The fifth installment of my “Edmonds Entries” series.

“I’m a Diet Coke girl” she proclaimed through laughter, rolling her neck so that her jowls shook with sass. 

“But they don’t let us have that here…I think I might go crazy. Though…I could probably get it if I weren’t here here, right? I mean, what’s a girl gotta do, I’m addicted to the stuff! I don’t know how long I’ll survive, maybe I’ll just do that, drink it on my own, or find a McDonalds, after all, those are the best. Well, I think I could find a way, would they kick me out? I mean I haven’t even had a cigarette I’ve been so caught up in it…” She continued on, asking and answering her own questions while the lobby pretended not to notice or worry for her well-being. 

“…And what’s with all this DBT stuff, is it hard as shit or something? I mean I keep hearing people say they’re graduating. I haven’t done school in a long time and when I did let me tell you I was not good at it and I did not like it! I mean I didn’t like it one bit, and that’s when I did have my Diet Coke. I don’t think I can do it if it’s too much, you know?” She looked back to the hot chocolate machine, made a remark about her gratitude for its sugar that she seemed to enjoy, and forgot all about the question she’d asked. 

I started my voice softly and deliberately slow,

“Well, here, graduation is just another word for discharge. They call it that, I think, to exemplify and recognize the hard work we put in to challenge ourselves to grow wiser and gain freedom through our difficulties with things such as addiction. We aren’t graded, it is ultimately up to you to decide if you want to better yourself and how much you want to put into the program to reap the benefits for you and the people you love.”

“Well shit,” she spit out, wiping her forehead. “I’m just glad I can’t fail!” She peeled herself off the vinyl seat and went over to the machine to get her hot chocolate. 

But I never said she couldn’t fail,

just that she wasn’t being graded. 

“And how does your last day work?” She directed at me angrily. “I mean they haven’t told me a thing! Like I’m trying to make plans and I have no clue what’s going on. This is what I mean, I’m just trying to get this shit over with and get outta here to my family!” 

Knowing this to be untrue, as we are all told this information five times over in orientation, I smiled and responded even slower than before. “Your last day, when it comes, will be just like any other. You’ll carry out your schedule and complete the day somewhere between 4:30-5. After that you are discharged and need to find your own lodging for the night.” 

She replied so fast I wondered how she even heard the last few words I said. “Oh hell ya, then I’m gonna get a hotel and get away just so I can be outta here. I’ll take the train and ride it out to Portland. Don’t matter if it’s long. Worth it for me if it doesn’t get delayed. And shit, I’ll probably get a Diet Coke while I’m at it!” She cackled to herself and emptied her cup only to refill it. “Wasn’t right the first time.” 

Well, I wasn’t so sure the second was going to be much better. 

As vocal as she was, this wasn’t a conversation foreign to the lobby walls. It seemed many were placed here by a voice hidden deep within them while the one at the surface proclaimed no desire for change.

I know these voices well, and hear them dancing in my mind perpetually. But my own is growing louder, more distinct by day. And I like the timbre of it, I prefer its honey tone, its dove-like carry. The clarity is growing, and the edge is coming into everything I want it to be. It sounds much more pleasant than the muddy, drunken slurs that try so hard to serenade me. 

I hope to see her still, on my graduation day, sitting behind the desk long, crying at my speech. And maybe, in the turning of the world, she will want to stay in Edmonds on the night of her own.