“I’ve asked a friend to readHow It Works,” a man at the front said.
Wait. Were they doingscientologyin St Anthony’s church? Was Wes a Scientologist?
“Wes, Alcoholic.”
“Hi, Wes,” the room said as one.
My brain short-circuited.
“How it works,” Wes said, his back to me. He held a laminated sheet of white paper in front of his face. “Rarely have we seen a person fail who has thoroughly followed our path. Those who do not recover are people who cannot or will not completely give themselves to this simple program, usually men and women who are constitutionally incapable of being honest with themselves. There are such unfortunates. They are not at fault; they seem to have been born that way. They are naturally incapable of grasping and developing a manner of living which demands rigorous honesty.”
I finally found my ability to fuckingread.The poster at the front of the room saidThe Twelve Steps.
Wes continued speaking. My heart pounded.Oh my God. Oh my fucking God.A bead of sweat trailed all the way down my spine. My hand shook as I busied myself pouring water from a jug into a cheap paper cup.
“Remember, we deal with alcohol—cunning, baffling, powerful.”
When the room said those last three words as a unit, I nearly jumped out of my skin.
Okay, cool, cool, cool.This was my bad, truly.I was big enough to admit I had made a grave error.
It had now become time to get the hell out of here and take this whole shameful ordeal with me to the grave.
“Without help, it is too much for us. But there is One who has all power—that One is God. May you find Him now. Half measures availed us nothing. We stood at the turning point. We asked His protection and care with complete abandon. Here are the steps we took, which are suggested as a program of recovery. One: we admitted we were powerless over alcohol—that our lives had become unmanageable.”
I chugged the water and threw the cup in the trash next to the table.
“Two. Came to believe a power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.”
I slowly backed away.
“Three. Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood Him.”
My back collided with a body and something cool and hard. I couldn’t stop my startled, pained noise from escaping. Something screeched against the floor.
“Oh shit, sorry,” a man said, who was carrying a metal chair.
Wes stopped reading. His head turned, along with the rest of the room. My vision became blurry, tunneled. All I could do now was bolt. Each step up the stairs felt like it was happening in slow motion, my feet filled with lead.
I squinted the moment I reentered the bright world above. I made it ten strides away from the door before I had to stop to catch my breath. My legs were wobbly, my stomach twisted into impossible knots. My face was a shade of what I could only guess was beet red as a full-body, deep-seated cringe shook my soul.
“Nova.”
God above, please just take me out of my misery,I prayed.
My deliverance had not been granted. Wes now stood before me, after I’d made it clear I was currently frozen with no intention of changing states.
“Are you… an alcoholic?” he asked in confusion.
I stared at him, forcing short, shallow breaths into my lungs. I slowly shook my head. “Much, much worse.”
Wes’s brows rose, performing a quick calculation. “I see.”
“Do you?” I squeaked.
He nodded. “You’re obsessed with me.”
A startled laugh escaped my lips. I thought he was going to be angry. I thought he was going to tell me he never wanted to see me again.
