Free Diary of an Alcoholic Housewife by Brenda Wilhelmson

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    Tonight was Max’s first band concert. I’d forced Max to take piano lessons for two years, but it had gotten ugly and I let him drop piano and take up the trumpet in the fourth grade. Trumpet was working out better. I couldn’t play the trumpet, so I couldn’t be the trumpet Nazi.
    “That sounded sloppy!” I’d shout from wherever I was in the house while Max practiced piano.
    “That’s the way it’s supposed to sound,” he’d shout back.
    “Bull!” I’d yell, stalking into the room and making Max slide over on the bench. Then I’d play the piece. “That’s how it’s supposed to sound. Now keep practicing until it sounds like that.” I’d return to what I was doing and scream, “That’s not right,” as Max continued to slop through the tune.
    “That’s the way Miss Olga played it!” Max would insist.
    I’d stalk back into the room, play the piece again, and yell some more. This would go on and on until Max’s practice half hour was up. Life got easier when Max began playing the trumpet.
    “Sounds good,” I’d yell as he practiced. I didn’t know what the piece was supposed to sound like, and it was better that way.
    My expectations were pretty low for the band concert tonight. We dropped Max and his trumpet off in the band room and Charlie, Van, and I found chairs in the already-packed gymnasium. Soon after, the band filed in. They began playing. They were good. They were tight. There was no disjointed noise. I looked down at the floor to check on Van, who’d been playing with Play-Doh on the seat next to me. He’d been rifling through my purse and my bright orange Twelve Step directory was lying on the floor in front of the woman sitting on Van’s right. I felt the blood drain from my face. I bent down and swiped the directory off the floor. As I straightened up, I locked eyes with the woman. She gave me a pinch-lipped smile and turned her attention to the band.
    [Thursday, February 6]
    I had dinner with Kelly, Kelly’s friend Lexi, and my sister-in-law Bonnie at Café Francesca’s. Bonnie went to high school with Kelly and Lexi, and Lexi and I have become friends after repeatedly seeing each other at Kelly’s shindigs. I picked up Kelly and we drove to the restaurant, put our names on the waiting list, and sat at the bar. Kelly ordered a glass of wine and I ordered a club soda with lime. The bartender looked at Kelly, raised his eyebrows, and said, “Club soda? We’re gonna have to do something about that.” Kelly laughed and nodded. I thought about saying, “Hey asshole, I’m an alcoholic.”
    Lexi and Bonnie arrived a little while later and the hostess seated us. Lexi, a light drinker, was pregnant and she and I split a bottle of San Pellegrino. Bonnie ordered a glass of wine. “Good,” Kelly sighed. “I have one person to drink with.”
    Kelly was one of the few people who could match me drink for drink. Every time we went out for dinner, we’d plow through a bottle of wine, order a few more glasses, and as we waited for the check I’d ask, “Should we go somewhere else for a drink?”
    Kelly would smile impishly. “Should we?”
    We always did.
    Three months earlier, Kelly and I would have been half in the bag by now, but tonight Kelly was pacing her drinking with Bonnie’s, and Bonnie is an extremely light drinker who nursed one glass of wine all night. It reminded me of my dinners with Emily and Aunt Alina, and I felt sorry for Kelly.
    On the way home, our drive was not filled with the usual laugh-filled banter. We were pretty subdued. I miss getting messed up with Kelly.
    [Saturday, February 8]
    Today is my thirty-ninth birthday. Charlie and I went out for seafood with Sean and Marcy, and Tim and Clio, two high school friends of Charlie’s and their wives. I ordered a San Pellegrino with lime and got miffed when the waiter brought me a tumbler instead of a wineglass with the big green bottle. I handed the waiter the tumbler and told him I wanted a wineglass.