Holding Hair

Two drunks stumbled back to their house. They're friendship centered around their ability to consume, and, together, they would plan their drunken escapes. The city hated these two and their belligerent ways, for the bars in this town best accommodated to those filing in with their collard shirts and lovely faces--the ones who drank with a mischievous mission. These two, however, drank because it was all they knew to do. As it were, they were not "enhancements to the party," so to speak. Rather, those who saw them were forced into the realization, "If I let this drink run, I will be trampled like these helpless souls." It is in us all to avoid the warnings of who we are becoming.

One night, like so many before it, the pair bought two bottles of "2 Buck Chuck" and downed them while the night was still young. After a few trips to replenish the stock, Drunk Number One stumbled onto the dew covered yard. He laid in the grass while his eyes rolled from side to side. The longer he lay there, the dew seeped through his flannel shirt and he began to retch.

The vomit covered his chest, and he began to panic, as he could no longer breathe.

In an instant, his drunken friend was there, who rolled him over and lifted his torso off the ground allowing his legs to lay limply in the grass. Drunk Number Two pulled his friend's greasy hair from clinging to his face.

And there they were. One drunk puking into the grass while another held him in a moment void of glory thus saving his life.

This, my friends, is how love is shown. Rather than letting those who deserve to wallow in their filth as a result of their own decision, we mercifully pull them out of it, all the while capable of the exact same filth. True love props up the sinner and holds those sick with themselves, for we may need someone to hold us in a matter of moments.