Lane
Ididn’t know what to expect or hoped to gain from the whole suggestion, but it was clear Bess was hurting and needed something more than I could give her. After all, I was a fixer despite the fact that I needed repairing myself.
We hustled into the small town in Bess’s Jeep. I’d rented a car, but liked that Bess enjoyed me driving her little SUV. It made this whole thing feel even more real.
Although, driving to an AA meeting smacked with reality.
Bess is an ex-addict. The woman I love is an alcoholic and a junkie.
This was something I couldn’t ignore. Not now, not ever—even when I walked away from it almost five years ago at the gym.
“Make a right up there,” Bess said, interrupting my thoughts.
For most of the ride she’d been silent, looking out the window and leaving me to my own thoughts, when I should have been attentive to her. Because that was Bess. She thought she was selfish, but she was the most selfless person I knew.
As we pulled into a church parking lot, Bess turned to me. “I have to go in alone. We don’t allow visitors unless they’re pre-approved, and I know you’d be confidential and all, but it’s just the rules.”
I nodded. “No worries, I understand. I can wait here?” I posed it as a question, sensing that Bess needed to be in charge of the decision-making regarding this. After six months of intensive therapy on the heels of being in and out of it for a half a decade, I was almost a shrink myself.
“Do you mind?” she asked.
“Of course not. I’ll be right here. Take your time.”
She got out of the car without another word and ran toward the door in her Air Force Ones, her lithe body wrapped in a sweater coat, her long brown hair blowing in the wind.
As I waited, I fidgeted with nervous energy, hoping her support group didn’t encourage her to cut ties with me.
They wouldn’t. Would they?
A while later a group of people exited the building. I got out of the car and waited, leaning against the passenger door as I huddled in my down parka, facing the mismatched crew heading my way.
They were all so different—tall, short, fat, black, and white—yet while they all struggled from similar addictions, they persevered. Unlike Jake and myself. We were identical in appearance, but carried different emotional burdens. And neither of us seemed to be able to get a hold on them very well.
But I would die trying for Bess.
She was walking out with another woman, talking as they held on to each other’s hands, bundled against the wind. Deciding I wanted to meet her friend, I headed their way, rubbing my hand along my beard as I walked before stopping dead in my tracks about ten feet away. The sky could have parted and dumped an avalanche of snow on me, and I wouldn’t have moved. My feet were glued to the concrete as if it weren’t dry and they were sinking into its wetness.
Miss Shirley. I wasn’t sure if I said it aloud or in my head, but my initial thoughts were confirmed when she lifted her head.
“Lane.”
“Miss Shirley.” She was older, not as skinny as she used to be, and a lot shorter than I remembered. Or maybe I was just a lot taller.
We stood frozen in our spots, confined to our corners as Bess looked between us in confusion. This was no happy reunion where we went running into each other’s arms. At one point in time, this woman brought only a smile to my face. Now all I saw was blackness surrounding her form.
Sorrow swirled in and around me like the ravaging wind. Wracked with emotion, I was afraid I was going to fall, blown over by either the sorrow or the wind, or both.
