I opened the door that led into the room that was my destination. Before my foot crossed the threshold and took that first step into the room that was to be my home for the next hour, I had already taken a thorough look around and gotten to see everything that I needed to see.
The walls were off-color white. Sterile. Just like every other room of its kind that I had been in. One window, on the left wall. Blinds open, though it didn’t matter much because it was already dark outside. We couldn’t see anything, anyways.
There were other people in the room. People like me. People who had problems. Some were willing to admit that. Others just couldn’t bear to bring that reality crashing down around them.
I was a member of the latter group.
I sat down in a chair on the far side of the room, close to the door. I never like to be too far away from the exit. I smelled coffee, so I looked around and saw a table in a corner. There were two tall carafes filled with coffee, smaller jugs for creamer and sugar, and a plate piled high with what looked like walnut brownies.
Sad. If only they were peanut.
I went and made myself a cup of coffee. Two sugars, no creamer. As I was stirring it up, I heard muted voices. They sounded like they recognized the person who’d just walked into the room. When I turned around, I realized that I did as well.
Brighton Meile. The guy who’d been running the meetings for as long as I’d been attending them, which had been going on six months now.
I waved to him, and he nodded in recognition, smiling at me. He didn’t think I’d come to this, I realized. Well serves him right. He should know that if I’m told to do something, I’m going to do it. Usually.
I sat back down and sipped my coffee. Ah. Perfect. Brighton went up to the front of the room after closing the door and sat down in the head chair. I use that term loosely, as all of the chairs were seated in a circle formation. Just like they always were.
He looked out at us and smiled. We all knew what was coming; it was customary at all meetings. Regardless, it had to be done.
“Hi, guys. My name is Brighton, and I’m an alcoholic.”
As the rest of the group chorused the line, “Hi, Brighton…” I snickered softly inside. All of these people, every time, admitting they were alcoholics. They were deluding themselves.
There’s no such thing as alcoholism. Take me for example. I’ve been drinking for almost twenty years, and I’m not “addicted” to it, as the meetings love to tell you. Well, they say they’re “telling you” these things. When you’ve been forced to come as often, and for as long, as I have, it becomes less “telling” and more “shoving down your throat whether you like it or not.”
I’m not the one with the problem, though if these people want to tell themselves they have a problem- and thus create one for themselves- then bloody fine by me.
As we went through the traditional greeting and opening bylines- introductions, brief statements about what we’d done the past week, and whatnot- I usually just tuned it out. This time was no exception. I just sat there and sipped my coffee, until it was time for us to share.
“Well, guys,” Brighton started things off by saying, “if you’re here, then I would hope you know what the theme of the meetings for these next seven weeks is going to be.”
A few people said, “Honesty.”
“Yep, that’s right. Honesty. Now, you all didn’t have to sign up for this. But you did, which is a good thing. It means that you’re ready to take the next step towards your recovery.”
Hah. Not likely, in my case. Mostly, it was to appease the program director.
“Some of you undoubtedly don’t feel like you need to be here. You think that you’re doing this for other reasons than, you actually need this. And maybe you don’t need it. Maybe this is all just a big waste of your time. Until you can know for sure, though, stick with us.”
Sigh. Whatever.
He asked who wanted to start things off, and a woman with stringy blonde hair started talking. I took that as my cue to drift off again and start thinking about other things. And so, I did.
I barely paid attention as one person after another described their struggles with being honest with themselves. I tried so hard not to laugh at them. Deluded and self-deluded, as my grandmother used to say.
At one point, though, there was a lull in the conversation and then: “…you tell us some things?”
A hand shoved my leg a bit rudely, and I snapped back to reality. I was about to snap at him when I realized why he might have done that. “I’m sorry, I zoned out for a bit. Were you wanting me to share?”
“Well, yes, if you want. You don’t have to, as you very well know.”
What the hell. Might score some more brownie points with the program director. Speaking of, now I’m wanting one of those brownies. I get up and walk over to the table, taking a napkin and picking up two or three brownies. As I’m walking back to my seat, I say, “Well, I guess my name is Donald and I’m… an alcoholic.”
“Hi, Donald.”
I sat down and took a bite out of the brownie. Huh. It was really good. I chewed for a second, allowing myself to come up with some bullshit to say. When I thought I had something, I started.
“If I were to be honest with myself right now, which I would really like to think that I am, I would say that the greatest thing in my life right now is my daughter. She’s seven years old and she is just the cutest little girl I’ve ever seen. I didn’t even know I had a daughter until I got out of prison about a year ago.”
I heard some murmurings from around the room, but I ignored them and pressed on.
“Last Saturday was the first full day I ever got to spend with my daughter. Before that, it was just partial-day visitations under the supervision of some court-ordered official. Because I’ve successfully completed six months of my alcohol treatment program, though, they allowed me to have a full-day visit.”
I chuckled as I remembered something. “Man, she was all about this new show. My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic. I’d never heard of it, but the way she was talking about it, I figured it was your typical frilly girls’ crap. Well, she wanted me to watch it with her, and who was I to turn her down? So we watched it together.”
I took another bite of my brownie. “What really surprised me is that I actually found myself kinda liking the show. And yes, this does tie in to the whole theme tonight. One of the characters- coincidentally, my daughter’s favorite character- is named Applejack, and her role in the show is to embody the Element of Honesty. I have to say, she’s a pretty cool character.”
I knew I was getting some really odd looks at this point, but I didn’t care. I was almost done anyways.
“I guess I’ll wrap it up by saying that I would love to someday be able to spend every day with my daughter. All day, every day. That is what I’m working towards the most right now… to be honest.” A few people politely laughed a bit. “That’s all I want to share.”
Another person raised their hand, and they picked up where I left off. I slipped back into day-dream land, but this time it was a little different.
Normally, I would just day-dream about doing things with my daughter. This time, though, for some reason, there was someone else there with us. I smiled as this newcomer joined us for fun and games to be had by all.
I couldn’t help but think how my daughter would react if Applejack were actually real.
Week Two: Pictures, Snapshots
Ugh. A whole week has gone by since the last honesty-themed meeting. And now, it’s time for another one. I know, I know. It actually sounded like I was warming up to the whole concept of the meeting and what it was all about.
Then I went back to my real life.
Or, what passes for real life right now, anyways. I’m stuck in a dead-end job, working security for some two-bit flea market down the road from the place where I’m staying. Which is, by the way, a hell-hole in and of itself.
Man. This place is dirty as hell. Kinda symbolic, I guess, of all the shit in my life that I’m having to deal with. Whether I want to or not, by the way…
I’m sitting in my bed right now, looking at a picture of my daughter. She just had her school pictures taken a few weeks ago, and my bitch of an ex-wife decided that she would (for once in her life) be nice to me, and send me a few copies of the pictures.
I’ve got one in my wallet, one on my bedside table, and… this one.
This one that I’m holding in my hand was a special picture that she had taken- not by the school photographer, but by her mom. She’s standing out by her mother’s motorcycle- weird, yeah, I know- and she’s clutching something in her hand.
It’s a plush toy of Applejack, and she’s holding onto it like it’s the greatest thing she’s ever had. Grinning like a madman, at that.
I can’t help but smile every time I look at that picture. It’s just so… refreshing. To know that there’s someone out there who still has the capacity for love.
If it weren’t for my daughter, I’d swear I’d lost it a long time ago…
I got up off my bed and pulled on my going-out attire. A pair of old, faded jeans and a T-shirt that I’ve had since before I got married. “Life’s A Bitch, And Then You Marry One.” That’s the slogan on the shirt.
Man, if only I’d known how true that was… I’d have never gotten married to begin with. But that’s neither here, nor there.
I got into my rusty-ass old pickup truck and started it up. I have to throttle it easy nowadays, or it’ll lock up on me and never get started. Heh. Kinda sounds like my whole life…
As I went down the road, I couldn’t help but think about what my daughter had told me the other day. “Daddy…” she’d said, “no matter what, I believe in you. You can do this.”
My daughter’s only nine years old, and she’s having to console me because I feel like my life isn’t worth going on for anymore. I’m a falling-down drunk, and she knows it. And yet she still has faith in me, somehow…
I don’t see how, quite frankly.
My thoughts pre-occupied me until I got to the meeting hall. I pulled into the nearest available parking space and shut the truck off, praying already that it would start up again when I had to go back home.
As I walked in, I could smell the hot cocoa before I saw or smelled anything else. I breathed the aroma in deeply, and couldn’t help but smile. The simple pleasures in life, those were always what I loved most.
“Well, hello there, Donald!” The same guy from last week, was there again this time. I didn’t mind him much; she was okay in my book. I waved back to him as I went over to the refreshment table. Nice steaming hot chocolate and-
Wait. Could it be? Peanut brownies? I picked one up tentatively and looked it over all around. Sure enough, this batch had peanuts in them.
Did someone know? Had I mentioned it at all during the previous meeting?
Hah. Here I was, being all high-and-mighty. As if they did this just for me… It’s still appreciated, though.
I picked up a plate and put a few brownies on there, poured myself a cup of hot cocoa, and sat down in my chair. I think this is the same chair I sat in last week. It looks roughly in the same position, anyways.
A few moments later, the room quieted down when the guy began to speak.
“Hey everyone,” he began. “You all know who I am, but it’s still customary for me to introduce myself, so… my name is Brighton, and I’m an alcoholic.”
Once again, everyone chorused with, “Hi, Brighton.”
“We had a good turn-out last week, which is very heartening. And I like to see that everyone from last week came back today! We do have two new people, so introduce yourselves please, at this time.”
I caught the first guy’s name- Joshua- but the other lady’s name went right over my head. Not that it was hard to understand, I don’t think, but I had just bitten into one of the peanut brownies and my mind was in a completely and totally different place just then.
After the two newcomers had introduced themselves, Brighton continued: “Today’s topic is, obviously, related to the overall theme of honesty. More specifically, I want us to talk this week about people we may not necessarily want to be honest with, but we have to be anyways. Who wants to start?”
An old lady with mousy brown hair on the left side of the room raised her hand, and when Brighton called on her, she began to talk. I took this as my cue to go into La-La Land again, and I promptly did so.
Once again, I began to remember some of the good times I’d had with my daughter: taking her to Six Flags on her sixth birthday, going out fishing with her and her friends (she’d always been more of the outdoorsy type)…
There were so many things that I loved doing with her, and so many things that I would have loved to do with her had… things not gotten in the way.
I barely recognized it when one person ended their spiel and the next one began. I was too lost in reminiscing. I did manage to barely catch it, though, a little bit later on when Brighton asked me if I wanted to share.
“Nope,” was all I said.
“Why not?” Brighton asked. “You were so eloquent last week.”
“Yeah, about that… I don’t know where that came from. And as for the topic this week, I really don’t care to be honest with much of anybody nowadays. I’m so fucked up, the less people really know about me, the better. And that’s all I have to say about that.”
“Um… thanks for sharing.” He moved on to the next person, who turned out to be much more sociable than I could ever pretend to be.
The meeting ended later without provocation, and I stood up to leave. As I did so, I saw someone moving towards me. It turned out to be the lady from the beginning, the newcomer that I didn’t catch her name.
“Were you here last week?” she asked me. I nodded. “Well, can you fill me in on what happened?”
Why she wanted to know this, I hadn’t the foggiest, but I filled her in nonetheless.
After I was finished, she smiled at me. It was a genuine smile, as though she actually enjoyed my company. It was weird. I wasn’t exactly used to that from anyone but my daughter.
“Thanks,” she said. “See you next week?” I nodded. She turned to leave, but something prompted me to say something to her.
“Hey!” I called out. “What’s your name?” She turned back to me and smiled that smile again.
“Oh… you can just call me AJ.”
