Missing Parts

by Lucinda Berry

  I fumbled through the products in the back, suddenly forgetting everything I’d learned in the last few months like it was my first time in the kitchen. I forced myself to take a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves. I found the pie he’d ordered and brought it back up front wishing someone else could help him, but Frank still wasn’t back.

  I walked up to the counter and handed him the pie, keeping my eyes down. His eyes bore into me. I fumbled with the cash he handed me, dropping the quarters onto the floor, and bumping my head on the counter as I bent to pick them up. I deposited his coins in his hand.

  “Thanks for your help.” His smile was gone, replaced with an expression I couldn’t read.

  “You’re welcome,” I said.

  He turned to leave and as his hand was on the door, he turned back around to face me. “Just in case you’re interested, we don’t always hold our meetings here. We hold them on Mondays and Wednesdays in the church basement too. They’re at seven-thirty. See you around.”

  I didn’t realize I’d been holding my breath until he walked out the door and I let it all out. I was embarrassed to be found out. It was only a matter of time before someone noticed but I was secretly hoping nobody would. I didn’t want to stop listening to them. I was fascinated by how they shared. There was something so comforting and freeing about listening to them. It was unbelievable how open they were with each other. They even laughed at things that were humiliating like when Arlene described taking her clothes off in the middle of her yard, dancing around naked to music that wasn’t playing, and inviting the mailman into her house to have sex. He’d taken her up on her invitation but she’d passed out when she reached her bedroom. They laughed as if she was a stand-up comedian rather than a stay-at-home mom telling stories about her drunken escapades.

  Nobody cared what anybody else said. I’d never met people who were so non-judgmental. Lots of people professed to be open-minded and not judge other people, but it was something people said because it sounded good rather than the truth. But no matter what awful thing people shared during the meeting, they still treated each other the same way after the meeting ended as they did before it began. Their enthusiasm never faltered.

  I’d always thought AA was about quitting drinking, but it was much more than that. They were not only united in their goal to stop drinking, but were equally joined in trying to live a better life. Most of the meetings were centered on trying to make sense and create meaning from the mistakes they’d made. They exposed all their shameful secrets. I was in awe of how they were unashamed of themselves and the things they’d done. I couldn’t help but wonder what they’d they say if I told them I’d killed a man. Would they still laugh? Would they hug me the way they hugged each other?

  I didn’t want to admit it to Joe, but I longed to go to one of their meetings rather than listen on the sidelines. I wanted to pull up a chair at their table and immerse myself in their group, but I wasn’t an alcoholic. I hadn’t had a drink since the day in the hotel and was never going to drink again. Not a drop, but my drinking was what plagued me the most about what I’d done to Phil. Would I have done it if I was sober? I’d never imagined I was capable of murder. The only rationalization I had for my actions was that they weren’t mine. It was as if another person had committed the crime because I was drunk.

  I still didn’t know how I’d killed him. For months, I’d wracked my brain trying to fill in the missing holes and gaps, but there was nothing there. I used to lay in bed at night reliving that horrible day and the moments leading up to it. I watched the tape replay itself over and over again, but it returned empty each time. I didn’t have any memory of how I’d killed him, but there were pieces of the puzzle I could put together without them by using common sense.

  Phil was much larger than me and towered over six feet tall. He worked out for an hour every morning before work and had the strong confident muscles of an athlete. There was no way I could overpower him physically. If we’d gotten into a fight, I was certain I’d be the one lying on the floor in a pool of blood rather than him. Even if I’d survived the fight, there would’ve been marks all over my body, but there weren’t. My only injuries were the slices in my hands from the broken glass of the bottle and the gash on the inside of my cheek. The only logical conclusion was that I’d attacked him by surprise. My guess was that he’d walked through my hotel door and I’d hit him over the head with my bottle, but I hadn’t stopped there. I’d pummeled his face with glass and beaten his body with the lamp. I’d even stomped on him. I still saw his face every night before I fell asleep.

  What did the people from AA see before they fell asleep? Were they haunted by the ghosts from their past? How did they let go of the sins they’d committed? The only way for me to find out was to attend their meetings. What would it feel like to sit in one of their meetings and hear all of it? I had to know.

  Monday night at seven o’clock, I walked down the wooden stairs to the church basement. I headed straight for the table with coffee and grabbed a cup of the thick black liquid that would make my stomach ache in protest later, but I didn’t care. It felt good to have something in my hands. The room was filled with unfamiliar faces. I didn’t recognize anyone from the Little Crane. Aluminum chairs were arranged in a circle in the center of the room and I made my way toward them, keeping my head down. I slid into the chair closest to the door in case I had to make a quick exit.

  “Hi, I’m Joyce.” She was a plump woman with Santa Claus cheeks and a round nose. Her hair was pulled into pigtails hanging loosely at her shoulders even though she had to be in her forties. Her skin was pale, but fresh and clean. “Welcome.”

  Before I could protest, she pulled me into a hug, smashing me against her large breasts as she wrapped her arms around me. “You stick with me. You know what they say about the men.”

  “What do they say about the men?” I asked.

  She pulled back. “Men want your ass, but the women will save it.” She tossed her head back laughing. I smiled.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Sarah.”

  “How long you been sober?”

  “Um…. almost a year, I guess.”

  “You new in town or just visiting from the city?”

  “I’ve been here awhile.”

  “Where do you stay?”

  It was beginning to feel like an interrogation and I second-guessed my decision to come. “Down by the lake.”

  She patted my leg like we were old friends. “I was just as paranoid as you are when I first came. I didn’t want to answer anyone’s questions either. Now, you can’t shut me up. You’ll see. Sobriety changes everything.”

  It seemed like hours before the meeting got started, but it finally did. The room was filled with about twenty people. I scanned the room and didn’t see anyone from the Friday night meeting. This group was as mismatched as the Friday night group. The normal social barriers didn’t exist. They acted like one large family despite their differences. An elderly woman with round glasses perched on the tip of her nose brought the meeting to order.

  “I’m Dawn and I’m an alcoholic.”

  The room hushed immediately.

  “Hi, Dawn,” they responded together.

  She began reading something called the Preamble. I was still too anxious to pay attention to what was being read. I didn’t know why I was so afraid when I’d been looking forward to coming all day. Someone else read How It Works and I tried hard to focus. How it Works laid out the 12 steps of Alcoholics Anonymous. It was the first time I’d heard them and was surprised that only the first step mentioned alcohol. The rest of the steps were all about God. I didn’t know how I felt about God, but I was pretty sure he hated me. We’d gone to church when I was little but my mom quit bringing us once we moved to Florida.

  “Are there any newcomers, guests, or anyone here for the first time?” Dawn asked.

  My armpits started to sweat as two people raised their hands. They stated their name followed by
the declaration of being an alcoholic which prompted everyone in the room to say hi back to them. It was just like I’d seen it happen in the movies.

  Joyce poked my leg. “Go ahead. Introduce yourself. That’s you,” she whispered loud enough for everyone else to hear.

  My face flushed with heat. All eyes were on me. I’d wanted to sit in the meeting and be a silent observer. This wasn’t part of my plan. My heart thudded. I looked toward the door, estimating how many steps it would take to make it there. She patted my arm this time.

  “I’m Sarah.” My voice was barely a whisper.

  “Hi, Sarah. Welcome,” they all chanted in a sing-song voice.

  Nobody cared that I didn’t call myself an alcoholic. They moved on to reading announcements and I breathed a sigh of relief that the attention shifted away from me. Announcements were followed by Dawn reading a story out of what she referred to as the “Big Book.” I hadn’t expected so much reading. They didn’t read anything at the Friday night meetings, but maybe this was a different kind of meeting. I hadn’t heard anyone read out loud since I was in elementary school. She closed the blue book, resting it on her lap and folded her hands on top of it.

  “I’m so grateful to be here tonight. Two years ago the doctors didn’t think I’d make it. They told my husband I would die if I didn’t quit drinking. See, I’m one of the hopeless alcoholics that they talk about in the big book. I’ve never been able to stop or control my drinking no matter how hard I’ve tried. And believe me, I’ve tried everything imaginable. At one point, my husband dumped every bottle of alcohol we had in the house and wouldn’t give me any money. He was sure if I didn’t have any alcohol or money to buy it that I would have no choice but to be sober. But, like you all know, nobody can make us stop drinking. We find a way and I did. I drank an entire bottle of mouthwash. I woke up in the ER with tubes down my throat.”

  To my surprise, everyone laughed even Dawn. I was horrified. How could someone drink mouthwash? The thought of it was repulsive.

  “I came into AA kicking and screaming. Really, it was only to save my marriage because after the mouthwash, my husband said he’d leave me if I didn’t get sober. Today, I’m so glad I did. I have a life I never dreamed was possible. I’ve gained my dignity and self-respect back. My children no longer look at me like they’re disgusted with me. My husband and I are more in love than we’ve ever been. I owe it all to the program of Alcoholics Anonymous. I had to do more than just not drink, though. I did what they told me to do—I went to meetings, got a sponsor, and worked the steps. Tonight I’d like to talk about the first step. I’d like to hear your experience, strength, and hope about powerlessness and unmanageability. Thanks.”

  Everyone clapped and began raising their hands to volunteer to share. I learned the first step was about admitting powerlessness over alcohol and that it made your life unmanageable. I listened as one-by-one they went around the circle and shared about the devastation alcohol had created in their lives. The stories were tragic and heart-wrenching. They poured their souls onto the carpet without reserve. I hung on every word. Each tale ended in gratitude toward the AA program and the people in it. They all spoke about how their lives had been transformed and how they’d cleaned up the wreckage of their past. It was inspiring.

  Once everyone shared, they all stood with an unspoken understanding that the meeting had ended. I stood along with them. They all joined hands and I placed my clammy hands into those next to me. They recited the Lord’s Prayer. As soon as our hands dropped, I grabbed my purse and headed for the door. I didn’t want to get cornered by any of them.

  As I walked to my car, I thought about what it meant to be an alcoholic. I didn’t have what they had. I’d never been physically addicted to alcohol or experienced any kind of withdrawal. I’d always been able to stop. I didn’t have the history of setting out to have one drink and ending up on a wild drinking spree. I’d controlled my drinking. I knew every sip I took. They loved the taste of alcohol, but I hated it.

  I wasn’t like them in so many different ways, yet alcohol had destroyed my life. I didn’t think it was possible to be an alcoholic after one bad incident even if it had catastrophic consequences, but if I wasn’t an alcoholic, then what was I?

  Chapter Seventeen

  I came back for the meeting on Wednesday night. This time I recognized Sue, Arlene, and Gus. Gus gave me his customary grunt. Sue and Arlene hugged me.

  “Glad you’re here,” they said.

  The meeting on Wednesday was much smaller than the one on Monday. There were only six other people besides myself. The chairs were arranged in a circle much larger than we could fill. They opened with the Serenity Prayer just like they had before. The format was the same. This time, I paid more attention as they read and tried to absorb it all, especially when they read How it Works.

  “Tonight, the topic I’ve picked is honesty. It’s something I’ve really been struggling with lately. See, ever since I’ve gotten sober, my wife is obsessed with knowing everything I did while I was drinking. I want to tell her everything, but my sponsor says I’d only be doing it to get rid of my guilt. He says I can’t tell her things that would hurt her. But, I’m torn. I really want my marriage to work. I did so much damage when I was drinking. I just want to make it better.”

  The man with the ripped jeans and Metallica t-shirt went on to share how he’d slept with prostitutes while he was drinking and he’d had to pay for one of them to get an abortion. He cried openly about his regret and the man sitting next to him put his arm around him, holding him as he fell apart.

  I watched everyone’s reactions. He’d just announced he’d gotten a prostitute pregnant, but the women all looked at him with deep compassion. How could they do that? Who were these people? Sue and Arlene were both married. Didn’t it make them angry to hear what this man had done to his wife? I shifted through my emotions, trying to decide how I felt, but couldn’t decide.

  Everyone followed his lead and shared their own stories of betrayal and dishonesty. Rather than judge him, they connected in a personal way by relating it to something they’d done in their life. Not everyone had slept with a prostitute, but their tales were just as awful and painful. One had stolen money from his business and lost his job once he’d been found out. His family had been evicted from their house since they could no longer pay the rent. A woman had slept with her teenage son’s best friend while she was drinking and bought him alcohol. Another man talked about how he beat his children but had no recollection of it the next day. I studied them like a scientist to see some crack in their faces, revealing their true feelings, but couldn’t find any. Their expressions held no contempt or judgement and looked genuine. No one leaned over to whisper judgement in the ear of the person sitting next to them or exchanged looks barbed with hidden meaning.

  Since the meeting was so small, everyone got a chance to speak. They went around the circle and it wasn’t long before it was my turn. I shifted in my seat.

  “I don’t really have anything to say,” I said in a soft voice. It wasn’t the truth. I had a lot to say, but everything I had to offer was a question. I wanted to understand how they went on with their lives after they’d done such terrible things. How’d they let it go? How’d they speak about it with such ease?

  “That’s okay. Just say, you pass,” the man next to me said.

  “I pass.”

  I didn’t run out of the meeting as fast as I had before. Instead, I helped them fold up the chairs and stack them against the walls. A few of them clustered outside of the church smoking cigarettes. Arlene was one of them.

  “Hey girl, how are you?” she asked.

  “I’m okay,” I said even though I wasn’t sure I was ever going to be okay again.

  “Do you need a ride?” She blew her smoke out slowly.

  “No. I’m good. Thanks.”

  “Well, keep coming back, it gets easier.” The two women behind her nodded their heads in eager agreement.

  I
was nervous on Friday night because I didn’t know what to do during their meeting at the Little Crane. I was afraid they’d expect me to sit with them or acknowledge I’d been to their meetings and I didn’t want Frank to know I’d been going. I was afraid of the way he’d look at me if he thought I was one of them even though the group was his favorite. As I was bending to pour the second round of coffee, Mary motioned for me to come close.

  “Don’t worry, we’re not going to break your anonymity,” she whispered.

  “Thanks.”

  I longed to sit with them during their meeting and it took all my willpower to stay away from their table. I was developing a strange sort of kinship with them. I’d only been to a few meetings but I knew more intimate details of their lives than I did of people I’d been friends with for twenty years. Their love for each other was genuine and real. It was impossible to not want to be a part of it.

  “They’re a nice group of folks, huh?” Frank said after they’d left and we were stacking the chairs on top of the tables getting ready to close.

  “They really are.”

  “I just wish my son would give ‘em another try.”

  “You have a son?” I’d always assumed him and Lois were childless. He never spoke about children or grandchildren and there weren’t any pictures of kids on the walls.

  “Yep. Frank Junior. We call him Junior. Haven’t spoken to him in over two years now. He doesn’t even know his mama died.”