To Be Honest

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.