things he’d try controlling and bending to his will, Edgar couldn’t even set down a phone properly without making some sort of mess of things. No wonder he’d lost his wife. Perhaps taking his sponsor’s advice couldn’t hurt.

He goes through the setup into the proper posture. Shoulders squared. Fingers locked. Thumbs touching. He looks down at the phone once more and then closes his eyes.

The breathing begins.

“Marie. The kids.”

“It’s okay”

Edgar’s mind ran clear, all but for the memory of a sound.


He lost track of his counting and thought of the words he once heard when he was having trouble sleeping after his father’s death. This was once detailed in The Ghosts of North Dixie series.


He swore he heard his father telling him something, and now he swears he’s hearing it again…


Only from another voice…


Everything is okay.


It’s not what you think it is…


It’s not what I thought it was…


It’s all of the waters.

It’s said that we only truly change a very little in seeking. About as much as a mustard seed. But from that little seed a plant would grow so big that the great birds of the sky could nest.


An image appears before Edgar’s closed eyes, as he’s lifted from his body…


A Higher Power.

Former:
1x Hart Champion
1x Federweight Champion
April 2021 RP Of The Month Still Waters Run Deep