I entered Eddie’s Neighborhood Bar & Grill and saw my best friend Morgan sitting on his usual stool, the look on his face far from happy.
“S’that water?” I asked. I think the last time I saw Morgan drink water was in high school, which was longer ago than I care to remember.
“Yeah,” he replied. “You know I haven’t been feeling well, hands all shaky.” Morgan stared at his drink like it was ready to put a curse on him.
“I haven’t said anything,” I replied, “not being a doctor.”
Morgan took a long sip of water. “I finally went to see Doc Ramsey. He said I might have dipsophobia”
“What’s that?”
“The fear of alcohol.” Morgan was the last person I would think of as a teetotaler, given his daily habit of “having one before I head home”.
“Doc said he was going to request the lab run the tests again.” He turned to me with a look that warned he might either pass out or throw up, probably from withdrawal. “Said he’d get back to me as soon as he got the results.”
“If you do have dispo-whatever, can it be treated?”
“Best way is to stay out of bars and restaurants that serve alcohol. You know. Avoid temptation.”
I looked around the room. It was almost full with lots of liquor in plain sight.
“You do drink a lot.” I put a hand on his shoulder. “Did you tell Martha?”
“Figured I should.”
“What did she say?”
“That she guessed she’d be eating out alone from now on.” Morgan twirled the glass slower than a slug crossing a country road. “And, no, she wasn’t smiling or have her fingers crossed when she said it.”
“Anything change in your life recently that might have you stressed out?”
“Doc asked the same question. I said no, but later I did think of something.”
“Oh? What was that?”
“Well, my sister, Bethie, is coming for a visit.”
“When?”
“In a few of weeks. She wants to stay a while. Didn’t say how long. Martha wonders if Bethie finally got fed up living with her drunk of a husband. How Bethie might want to move in with us.”
“Do you get along with your sister?”
“Not really.” Morgan eyed the display of beer taps and licked his lips. “Haven’t spoken to each other in over a year.” He looked at me and shrugged. “Not sure why.”
“Think that might be the reason you’re not feeling well,” I asked?
Before he could answer, Morgan’s phone rang to the sound of Sweet Home Alabama. He listened for a while, hung up, and got the bartender’s attention. “I’ll have a beer,” he said, with a cheerful voice. “Make it two.”
He turned toward me, a big smile on his face. “Doc said I just have a bad case of gas, probably caused by drinking too much beer too fast. I mentioned my sister coming for a visit. He suggested, based on his own family experiences, that I stay in a motel. I said that might not be a bad idea.” Morgan stared at the mirror behind the bar, keeping his eyes from mine. “Unless your spare room is available, Abe.”
I belched. My hands started to shake, and I signaled the bartender for a beer. “Make it two,” I said.
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