by Paul Hina
freedom. And, yet, there he is standing between them.
There are walls built up all around them, walls built to keep them apart, and not one of them would be difficult to knock down.
Sam turns the corner toward his apartment when his phone vibrates again.
It's Russell.
For a second, Sam decides to just let it go to voice mail, but he knows that, if he does, Russell will only worry, and keep calling out of concern.
"Hello?"
"Sam. How's everything?"
"Not great."
"How do you mean?"
"Well, Ellyn called."
"I had a feeling she might."
"I wish you'd have warned me."
"Sorry. She said something earlier about calling, but I thought she was bluffing," Russell says. "How'd it go?"
"Not well."
"Well, as hard as it is to believe, she thinks she has Jessi's best interests in mind."
"I know. I just wish she weren't so pushy and sanctimonious about it."
"Did the call end badly?"
"No, I think she agreed that I shouldn't turn away someone that asks for my help. But she seemed genuinely surprised that I'd already told Jessi to find someone else to be her sponsor."
"Sure she was. It's easier for her to assume the worst of you."
"We agreed that it might be best, if Jessi seems more comfortable with people her own age, for her to attend one of the meetings on campus."
"That sounds like something. How do you think Jessi'll take that suggestion?"
"I'm not sure, but it doesn't hurt to find out," Sam says, knowing full well that he and Jessi just had this discussion, somewhat.
"How do you feel about it?"
"About her going to another meeting?"
"Yeah."
"I feel… Well, I feel that things are complicated."
"You really like this girl, huh?"
"I do."
"I wish there were something I could say, but this is one of those situations where you already know my advice."
"But, Russell, if she were to go to another meeting, I could still see her, right?"
"Sam, you can see whomever you want. But when it comes to these issues—romantic issues—I can tell you, as your sponsor, and as someone's who's been around the block a few times, that you only complicate your sobriety by pursuing this further."
"I'm afraid it's too late. I don't think I can go back now."
"What's that mean?"
"I think I'm going to go for it. With her, I mean. I have to."
"That's up to you. I'll admit that…," Russell stops, takes a breath. "I'm worried about you. Have you considered the possibility that she'll reject you. I mean, you've only known her a couple days, Sam. And she is still engaged, right?"
"Technically, but I know I've changed her somehow. And I know that all of this seems ridiculously sudden, but I'm—"
"You've talked with her about this."
"I have."
"Sam, this kind of emotional chaos is the last thing a newcomer needs."
"We don't choose our spots, Russell. They choose us."
"I disagree."
"I can live with that, but sitting on my hands is something I can't live with."
"Again, that's up to you. I've said my peace."
"And I've heard you."
"Well, call me if anything changes."
"Russell?"
"Yeah?"
"I went to a bar tonight."
"Yeah?"
"I ordered a drink."
"You didn't?"
"I did."
"Why'd you do that?"
"I had to see if I could do it."
"Do what?"
"Stare down a glass of booze and not drink it."
"And?"
"I didn't drink it."
"But did you want to?"
"No."
"Good."
"I needed to confirm something that I thought I already knew. I knew that I was a drunk, but it was never about the drink for me. It was always about feeding the drunk in me. I was running away from something."
"Right. We all were. Some of us are still running."
"That's the thing, though. I'm still running too, but instead of booze, I'm using AA as my crutch."
"So, is that a bad thing?"
"It is if I start letting it rule how I live my life."
"I see what you're saying," Russell says, but quickly adds, "But what are you still running from?"
"I'm not sure, but for the first time in my life, I know what I'm chasing."
"Well, I certainly don't want to be the one standing in your way."
"I know."
"You do what you need to do. Just know that I'm always here if you need me."
"I appreciate that, Russell."
As he enters his apartment, he thinks of Russell's question: 'What are you still running from?' Inside his apartment is three months of utter loneliness, three months of a life lived in the mind. He knows he's not running away from himself. He's not afraid of finding out who he is. No. He knows who he is. He's comfortable with himself in a way he never was before. So much so that he's grown sick of himself, tired of knowing that there are holes he can't fill on his own. These holes aren't dark places, places of profound sadness. These places are alone places, places of his deepest self that can not be realized without someone to share them with. He's never really shared himself with anyone, and now—when he's with Jessi—he can feel those places inside him turn inside out to reach for her.
There's no reason for him to deny something that seems so undeniable. And to do it for some arbitrary organizational suggestion, or because others will look at him with suspicion, would be wrong. He wouldn't be being true to his truest self.
Though it is true that, if Jessi ultimately chooses Michael, these holes will only become larger, more apparent, and Sam's loneliness will only become more profound. But it's a chance he's willing to take.
That night—lying face down in bed—he doesn't even try to deny his thoughts of Jessi, doesn't suppress the fantasies that matriculate inside his struggle to sleep. And he can't remember ever enjoying insomnia more, though he is fully aware that all these fantasies could very much be for naught.
It occurs to him again that she may not call him tomorrow. Maybe she was, as he half-expected, simply telling him what he wanted to hear just to get him off the phone. He imagines calling her and her not picking up the phone, letting him go straight to voicemail. What would he do? It's not as if he can just go to her house, buzz the gate, and expect her to answer if she doesn't want to see him. He starts to panic, knowing that she could easily shut him out of her life completely. Even the possibility of this makes him desperate to reach out to her. He thinks of calling her, hoping she might reassure him somehow. But he just stares up into the unknown darkness.
It's funny. Sam wouldn't have normally described himself as an insecure person. Maybe there were points where he was ashamed of his drinking: in public, at work, with family. And this shame may have triggered some insecurities, but never anything like this. This is the first time that he feels—deeply feels—those kinds of dramatic swings where one second the whole world is falling nicely into place, and the next second he's a fool who's just sitting by while his world is falling apart.
His phone vibrates. He looks at the clock, it's almost 3:00am. He immediately knows that it's Kelly calling after a binge. The bars have closed and she's looking for something to do. Her night's only getting started.
He looks at the screen. It's Jessi.
"Hello?"
"Sam. Sorry. Did I wake you?"
"No. I can't sleep."
"Neither can I," she says. "You said I could call you anytime, right?"
"Right. No, it's no problem. I'm glad you called. I was afraid you wouldn't."
"I didn't know I was supposed to call you."
"Not tonight. Tomorrow. I was afraid you wouldn't call me tomorrow."
"I said I wo
uld."
"I know, but I thought you might be just blowing me off."
"I wish it were that easy."
"What?"
"Sam, this is terrible. Right when I feel like I might be taking control of things, right when I feel like maybe things will be made right between me and Michael, you come along and complicate everything."
"Complicate in a bad way?"
"Yeah, it's bad."
"Funny. I feel wonderful about it."
"I kind of do too," she says, and he can hear her smiling through the phone. "But that doesn't mean that I can react to it."
"Why not?"
"Because Michael doesn't deserve it. I don't deserve—"
"What? To be happy?"
"You don't understand. Michael has sacrificed so much for me to get to this point. Many a time, even with his reputation on the line, he has defended me, protected me from myself. He has rescued me at dinner parties, carried me to bed on nights when I was passed out drunk—sometimes even after I had said something so terrible that he would've been justified carrying me outside and dumping me on the street. He's been with me through all the bad times, pushed and begged me to stop drinking, and now, as soon as my sobriety seems like a possibility, I think about bailing on him. I can't do it. I've made promises. We're supposed to be married."
"But he ended the engagement."
"He did. Until tonight."
"You're kidding?"
"I'm not. He gave me back my ring."
"And you said 'yes?'
"It wasn't a question, Sam. I said yes years ago. It was Michael's way of showing me that he's comfortable with me again, that he trusts he again."
"I thought he was waiting until you were in recovery for a month."
"That was the plan."
"Well, what happened?"
"Once he saw that I was actually going to meetings, saw that I was serious, he felt it was the right time."
"And it had nothing to do with seeing us together?"
"I think that probably had something to do with it. He was certainly curious about you."
"What'd you say about me?"
"I said you were a guy from AA, and we were going to