💊 Proprietary Recipe

“The first law of holes: When you find yourself in one, stop digging.”

Hinga’s Kenyan sponsor had shared the saying during one of the more trying spells in his life, when he got fired from The Lodge after divulging his part in losing them the top spot on the Gastronomique 20. Now, at his 11-year virtual sober birthday party, he conveniently twisted the wise words to fit neatly into the mosaic he’d been creating. He couldn’t lose this milestone, not publicly, anyway.

“As I embark on my 12^th year on this journey, one I hadn’t even realized I had the stuff to start, two things have become clear. You can’t walk this road alone. And just like it took multiple little steps to get into the hole, it’ll take multiple little steps to get out. I’m eternally grateful to all of you, my friends, and my family, for patiently and painstakingly helping me out of this hole. I owe you one.”

Then, when Stevie hopped off to the farmer’s market, he soaked his pillow in tears, downed his afternoon dose of Stilnoct, and drifted off to a place where his conscience couldn’t hurt him.

It wasn’t supposed to get this untenable. He really did just crave a reprieve from the burden of being lucid and aware of the mayhem in and around him. The rapid slip back into old habits overtook whatever will he’d built to fortify his grip. He found himself dabbling with the drug even when he neither needed nor wanted to sleep. The more he took, the more relaxed he felt. The less stressed he was about the somber, unpredictable future. The easier he could forget he didn’t say goodbye to the one person who’d been in his corner throughout his life.

Living with Stevie had severally thrown a wrench in his efforts to treat bullet holes with Band-Aids. He took great pains to replace any real tabs he took with counterfeit ones he also bought from his resourceful dealer. One time, pills he'd been saving for when she fell asleep on the couch slipped between the cushions. He nearly overturned the furniture trying to retrieve them before she did, all while staying mum so she didn’t stir. He never found them or any sleep that night, but he made a deal with the universe that if it could help keep them hidden, he’d never ever use the controlled substance again.

That promise lasted a respectable 26 hours before the withdrawal got so bad that Stevie worried he needed urgent medical attention. The lies were stacking up higher than his 6-foot height, forming an unstable tower that could topple at the drop of a hat. He tapped into his emergency stash and regained vitality in the morning.

Stevie, a recovering addict herself, was noticing unsettling signs. If she spoke up without enough evidence to launch a full-scale intervention, however, she’d just embody the insecure, distrustful wife. Still, the inconsistencies in his recollections of his days were getting a bit too many to be ignored. When the chickens came home to roost one evening, Stevie removed the rose-colored glasses that were making the red flags look regular.

“They say a man keeps a secret as well as he hides a sneeze.”

“The hell are you on, Stevie?”

“The hell are you on, Mr. ‘I didn’t notice I’d left the stove on, but I was definitely home the whole time as the gas filled the air.’?”

“We talked about this. It was an honest mistake, and I’m sorry.”

“Sydney Kamau Hinga, my gut says it’s either another woman or you’re back on your booze. I can’t tell which I’d hate worse.”

“It’s nothing like that. I swear on…”

“Shosh’s life” was on the tip of his tongue. He’d nearly dragged her into this horrible mess. Was this the man he was now, one who lacked reservations about saying such an insensitive thing? Everything about that would-be statement buckled his knees and opened the literal and figurative floodgates.