But it’s my heart that always gets me in trouble.
Releasing Luna’s arm, Dr. Gold said, “Alrighty, roll over on your side, sit up, then stand with your feet together.”
This was the end, once again.
Luna paused, considering her gravity. She pressed her black Nikes into the brown carpet, put her hands on her hips and swayed in a semi-hula, to stir her molecules up a little and see how they settled.
“Yup,” she finally said. “Feels right in the middle.”
Behind her, from the other side of the table, Dr. Gold said, “Good. You’re centered.”
“Thanks.” Luna turned and looked at him, right in his green irises.
He smiled.
Luna’s step work was progressing. After two more tries she produced what Joe called an “okay” inventory of herself for step four.
She breezed through five, six and seven.
Step eight was kind of like step four, except it was an inventory of her relationships. After she finished that, she had to make amends to people.
As if on cue, Cousin Dom called.
“Cuz… What went on between you and Red?”
She did not want to get into that. “Why?”
“He called me.”
“And?”
“He came home from the hospital and found a note from you.”
Damn. She’d forgotten about the letter. I should’ve gone back and taken it down.
“Did he tell you what it said?”
“He did.”
“Dom… All I can say is that it wasn’t unfounded.”
“He wanted me to tell you something.”
“What?”
“He said he’s gonna outlive you and piss on your grave.”
Red wants to piss on my grave.
Luna couldn’t get the thought out of her head.
She had no urge to spew vicious words back.
But she did have to do something.
Even though Red had deserved her outrage, Luna needed to make amends to him.
She wrote him a new note: “Red, When I wrote that you should die, my intentions were metaphorical. I meant that you should die spiritually and be reborn. I would never wish actual death on you or anyone. It’s just that you hurt me and for some reason, this time I reacted to the pain. – Luna”
She drove to Red’s house and taped the new note to his door.
It felt like she had made amends to herself.
That’s the best kind of amends to make, said Jiminy.
THIRTY-FOUR
The resurgence of her experience with Red had shaken Luna. She told Joe, “I need to go to that SLAA retreat.” It was coming up the next weekend.
“Why? You’re doing good,” he said. “You’ll be fine. You don’t have to drive to Pennsylvania.”
“I feel like I should.”
“Do what you need to do,” he said. “But be careful. They say it’s gonna snow.”
Luna dropped the kids off at Nick’s apartment (he’d finally moved out of Sal’s basement, and had a place with actual bedrooms for the kids) and packed her van. The flakes tumbling outside were getting heavier, blanketing everything. The ducks in the water took off, quacking and flapping their wings frantically like their feathered butts were frozen. But Luna couldn’t imagine the snow lasting, despite the warnings on every news channel. Spring was in five days.
You just can’t accept expert advice—or even the evidence you’re witnessing, said Jiminy. Have fun on your journey.
By the time she drove across the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge into Staten Island, she realized that the snow would keep falling. It was even faster and thicker now. Apparently Mother Nature hadn’t consulted a calendar. But Luna wasn’t worried. The snow was pretty, and she preferred it to pouring rain.
She got to New Jersey. Thankfully, the Garden State’s highway department kept the turnpike clear. The road was nice and smooth, even if she had to keep her speed down to forty. This isn’t so bad. She stopped at rest area for a cup of coffee and sang along with the radio.
It was nearly dark when she hit Pennsylvania. She was sixty miles from her destination, which would’ve been less than an hour away on any other day. But the sky was dumping snow by the bushel, and for some inexplicable reason the turnpike was unplowed. Luna reduced her speed to twenty, tripling her remaining traveling time. The temperature had dropped, and the road was all ice under the snow. The radio was a distraction instead of a comfort. She hit the “off” button and drove to the sounds of her tires and wipers hard at work. A few times she skidded, and terror shot through her heart.
If someone had been driving beside her…
She didn’t want to think about it.
Luna crept through the darkness for three hours, and finally her exit was next. She was paying what she thought was close attention, but there were no lights on the highway, the snow made visibility suck even more, and the regular exit signs had been removed while the road was under construction.
Honk! A humungous tracker trailer was passing her. She moved to the left to make room. Too late, she saw the tiny exit sign pointing to a ramp on the right. Shit! No way could she chance going over all the snow between her and the exit. She could fishtail into the truck!
The next exit was twelve miles away.
That meant twenty-four more miles of edging down this treacherous road. Now she was doing fifteen miles an hour and still felt like she might crash at any moment.
Luna did the math and felt sick. She knew what a metaphor it was, to have missed the exit and been forced to inch further in the night, out of her way and then back. But frankly, it was a metaphor she could’ve done without.
She almost called out to Jiminy, but even if he answered, what would he say? I told you so. She felt around the passenger seat for her cell phone.
Sunny picked up on the third ring. “What’s up, Chicky? Having fun with the addicts?”
“I haven’t gotten there yet,” Luna said. She shared her predicament. “I’m scared, and the worst part is, I’m all alone.”
“Stay on the phone, I’ll talk you through it,” Sunny said.
“I can’t. I need to use both hands in this snow. I can feel the car losing its grip…”
The car wasn’t the only thing losing it’s grip.
“So put me on speaker.”
“I can’t—the speaker sucks on this phone. People soundalike they’re lost in the netherworld.” Kind of like she was.
“What are you gonna do?”
“I guess I’ll pray.”
“Call me when you get there,” said Sunny. “Godspeed.”
“Thanks,” said Luna. The call ended.
Praying was awkward. She still didn’t understand her higher power—which made it hard to address. It was like writing a ‘to whom it may concern’ letter.
She opened with the serenity prayer—it was always a good ice breaker, and also ironically appropriate.
“God,” she said, staring at the dark ahead, “Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.”
This was definitely an ‘accept the things I cannot change’ moment.
She said, “Please lead me through this, and help me get safely to where I need to be.”
She couldn’t think of anything else to add that wouldn’t be redundant. So she just said, “Thanks.”
She drove in silence for a while, then decided to try the radio again. “Bad Day” came on.
Tell me about it, she thought.
She turned off the radio again and started chanting, “I’m going to be okay. I’m going to be okay.”
After a while she modified it.
“I’m okay,” she said.
Over and over.
“I’m okay.”
And then she finally was.
Free from the horrific highway, Luna had a few more miles to go. It seemed like she’d ventured into some uncharted forest. Poking
her way through several inches of unplowed snow she wondered, What God-forsaken place am I headed to?
The road ended at a driveway. She saw the sign for her destination: “Gaston Abbey.” She snaked down the path, inching around the parking lot to the front door. Studying the harsh gray facade and the looming granite statue of Mother Mary in front, it hit her.
This place wasn’t God-forsaken at all!
This place had forsaken everything else for God.
She called Sunny. “I made it! You won’t believe it though – this place is an abbey, as in Westminster Abbey – it’s all religious!”
“Didn’t they tell you that when you signed up?” asked Sunny.
“It said ‘abbey’ on the paper, but I thought it was a fancy word for ‘inn.’” She paused, then added, “Actually, the word ‘abbey’ made me think of the ‘Abbey Road’ album cover – you know, with the Beatles crossing the street.”
“See any Beatles?”
“Nope, no Beatles,” Luna said quietly, still taking in the fact that she’d driven hundreds of miles to get to this. “There’s nothing here except the snow-covered cars of a few dozen sex addicts… and the hand of God.”
“Christ on rye with a pickle,” said Sunny.
Luna stared at Mary – the poor woman who, rumor had it, got pregnant without even getting to enjoy her husband.
She sucked in a breath, let it out. This was an interesting choice to house a bunch of sex and love addicts; that was for sure.
“I’ll tell you one thing. After what I went through, this is it. Something’s gonna change in me here.”
“What’s that?”
“I don’t know yet… but you’ll see.”
“Have fun with that,” said Sunny. “I’m gonna go have some Bailey’s over ice.”
THIRTY-FIVE
Luna parked and trudged with her bags through the snow to the door. It was locked, and there was no bell. “Come on now!” she implored, staring up to the sky. When she looked back at the door a woman was heading toward her.
“You’re lucky,” she said. “There’s no one at the desk this time of night. I just came down to get something.”
The woman showed Luna to her room, which was small and Spartan – basically a monk’s cell.
“There aren’t any locks on the doors,” the woman told her.
“Do you think that’s a good idea with this crowd?” Luna asked.
“We joked about that,” the woman said. “Anyway, there’s a lounge down the hall. You might want a snack.”
Luna might very well want a snack. She hadn’t had dinner.
The woman said goodnight and Luna unpacked a few things – toiletries and her notebook, which she put by the bed. She wanted to be sure and get all this down later.
Then she headed to the lounge.
There were a few people in there, men, mostly—and some very good-looking ones, as luck would have it—and a couple of women. Luna introduced herself and snagged a pear, slurping into it unceremoniously. It was too late in the evening to be lady-like.
“Is that your pear, or ours?” one of the men asked.
She stopped mid-crunch. Oh God. Was she eating their prayer pear or something?
Juice oozed down her chin.
“I saw it in the basket… Is that okay?”
“Oh yeah… the food’s for everyone. I just thought we were out of them. You’re lucky you found it.”
That was the second person who’d described her as lucky since she’d gotten there.
Too bad she didn’t see herself that way.
Not one bit.
The tricky thing about love addiction was love itself: a worthy and noble thing, unlike alcohol, drugs or even sex. It was hard to believe that anything bad could spring from something so pure.
This was the discussion at breakfast, while a cast iron sculpture of Jesus wearing Teflon pantaloons stood sentry in the center of the table. Luna sat near him, crunching corn flakes and of course, self-administering a massive dose of coffee – possibly the only thing that could get her through this.
There was no escaping Jesus in this place. He was in paintings lining the halls, and perched on crosses just about everywhere else.
And he was getting to her.
What’s your beef with poor Jesus? asked Jiminy.
I don’t like the idea that God had a son and allowed him to suffer so much, Luna said. I can’t stand the thought of someone being sacrificed, especially by his own father.
That is a bit much, said Jiminy.
The conversation continued around Luna.
The worst thing about love addiction, according to the general consensus, was that there was no balance. It was a constant free-fall from one extreme to the other.
Luna decided to chime in. “It’s kind of like puberty,” she said. “Maybe love addiction is really arrested development.”
No one said anything. Way to stop a conversation, she thought. Good job, Luna.
To the others she said, “Or maybe not.” She took a sip of coffee. “Hey, what’s in a name, anyway?”
Luna felt a label was as helpful as a Band-Aid. Useful for a little while, but eventually whatever was underneath needed to be exposed if it was ever going to heal.
She might’ve said this to the others, but breakfast was over.
She had a lot to say, she realized. She’d lived this life of abuse and shame and finally she was learning how to accept herself – and here was a safe space to get it all out.
Unfortunately, there was no time. The day was booked solid with workshops, and a meeting in the evening. There was already a speaker for the meeting, and that person would have forty minutes to share. Other comments would be limited to five minutes max. That’s the way it went.
Damn.
But then, as if on cue, the retreat leader made an unbelievable announcement: the evening’s speaker wouldn’t be able to make it! He asked, “Would anyone else like to share their story?”
Luna’s hand went up almost on its own.
Everyone looked at her. She was so overwhelmed by this sudden opportunity that she had trouble speaking.
“Yes?” the leader asked.
Luna found her voice. “I would.”
The thirty-five retreaters were seated in the abbey’s oval, foliage-filled, glass-topped atrium.
Luna sat by the fireplace at the front of the room, in an antiquish dark wood chair with intricate carvings. There was yet another statue of Jesus next to her. A woman came over and covered him with a sweater. “He’s too distracting,” she said.
The room buzzed with conversation until 7:30 struck and the meeting was called to order. Instantly a focused energy sparked inside the space, so palpable that she felt it embracing her. She even smelled it. It was as pungent as if everyone in that room had been wearing the same strong perfume.
They said the serenity prayer, and then Luna was introduced.
All eyes were on her, and she was ready. She looked right back at them.
And she told her story.
From Halloween when she was eight to Nick and the disastrous relationships since her marriage ended.
She told them about Red.
“Some of these things weren’t my fault. But some were – or at least, I could’ve been more cautious.” Her glance fell on a super-sized Jesus on the back wall, and she fidgeted in her chair. “The mistake was in the rush. I had to get somewhere, to be something. I don’t even know where or what. I just couldn’t be comfortable being with myself. I chose the first wedding dress I tried on, and why not? After all, I chose the first man who was willing to stick around. And after the divorce, I was in another rush – to make up for lost time.”
“I don’t regret anything,” she said. “It’s all been part of the journey. The thing that’s been the hardest is to stop looking for approval in others.”
Luna got the five-minute warning. “I’m nearly out of time, so I’ll close with a phrase that’s been running through my head as I
tell my story. ‘Looking for love in all the wrong places.’ ” She looked mega-Jesus in the eye. “I want my life to be more than a cheesy country-western song.”
Luna thanked everyone for listening.
“Thank you for sharing,” they all said.
Walking back to her room, Luna felt both elated and exhausted.
Wow.
She was dizzy with all the words she’d said, and the thoughts still swirling through her.
I need to lie down.
She headed back to her room and sprawled across her cot. Still the thoughts wouldn’t go, but they were different now.
They were new.
Revealing.
Suddenly she was filled with knowledge, like it’d been poured straight into her.
She understood her higher power.
It was a part of her, inside all along.
Awesome.
I am God, she marveled. I just have to surrender to myself.
Amen, said Jiminy.
She could see the puddle now.
Lying on the thin tiny mattress that night¸ she watched Joe’s puddle glimmering, caught in between dreams and consciousness.
What was she afraid of, if God was inside her?
Why was she still trembling, afraid to take the plunge?
“Jiminy, talk to me,” she called out.
He didn’t answer.
When she woke up, she knew why she felt so scared.
She didn’t want to be God—to be responsible for herself.
She wanted someone to protect her. Still, and after everything she’d been through.
She wanted the Hollywood happy ending.
But she was willing to wait for it.
At least I’m not throwing myself at the first man I see, she thought.
That’s a really good thing around here, said Jiminy.
“So how was it?” Joe asked when Luna arrived at the gym for her next session.
“It was a lot to handle,” said Luna. “I need a break.”
“From?”
“From the twelve steps… from thinking about everything. I’m all thought out. I just wanna box for awhile.”
Luna Rising Page 23