I sat in the back, surveying everyone’s heads as Glenda chattered. The group was so diverse. People of different ages and ethnicities all gathered to talk about one thing: alcohol. Crazy what the stuff does to some people. I felt like a fraud being there.
I did a double take as I recognized a head on an aisle seat in the front row. Dark brown hair falling in waves around fit shoulders.Julia. I leaned back in my chair and stifled a sigh. She lived in the same complex as me and attended the same AA.
Just great.
I tipped my head into the aisle, peering toward the front. As expected, I saw her flip-flop tap-tapping the bottom of her foot. I could almost hear the annoying sound.
I wondered where all these people came from and what drove them to pick up the bottle the first time. As the thought surfaced, I shook my head, willing it away. I didn’t want to remember the times I drank. My heart clenched, and my neck started to ache. So I focused on the sutures of the ceiling and counted the dark beams.
The week’s speaker was a drudge again, but I endured the meeting without falling asleep. Finally, Glenda took the stand and asked with a wobbling voice, “Are there any newcomers in their first thirty days of sobriety? If so, please stand and tell us your name and length of sobriety.”
Julia confidently stood up, hands hanging by her sides. She turned to face the group. “Hey everyone. I’m Julia. I’m an alcoholic—apparently—but I’ve been sober a whole week now. Actually eight days.”
Despite the usual awkwardness of admitting you’re an alcoholic, Julia looked unfazed. Her smile was relaxed, and her gaze traveled from person to person as she talked. She spotted me, and her smile widened. I figured she was delighted to have an apartment friend doubling as an AA friend. I was the total package. But if she was smart—which she certainly seemed intelligent—she would stay away. Far away.
I dropped my gaze to the glossy, white tile floor. The last thing I needed was a woman nipping at my heels, wanting to be friends. I had too much history for friends. Better I keep my distance.
“Lord, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change…” The closing prayer began, and I did my best to listen. There was so much I couldn’t change. Accepting them though? That seemed downright impossible.
“Amen.”
The scraping sound on the tile reverberated in the room’s natural acoustics as I shot out of my metal chair and toward the door. People stood and greeted each other in my wake. The chatter and laughter followed me out the door and into the hallway. They were like a family. I didn’t want to stick around and witness it.
I didn’t have family. Not blood family. Not adopted family. Anddefinitelynot AA family. I threw my weight against the double doors and out into the dark parking lot. The Tacoma to freedom was only a few steps away.
“Wait!” Footsteps smacked the pavement behind me.
I closed the remaining distance to the truck with two more long strides. The engine roared to life, and I backed away from the entry. Julia waved in my peripheral vision, but I pretended not to see. The corners of my mouth twitched as I merged onto the main drag, but the smile faded as the reality of the impending night took its place.
FOUR
Julia
My neck hurt from leaning forward, and my retinas burned from looking at the computer screen. It was my fourth day of leave, and I’d hated every single minute of it. I’d been scrolling Facebook entirely too long and felt like a pile of slop. I sat back, stretching, and made the mistake of looking into the small mirror hanging in my office.
Looked like slop, too.
I sighed, wondering how to make it through the next few hours. Even though I wanted to walk away from the computer, I opened a Google tab to research a new over-the-counter sleep medication. Maybe I could just sleep through the next seven-ish weeks.
My head was throbbing. I wanted a drink. But I wanted to keep my job…
My front door swung open. I already knew who it was and yelled over my shoulder, “I’m not in the mood for company.”
Jack yelled back in a sing-song voice, not skipping a beat. “I’m not company.”
I sighed and joined him in the living room, adjusting my sweat pants. “What do you want?”
“Just checking on you.” He emptied the contents of a grocery bag onto the counter.
“And making dinner apparently.”
“Pasta con broccoli sound okay?” He lifted a box of noodles and raised his dark eyebrows.
As much as I loved Jack’s food, I wanted to be left alone. “Aw, you’re so sweet, but I have plans.”
“Liar.” Jack ripped the plastic off the broccoli and flipped on the faucet. “If I wasn’t here offering you my advanced culinary services, you’d be eating some oxygen with a side of whiskey, inching your way towards death by starvation or blood poisoning.”
“You don’t have anything better to do on a Friday night?”
