Things got Better.

Sometimes he wondered if he was making the right decision.

No, he wondered that all the time. The thought of “Hm, maybe this wasn’t the brightest thing I’ve ever done” crossed his mind on a seemingly constant loop.

The only time it ever left was the rare opportunity he actually got any sleep or the more and more common moments he had pre-gamed his day with something rolled up in a joint. It was unfair, really. Unfair that the prescribed medications, the ones that were meant to help made it a lot worse and the illegal substance was the only thing that really helped.

Louie had followed him without hesitation, but he could sense it was wearing on him. Louie had grown used to lavish homes, rich boarding schools, French after parties, but now he was just trying to adjust himself to sleeping in the front seat of the car. He was especially upset he had now mastered the ability to do the quick change in the back of a car, a skill he insisted he never should have been in the situation to learn.

Maybe this was Maron’s subconscious plan, to ward him off with uncomfortable sleeping arrangements and the smell of cheap weed and even cheaper booze (of which he hated, and reminded Maron of often). It was Louie’s fault he followed him. Maron had offered more than once to buy him train, bus and plane tickets back to New York, he always refused. So Maron kept going.

First they went to southern New York, then they ventured down to Pennsylvania (Louie hates that too) and eventually they exited down by Ohio. They then ducked in and out of Kentucky, Illinois and Indiana for the better part of a month, frequenting whatever motels they could manage to spot on the road after 6 o-clock.

“Indiana had s—- motels,” Louie said. “S—- motels but cute cities, I liked Illinois motels.”

Maron didn’t answer.

They were waiting there, laying in the grass of a Walmart parking lot in Tennessee. They had intentionally avoided Virginia, Louie was afraid he’d actually have a reason to go back home. He wasn’t quite sure what they were waiting for. It was nine-o’clock, the store closed at nine-thirty. There were some motels and hotels a few minutes away, they had gas. Why were they here again?

“Kentucky kind of sucked at both, good fast food, though,” Louie tried to make conversation. “Don’t you think?’

He breathed, “Yeah, I guess…” he said quietly.

Louie looked off, “What’s your plan?”

“What plan?”

“For life, Maron. Why are we here?”

When he decided to leave everything behind he had had some semblance of a plan, or, at the least, an objective. He couldn’t remember his motivations well now, destroying his brain cells with unhealthy levels of alcohol dependancy may be taking a toll on his neurological well-being.

Whatever.

Maron rested his head, “Why are you here?” he asked instead.

Louie seemed unimpressed, “That isn’t what I asked.”

“I didn’t repeat what you asked,” he confirmed. “Just answer me. Please.”

Louie huffed, “You already know why I’m here.”

“As a designated driver?” Maron asked.

“I don’t think you’re being funny.”

“I think I’m very funny,” he breathed.

They both laid there, heads softly on the grass. Louie kept wiggling anxiously, feeling his hair and scalp every minute or so. Maron couldn’t tell if he was worried about the integrity of his perfectly manicured mane or was just afraid of bugs. Either way, Maron was growing more and more annoyed. They could hear each other’s breathing and the soft sound of crickets which, thank God, were nowhere close to either of them. He didn’t want this moment ruined by another temper-tantrum about their situation from Louie.

“I can’t go back,” Maron admitted.

Louie shifted awkwardly, “Why not?”

“You know why not,” he said.

“Stop it,” Louie ordered softly. “You know I don’t.”

Maron sighed, “What will have been the point if I go back? This felt like a long time coming. Thirteen years of pent up resentment towards that apartment, that job, those people…” He explained. “I’m looking for something,” he decided.

“For what?” Louie asked.

“I don’t know,” Maron gave an awkward shove. “A reason? A reason to go back? Or a reason to keep going? Maybe a reason to do neither. I haven’t decided yet.”

Louie and him both looked up as a car lulled lazily out of the parking lot next to them. Seemingly the last of the rural Tennessee Walmart patrons slowly trickling out to whatever sad lives led them to being at a rural Tennessee Walmart at nine-o’clock at night. The car rolled to the end of its aisle and gave a soft squeak as it stopped.

Maron sat up, “I’m sorry.”

Louie didn’t say anything for a bit, “For what?”

“For dragging you along with me. I know why you’re actually here, because you’re scared. You’re scared of what I’ll do if you’re not. But…” he paused. “I won’t do anything, even if you leave. Even if you’re gone.”

“You promise?” Louie whispered.

“Yes,” he said. “I promise.”

They both made their way to the car sluggishly, Maron offered up the driver’s seat.

“Let’s go somewhere nice,” Maron told him. “You pick, any hotel. You can get room service and everything, be as boujee and pompous as you want.”

“Oh,” Louie smiled. “I most certainly will.”

They drove around for a while, eventually stopping at a pretty average looking Hilton sat next to a Denny’s. Not exactly The Plaza Hotel, but it was better than what they had been settling for before.

“You know,” Louie said as he shut the car door behind him. “I’m still not leaving, even if you promised.”

Maron nodded, “I know.”

It would be 2 more months, several arguments and a moment of mid-life-crisis-breakthrough before Maron would figure out what he was looking for. Louie stayed the entire time.

He had been looking for a reason. Now, he was almost certain it wasn’t a reason to live or a reason to go or stay. Instead, a reason to believe there was a chance of getting better. It had been several months since his last drink and several more since his last joint. He began his medications again, a new one, this time: Venlafaxine. He liked the name of it. It didn’t cause the same problems, he still struggled with sleep and the medication didn’t help with his anxiety, but things had been getting better. And wasn’t that the point? That things got better?

“I like what you’ve done with it.” Louie admired the freshly painted room. The smell was apparently so unbearable for Louie so he stood awkwardly in the door frame, Maron began to regret not cracking a window.

Maron tried to wipe paint off of his forehead, “Really?” he ended up just smudging it more.

Louie nodded, “I think you’re doing good,” he said. “Very good, just… overall.”

“I…” Maron set down the roller he had been holding dangerously. “I think so too. I think I’m doing good overall…”

Maron looked at Louie for a bit, “Thank you.”

“For what?” Louie asked.

Maron huffed and looked back at the wall, “You know,” he said.

Louie smiled, “Yes, I know.”

Featured image: “Painting” by Patrick Goossens is licensed under CC BY-SA 2.0.