by Lizzy Mason
Elaine looked around the room quickly, catching a few eyes here and there.
“We seek through prayer and meditation to improve contact with God. And having had a spiritual awakening as a direct result of these steps, we try to carry this message to alcoholics and practice these principles always.”
It was clear she was reciting from memory, but her tone was passionate. She believed what she was saying. Judging from the nodding around the room, so did many others. It was impossible not to be moved.
She took a deep breath. “And with that, it’s time for chips.”
A younger woman handed Elaine a plastic bag full of shiny round multi-colored coins.
“Is anyone here for a twenty-four-hour chip?” she said.
The silence was punctuated by the sounds of people shuffling in their chairs. And then beside me, Nate calmly put his coffee on the floor and stood. The applause was hesitant at first and I saw shock on several faces, but then the applause swelled. He didn’t smile but seemed buoyed by the support.
When Raf stood to get a six-month chip, I was surprised, but I couldn’t help feeling a surge of pride. I nudged him with my elbow when he sat back down.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I whispered.
He just shrugged, but his cheeks were red. He couldn’t hide the embarrassed pride.
One other person got a chip, and then Elaine started the meeting in earnest. She told a quick story about her road to sobriety. She had been sober for ten years, and she still went to a meeting every day, she said. She had learned that whenever she got cocky and thought she could do it without help, some situation always presented itself to remind her that she was not in control.
Then she asked if anyone else wanted to share. No one volunteered right off the bat.
“Nate,” she said, “do you want to start?”
Nate looked chagrined, but also like he had expected this to happen. He nodded and started talking.
Nate was an alcoholic who had been sober for six years, he said. And then yesterday, he had a shitty day and he thought about drinking. And his day got shittier and he kept thinking about drinking. Until he finally found himself pulling into the liquor store parking lot and buying a pint of whiskey. And he drank it. It was that simple. He let his guard down for one moment, or a series of moments, and he regretted it, but it was too late.
Elaine praised him for coming right back to a meeting, and everyone around the room agreed. Meanwhile, I had to work to keep my mouth closed. I couldn’t believe he’d thrown away six years of sobriety for one night of drinking. But I also was impressed that he’d realized his mistake and come back.
A few more people shared, telling their stories and talking about how they were feeling and what they had learned lately. People responded to or empathized with each other’s complaints and concerns. It was encouraging to see all these people fighting to make their lives better.
But then I felt more than saw it when Elaine chose me. “Would you like to share . . . ?” Her voice trailed off purposefully.
I looked to Raf for help, but he shrugged. This was my choice.
“My name is Harley,” I said. “And I’m not an alcoholic or an addict, but I’m here to support my friend.”
A few heads turned. I worried they might object. But the faces I knew wore encouraging smiles. As did the faces of the strangers.
“Um, I hope that’s okay?” I said.
Elaine nodded, and since it was silent and everyone was looking at me, I started talking. “So, a few weeks ago, my sister and another man were nearly killed by a drunk driver,” I said, looking at my hands in my lap. I didn’t want to see the pity anyone might be feeling for me or the challenge from those who might think I was accusing them. “The drunk driver was my boyfriend. Now ex-boyfriend.”
I felt Raf drape his arm around the back of my chair. I looked at him for encouragement. He squeezed my shoulder.
“My sister was in a coma for nearly two weeks. When she woke up, she had no memory of the accident or the year leading up to it. She’s learning how to talk and walk again now.”
I wasn’t sure what I was going to say when I started talking, but the silence in the room now told me that I was on the right track. And saying it out loud was bringing my anger to a boil, but at least allowing some to escape, like steam under the cracked lid of a pot.
“So thank you all for being here tonight,” I said as I finished sharing. “I know it’s not the only reason to stay sober, but if it means that someone else’s sister doesn’t end up with a scalp full of stitches and a body of broken bones because you didn’t drive drunk, it’s a pretty good one.”
The room stayed quiet for a few seconds before I heard Raf say, “Thank you for sharing, Harley.” A handful of voices echoed him.
“I think that’s a great place to end tonight,” Elaine agreed. “Let’s say the Serenity Prayer.”
Four Years Ago
“Mom, I’m taking Floyd out!” I called up the stairs as I clipped Floyd’s leash to his collar. He was a younger dog back then, and his boundless energy created a great excuse to get out of the house. Especially when I saw Raf and his friend heading down the street.
I hadn’t seen much of him since we were kids, other than a wave out the window of the back seat of the car in passing, or when I was walking Floyd. The summer before sixth grade, he started playing basketball in his driveway. At first, I would just walk the dog past and pretend not to notice him. But I noticed. Not long after, he started calling out something funny, pretending he was talking to Floyd. I had no experience with boys, so any interaction felt important and exciting.
Eventually, he would come and pet Floyd—or, more accurately, they would wrestle—and sometimes he’d even walk with us for a little while. But after months of this, I felt it was time for an escalation.
Plus, Cassidy was at the beach with her family for a week and my other friends lived too far away for me to walk to their houses. So I was bored enough to voluntarily leave the house and enter the heat wave that July afternoon.
Raf and his friend were walking ahead slowly, and as soon as the door was open, Floyd ran as fast as he could, dragging me behind at the end of his leash until we caught up. He then immediately crammed his nose in Raf’s friend’s crotch.
“Sorry! God, he’s the worst,” I said, scolding Floyd and pulling him away. He was a strong dog, and defiant on top of it, but Raf’s friend just crouched down with Floyd and scrubbed at the black Lab’s soft ears while he slobbered kisses all over his neck.
Raf caught me grinning at the sight and frowned. “Hey,” he said. “Your dog’s accosting my friend. And frankly, I’m a little upset he snubbed me.”
I smiled wider. “You can’t blame him for having good taste,” I said. “It’s best to accept this loss and move on. You’d look better with a brunette anyway.” My cheeks flushed, but I hoped it was covered by the fact that my entire body was pink from the heat.
Raf’s friend and Floyd had finished their make-out session by then. The friend stood and offered a wave to me.
“Hey, I’m Paul,” he said. “Your dog’s awesome.”
“Are you planning to make an honest man out of him after that?” I said.
Paul’s mouth opened, but Raf interrupted.
“Don’t even try,” Raf said. “Floyd and I already have a relationship; you can’t just walk in and try to steal him from me. He may be fickle, but my memory is long.”
Paul laughed, but I couldn’t help but wish that Raf was actually talking about me.
We walked for a few blocks, but when Floyd started panting, I told them I had to turn around.
“You should come hang out with us tonight,” Raf said.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
He shrugged. “We’ve got some beer, and we’re going to sneak out and drink them in the park once my pa
rents are asleep.”
“Sounds thrilling,” I said, trying to sound calm even though I was suddenly sweating even more. “But sure, I’ll come.”
That night, I crept past the creaky bedroom door, down the stairs, and out the basement door. The humid night air felt like an omen as sweat gathered on the backs of my thighs and pooled on my upper lip. I fretted about the lip gloss I was wearing and eventually decided to wipe it off on the back of my hand instead of letting it melt on my lips.
I’d been early, but as the minutes sailed by without any sign of Raf and Paul, not even a whisper of the door opening, I got nervous. After more than an hour, I finally went back inside to the welcome icy blast of air-conditioning, which made the wet tracks of my tears tingle with cold.
I never heard from Raf about what had happened, even though we’d exchanged phone numbers that day. I was too proud to text him after my initial “You still coming?” message that had gone unanswered. He didn’t even come outside to play basketball until the fall. I made Audrey walk Floyd after school so I could avoid seeing him.
I guess he avoided me, too.
Chapter Thirteen
We drove home in silence. I was trying to puzzle out what had happened, what I’d accomplished in that room, if anything. Maybe Raf was, too.
He slowed to a stop between our two houses. I had my hand on the car door handle when he said, “Want to come over?”
I turned back. His eyes, dark in the moonlight, were hopeful.
“Yeah,” I said. “Let’s go.”
I concentrated on my footsteps in the grass. One step at a time. Only when his bedroom door was behind us did I trust myself to speak.
“I—”
“So, what you said tonight at the meeting,” Raf started to say.
“Sorry,” I said, cutting him off. “I mean, I’m sorry about that. I hope I didn’t offend anyone.”
He was shaking his head before I had even finished. “No, Harley, what you said was good. It was a reminder of the consequences of using. And not just for me, for everyone in the room. Elaine was really glad you shared tonight.”
“She wasn’t sure about me at first, was she?” I said. “She thought I might bring too much joy to the room, I bet.”
Raf laughed a little. I liked making him laugh. “Nah, she’s cool. Open meetings are just that: open. She just wanted to be sure you wouldn’t be judgmental about what people were saying in there.”
I opened my mouth to protest and then closed it. It made sense. As far as Elaine knew, I had never experienced anything even close to the problems that the people in that room had.
“It’s just, addicts sometimes feel like . . . Well, the phrase is ‘a gold-plated piece of shit the world revolves around.’”
Now it was my turn to laugh. “And that means?”
“Essentially, that we realize we are pieces of shit, but we think we are the shiniest, most important pieces of shit that the world has ever seen. So what we need, what we want to do, the decisions we make, it’s all way more important than anything or anyone else. That’s how an addict’s mind works.”
I nodded, processing.
“So having someone in there, judging us, like an outsider? It can be a little uncomfortable. It makes some people edgy. But it’s important.”
“You said ‘us,’” I said. “Are you calling yourself an addict?”
He glanced away. “If you ask Elaine, I am.”
“Is she your sponsor?” I asked. I knew that was an AA thing, but Raf had never mentioned a sponsor before.
“She was. In rehab I had to have a sponsor. They insisted on it because they really wanted me to embrace the program. But when I got out and told Elaine I wasn’t sure I was an addict, she said she couldn’t help me work the steps if I couldn’t even accept the first one. So she’s still there if I need her, but she can’t be my sponsor until I’m ready.”
His expression grew pained. He was wrestling with something. It almost hurt to look at him.
“What do you think would help you decide if you’re an addict or not? Do you need to ‘hit bottom’ or something? Is that part of it?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t have to hit bottom to know that I don’t want to. But I think maybe it’s possible to have an addictive personality without being addicted to one thing in particular . . . yet. Was I addicted to avoiding the real world by hanging out with my friends, getting drunk and high?”
I wanted to reach out. I wanted to smooth those worry wrinkles and lines. No teenage boy’s face should be that world-weary and troubled.
“Are you saying that’s true?” I prodded.
He laughed again. “Absolutely, yes. And I’m pissed about it.”
He sat on his bed, and I sat beside him.
“I know,” I said. “I mean, I get it. I’m pretty pissed at myself, too. I used to just push it down, focus on something else, and act like everything was fine. But nothing is fine now, and I have all this anger that I don’t know what to do with.”
Raf leaned his shoulder against mine. “Keeping it all pent up probably isn’t helping,” he said without looking at me. “Just saying. I’ve learned that at least from AA. And all those years of therapy.”
I squirmed uncomfortably. I didn’t want to talk about this. I didn’t want to dig into what my anger meant. Because the last time I’d gotten angry, Audrey had almost died. I knew it wasn’t a direct result, logically, but I would have to live with the fact that I’d never know what she would have done if I’d just confronted Mike at the party instead of storming off. Maybe Audrey would have spent the night at Neema’s. Maybe Mike would have driven off alone.
“I’ve been waiting so long to be mad at her,” I whispered finally. “I was waiting for her to wake up first and then we could deal with the whole Mike thing. But now . . .”
There wasn’t anything left to say. There wasn’t a “now.” Audrey might never remember what happened that night, but I would never forget it.
“It’s not your fault,” Raf reminded me. “Being mad isn’t going to affect whether she gets better. Whether she remembers or not, you’re allowed to feel betrayed.”
He was right, of course, but that didn’t make it any easier. My chest felt tight with guilt and anger, and something more: a longing for the days before the party and the accident.
“I just miss her so much sometimes. Even though Audrey is still alive, she’s not the same. She will never be the same,” I said. “And sometimes I feel like maybe she deserves it.” My voice quivered with shame.
Raf was quiet. For an instant, I worried that he was judging me, but he shifted closer and put his arm around my shoulders, hugging me against his side. I rested my head on his shoulder and drew a shivery breath.
“I wish I didn’t have to see Mike on Saturday,” I said. “I’m scared of what I might say.”
Raf squeezed me tighter. “I’m sorry you have to do that. But I hope it helps you get some closure.”
“I don’t want closure,” I admitted. “I want to hate him for the rest of my life. But I also feel guilty about wanting that.”
“You don’t have to,” he said. “You recognize your feelings for what they are. That’s more than most people do.”
Then he was quiet, waiting for me to respond.
But I didn’t want to talk about Mike anymore. I didn’t want to talk at all. I picked up Raf’s hand and slowly lifted it to cup my cheek. I leaned into his palm, placing a kiss at its center. He raised his eyebrows in a silent question as his long fingers tilted my face toward his. When I answered by lifting my lips to meet his, he slipped his arm around my waist, pulling me closer against his side.
I had missed this—the comfort that came from being desired, from being able to make someone want me. Of wanting someone in return. Of that intensity. How it blotted out every other thought . . .
/> But then Raf stopped me.
I was reaching to unbuckle his belt. I looked up at him as he placed his hand on top of mine, stilling it. I wanted oblivion; I wanted to forget how I was feeling. I needed to think about something else. Someone else. And Raf seemed to know that.
“Just give me a second,” he said. He took a deep breath in. “I really want to keep doing this, but I . . . I feel like you might regret this later. And I don’t want to be something you regret.”
I nodded, my heart thumping.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I just didn’t want to talk anymore. And you were . . .” I let my voice trail off because the things I was thinking were not things I was prepared to tell him.
“Yeah, no, I got that,” Raf said. He sounded tired now, fed up. “I assume you used to do that with Mike? Use sex to avoid talking?”
I looked at him sharply. It was none of his business. On the other hand, I knew deep down that he was right. I hated that he looked disappointed by it. A little angry, too.
“I should go,” I said. I didn’t look at him as I headed for the door. I couldn’t. I was too humiliated.
“Wait.” He bolted upright. “Am I going to hear from you, or are you going to go back to ignoring me?”
I turned back to him. “I’m sorry about that,” I said. “I just didn’t . . .”
“You didn’t want to talk,” he finished for me. “But maybe I wanted to talk to you.” I glimpsed the vulnerability in his eyes, but it vanished quickly.
“I did want to talk to you,” I admitted. “And I like hanging out with you. I was avoiding you because apparently I can’t be trusted to be alone with you. But we both need to be single right now, so . . .”
He got up from the bed. When he stepped closer, I thought—hoped—that he was going to kiss me again. Instead, he walked past me to his desk and handed me the copy of Watchmen that I’d loaned him. My shoulders drooped a little.