Red carpeting lines the stairwell between the old white walls, and the chocolate-brown wooden railing is loose, worn, and beaten. The musty smell in the stairwell morphs into an aroma of coffee and sweets. Just like Keegan said—the coffee and doughnuts are often more of a reason to come than the company involved. In any case, I was glad he went.
Not that it ended up helping him.
About a dozen people are chatting in small groups within the wide-open space. The only separation in the room is the exposed chestnut-wooden beams, situated every ten feet or so. A few people are crowding around the pastries and coffee, a couple of people are in the seats located in the center in the formed circle, and the others are in private conversations in two of the room’s corners.
If I were here for help, I might feel overwhelmed and leave before anyone sees me. I’d have changed my mind by now.
“Welcome,” a soft voice greets me from the opposite side in which I was facing.
I turn and find a meek-looking woman with shoulder-length chocolate-brown hair fluffed out to the sides, uneven bangs that curl up above her eyebrows, and a patient smile to go along with a set of tired dark eyes. She must be the head sponsor. I’ve always wondered if the sponsors volunteer or if they’re sponsors because they’ve been sober longer than everyone else.
“Hi, I’m—ah, new here,” I tell the woman.
“That’s wonderful,” she says, switching the styrofoam cup of coffee from her right hand to her left. She reaches out to shake my hand. “I’m Alana.”
“I’m—” I think for a moment. Do I want to use my real name? I don’t technically belong here, nor do I want anyone to know who I am. “I’m April.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, April.” Her voice is calming, inviting, like something I would hear on one of the meditation videos I sometimes listen to at night. “Please, come join us and have a seat.”
I thought the introduction to AA would have been a lot worse. I had envisioned a swarm of hugs and vows of understanding, but it isn’t like that. It’s comfortable.
I take the seat, four spots away from where I assume Alana’s chair will be since there is a clipboard beneath.
Now that there are four of us in seats, the others seem to notice and claim the remaining spots around the circle.
“Welcome, everyone,” Alana speaks out. Her tone remains even, but there’s a slight increase in her volume. “I’m glad you could all make it today. Who would like to start us off with something they might like to share?”
A man sitting directly across from me with an untidy beard, matching dark moppy hair, and thick lines on his forehead, raises his finger. He’s leaning forward with his elbows pressed into his knees and a cup of coffee in his left hand. “I’ll start,” he says. “I’m Albert, and I’ve been sober for two weeks, and it’s just getting harder and harder. My daughter had a cup of apple juice in her hand yesterday, but all I saw was beer. I told myself I needed to try it to make sure she didn’t mistakenly have a beer in her cup. When I tasted the apple juice, I had a moment of realization: I’ve lost my damn mind.”
A couple of snickers and friendly agreeable sounds make their way around the circle. The social worker in my head would like to ask him if he was apprehensive about his daughter drinking beer or if he was trying to satiate his desire by convincing himself it was beer.
“I’m Toni,” the woman beside Albert speaks up. “I’ve been sober for two months, and I have a newfound love for running. I have more energy than I ever remember having, and it’s been amazing. However, I cried myself to sleep last night because one of my best friends had a bachelorette party, and it was at my favorite bar. I couldn’t risk the temptation and had to miss out.”
Alana places her hands in a praying pose against her chest. “Unfortunately, social situations will continue to be a struggle for us all, but rest assured, it will get easier after time, and you’ll be surprised to see how many friends support you by altering their plans to accommodate your lifestyle..”
I wonder what Keegan said while he was here. I wonder if he was honest about how he took advantage of my love or the fact that I was more than accommodating to his lifestyle and never drank or asked to meet my friends at a bar. I lived that life with him—for him.
I can’t do this.
I stand up from my seat and look around the circle. “I’m sorry. I don’t belong here. I’m not ready to become sober yet but thank you for your time. I wish you all well.”
No one interjected, which surprises me. I’m free to leave and walk out of the room without feeling like eyes are burning into my backside.
When I reach the street level and push open the door, a hand rests on my shoulder and scares the ever-living crap out of me. “Holy—”
“Ooh,” I hear.
“I’m sorry,” I say, turning around.
It’s Alana. “Take my number. Call me if you need help. I’m here. I’ve been where you are.” Alana hands me a business card with just her name and phone number. I take the card out from between her fingers and slip it into the side pocket of my clutch.
No, Alana. No, I’m sure you have not been where I am, but someone you love probably has been.
Chapter Thirteen
Chance
“Doyou know who that woman was?” Annabelle asks as I dab my fingers to my plate, collecting the last few crumbs from my sandwich.
