“So, Adam, what happens now?”
“The million-dollar question.”
“I know my aunt Emma isn’t going to take me in.”
“She’s indicated as much.”
I sort of smiled. “She has her limitations. Around here we call them boundaries.”
Adam was trying not to smile. “Yes, I see that.”
“I come from a long line of unstable people.”
“That’s true, Zach. But—let me ask you: Do you think you’re unstable?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I’ll wind up like my brother or my mom or my aunt.”
“I don’t think so. I don’t think you’re mentally ill, Zach.”
“You don’t?”
“No. I do think you’ll wind up like your father if you decide to drink again.”
“Yeah, well, that sounds about right.”
“Do you want to end up like your father?”
“No.”
“Good.” He smiled as he handed me a file. “Homework.”
I took the file. “What is it?”
“It’s a relapse prevention plan.”
“What’s that?”
“You have to come up with a plan to stay sober.”
“Okay.”
He pointed at the file. “The paperwork is pretty self-explanatory. You just go through it and answer all the questions honestly. And I mean honestly. And then come up with a plan.”
“Okay. But—,” I just looked at him.
“You have a question, Zach?”
“I know I’m eighteen. I know I’m supposed to be an adult. It’s just that I don’t feel like one. I mean, where will I live?”
“That’s a very good question.”
“You look like maybe you have a suggestion.”
Adam smiled. “I do. There’s a place in California.”
“What place?”
“A halfway house. You know what those are?”
“Yeah. Aren’t there any in El Paso?”
“You want to go home again?”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“What if you go back to hanging out with your friends?”
“I get you,” I said.
“Listen, Zach, I think you should try this place. I think it’s really got your name on it.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Look, if it doesn’t work out, I’ll help you find a place closer to home. Will you think about it?”
“Yeah. Okay, I’ll think about it.” I was trying to keep my eyes off the floor. It was such a hard addiction to break. I opened my journal to the page where I’d written my lists. I handed it to Adam.
He took his time reading it. He got a really big smile on his face and then he just looked at me. “Zach, do you believe in miracles?”
“I don’t know, Adam.”
“I do.”
“Really?”
“Zach, I’m staring at one right this very second.”
-5-
Last night I walked around the grounds.
The moon was full and the night was cool, but the cold had gone away. I found my way to the tree named Zach. I wrote my name on the ground. And then I wrote Rafael’s name, and Amit’s name and Sharkey’s name and Lizzie’s name. I wrote everybody’s name. Everybody’s name I had said goodbye to. Everybody’s name that had ever been in Group. Everybody’s name I could remember ever having met here.
In this place.
In this beautiful place.
I took out my goodbye medal from my pocket. I stared at the angel. I decided that I would give the angel a name. Santiago. My brother. The man who had let me live. I decided that he had let me live because he loved me. Maybe it was a lie. But it was a very beautiful lie.
I stared at all the names I’d written on the ground.
The earth had room for all our names.
I wondered if the earth was another name for God.
-6-
Amit walked me to the front building where I was supposed to wait for the van.
I was flying to Los Angeles. Someone would be waiting for me. Someone who would take me to the halfway house. I remembered Adam’s words: Keep it simple.
I knew what he meant.
One day at a time.
One sober day at a time.
I had the phone number of a man named Brian. He was going to be my sponsor. I was going to meet with him when I got settled in.
Amit hugged me goodbye. I hugged him back. I was trying to get more comfortable with this touch thing. “I’ll miss you,” he said.
“I’ll miss you too, Amit.” I shot him a snarky smile. “Do the work.”
“Yeah, yeah. Do the work.”
He waved—and left me there.
I watched him walk away.
Amit had a hard time with goodbyes. He was like me. We were all like each other. We were all the same.
“I’ll miss you!” I yelled. I wanted him to know that it was true, that I was being honest.
He turned around and smiled. People were so beautiful when they smiled.
I had my last session with Adam yesterday. He told me to call him once I was in Los Angeles. He gave me his cell phone number. We went over my relapse plan—even though I had no intentions of relapsing.
“Everyone swears they’ll never use again, never drink again, Zach. Do you want to go over the statistics again?” That guy Adam and his numbers.
I took out a piece of paper from my notebook and wrote the word change. “Someone wrote this on my heart,” I said.
“Have you figured out who?”
“Everyone.”
“Everyone?”
“Yeah, everyone. You and Rafael and Sharkey and everyone in Group. Everyone.”
“What about your higher power?”
“God? He wrote change too. I guess he helped.”
“Still having a hard time with God?”
“Well, he made you and Rafael, didn’t he?”
“Yes, he did.”
“Then he’s okay in my book.”
“Just okay?”
“It’s a start.”
It was a start. Yes it was.
I said goodbye to Adam. There were still words left inside us. But you could never say everything you wanted to say. I knew that. Before I left his office for the last time, I looked at him and said, “I think I’ll take a hug. Is that all right?”
I felt his arms around me. And for a moment, there was only me and Adam in the world. Only me and Adam.
This is the thing that I hated about hugging Adam: I had to let him go.
I took a deep breath when I got into the van. I felt my pocket to make sure I had my goodbye medal with me.
Goodbye, labyrinth.
Goodbye, tree named Zach.
Goodbye, group named Summer.
Goodbye, Adam.
Adam who sees me.
Adam whose eyes are blue as the sky.
-7-
At the airport, I had an imaginary phone call with Adam. I was calling him on my cell.
I heard his voice.
“It’s Zach,” I said.
“Something wrong, Zach?”
“No. I just forgot something.”
“What?”
“I never told you. I kept a secret.”
“What, Zach?”
“I love you. I thought you should know.”
“I think I already knew that, Zach.”
“Oh, okay. I just wanted to hear myself say it. Is that okay?”
“Are you embarrassed, Zach?”
“Yes.”
“Well, you’ll have to work on that, won’t you?”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
Imaginary conversations. They tore me up.
-8-
I mostly slept on the way to LA.
It was strange not to be at that place anymore. I felt free of it. And yet I didn’t want to be free of it—not ever.
I wanted that place to stay alive in my head.
I thought of th
e monster and how it might always be there. But that was all right, because the monster didn’t scare me anymore.
Adam said that there would always be monster days. I would have to stay alert. Rafael, he had stayed alert. I would have to become like him. I wondered about him—and wondered if he was still living in LA. I’d gotten a postcard from him. He’d sent it from Italy. I guess he’d decided to travel.
I knew I’d see him. I’ll see you again because I want to see you again.
I knew he’d come to visit once he found out I was staying in LA.
But what if he didn’t?
What if Rafael had only been my friend at that place? What if he wanted to forget and move on? That’s what people did—they moved on. I started to get a little anxious thinking about that. Okay, working myself up was not good for my sobriety. Not good. Breathe, Zach, breathe.
I knew exactly what to do when my plane landed in LA. There would be someone at baggage claim with my name on a sign. Adam had told me it was a man who would be picking me up and that I should trust him.
Okay.
Everything was all planned.
Okay.
I had all my paperwork. The name of the place. The address. The brochure. The phone number. The name of the director.
Okay.
When I stepped off the plane, all the panic was back. I couldn’t breathe. I hated the racing thoughts, hated them. It entered into my head that I had done the wrong thing. It hadn’t been the right time for me to leave that place. I’d been wrong to think that I was ready to live in the world with a lot of normies and earth people. What was I going to do?
The thought entered into my head that I should get on the next plane and head back. The thought entered into my head that I should call Adam and tell him that I wasn’t going to make it if I didn’t get back there.
-9-
I’m not safe.
I’m lost again.
I sit down and rock myself and breathe. I make myself relax. I think of Susan and her voice and how she called me brave boy. I remember I have Adam’s cell phone. That makes me feel calm. If something goes wrong, I can just call him.
Okay. I’m okay.
I make my way to the baggage claim. I don’t walk fast. I feel the beating of my heart. I know scared is written there, on my heart. Breathe, Zach, breathe.
I am picking up my luggage. I am looking around for the man who is supposed to pick me up.
I see a sign waving in the air that reads ZACHARIAH.
I see the face of the man who is holding the sign and I feel my feet running toward the man, running and running, not running away, but running toward. Running forward. I feel my arms reaching toward the man and embracing him and holding on to him. I am the owner of the happiest heart in all of God’s universe. “Rafael! Rafael! Is it really you? Is it really you?”
I feel his arms around me. I hear him whispering, “Yes, Zach. It’s me.”
REMEMBERING
The first thing I did when we arrived at Rafael’s house was call Adam. I don’t remember all the details of our conversation. He did ask me if I felt okay about living with Rafael. I heard something in his voice. “You think it’s a bad idea?” I asked.
I remember his answer. “I don’t know.” It was an honest I-don’t-know. That confused me.
Later I asked Rafael about that.
“Look, Zach,” Rafael said, “Adam isn’t responsible for what happens to us once we leave that place. He has to let go of us. He knows that. I think he understood that I was going to find you one way or another. And I also think he understood that you might not make it on your own. Adam, he’s a very ethical guy. And he knows there aren’t any guarantees in life. He knows the odds and they’re not in our favor. This may not be the best thing for either one of us. We’ll just have to see.”
That was six months ago.
I had a choice. I could go live at the halfway house or I could live with Rafael. And it was me who had to decide.
There are rules in our house. Not a lot of rules but a few.
I can’t stay out past eleven unless I check in with Rafael.
Everybody picks up after themselves.
Nobody drinks.
Nobody smokes—not in the house.
I guess you could say I have my own smoking pit in the back yard. Sometimes, when I go out there I think of Sharkey. I think of Amit. I think of Lizzie. I sometimes have imaginary conversations with them. I am addicted to having imaginary conversations. I haven’t decided yet if this is healthy or unhealthy behavior.
Rafael is helping me to stay articulate. As in speaking. As in talking. As in expressing what I feel. Sometimes, as a joke and not a joke, Rafael looks across the table at me as we eat breakfast and says, “Check-in.” We both laugh and then I say something like this: “I’m Zach. I’m an alcoholic. No bad dreams and I’m going to make this a good day.”
Rafael looks at me and says. “I’m Rafael. I’m an alcoholic. And I am in love with my sobriety.”
We smile. We laugh.
We discuss things in our house. That’s another rule. Things must be discussed. For example: school. We discussed my predicament. We discussed the plan I had about going to college. Then, after all the discussing, Rafael asked me this one simple question, “When are you going back to school?”
“How about now?” I said.
It was my job to make all the arrangements. Part of that I-am-responsible-for-my-life thing. I still have this thing for A’s. Not everything has to change.
College. Wow. That thought really tears me up. It makes me want to cry. I guess there will always be a lot of tears inside me. Rafael wants to know why I think that’s such a bad thing. One day, when I was leaving for school, I found a note on the kitchen table from Rafael. And this is what it said: Tears are for girls. Then he’d crossed that out. And then he’d written; Tears are for boys.
School. Wow. Who knows what college I’ll be going to. I’m making a list of schools. I was going to apply to twenty-five. Rafael looked at me with the same kind of snarky smile that Adam used to give me. Maybe Adam sent Rafael that smile—wireless.
“Okay,” I said, “I’ll apply to ten.”
Rafael said ten schools sounded reasonable.
Sometimes, when I look at my list of schools, I get that old feeling inside, that old feeling that says: They won’t want you. And then I have an imaginary conversation with Mr. Garcia and he says: They’d be damned lucky to have you, Zach. Yeah, I’ll go with Mr. Garcia.
The house we live in is full of books and art and a kitchen that really stuns me out. Rafael has everything. A real kitchen gadget guy. I mean, the guy is all about cooking—which is really great because I really like to eat.
I like to watch him cook. “Watch and learn,” he says. So that’s what I do.
Rafael goes to meetings. He paints. I love his paintings—because they make me want to feel things. He’s writing a novel and he’s also working on some screenplay that his agent sent him. When he gets a script like that he calls himself a doctor. He gets a screenplay with problems and he fixes them. He turns a bad screenplay into a good one. Sometimes he doesn’t even get the credit. I don’t think that’s fair but Rafael doesn’t care. “I get paid, Zach. I don’t need my name on a screen.”
I go to meetings too. There’s a meeting for younger people. I like those meetings. But some of the guys in there are pissed-off as hell. I don’t think some of them are going to make it. But we’re all doing the one-day-at-a-time thing. And I think of what Rafael said when we both lived in Cabin 9, “If you can quit for a day, you can quit for a lifetime.” You know, sometimes I think that maybe these guys wouldn’t be so mad if they had an Adam or a Rafael or a Mr. Garcia in their lives. That’s the thought that enters into my head.
Rafael, he’s pretty calm these days. He listens to jazz. He hums, he laughs a lot. He sings.
Me too. I’m calm too. Except I don’t really sing.
Rafael and I, we’re both addicted to
coffee and movies. We both like really serious movies.
At school, I always recognize the guys that are into drugs. One day, I really wanted to go up to a group of guys—and, you know, join them. But I didn’t. No use in looking for trouble.
Sometimes I get to thinking of all my old friends. It makes me sad to think of them. I have their numbers in my cell phone but I never call them. It makes me sad that I had to let them go. But I do have to let them go. A part of me will always love them. That’s okay, to love them.
I have some sober friends. I have to admit they’re kind of boring. But not all of them. And hey, I’m new at this.
I’m still working on my stuff. Doing the work never stops. I guess not.
Today, I’m having a very good day.
Some days are hard. Some days, I really want to get my hands on a bottle of bourbon. I mean, it’s like the thought of drinking bourbon takes over my feet and just wants to take me to a liquor store and hang out there until I find some guy to buy me a bottle. I talk to my sponsor. I talk to Rafael. Rafael says God helps keep him sober. Maybe God wrote sober on Rafael’s heart. Maybe he wrote sober on mine.
But today! Today is not a hard day. To begin with I had this great dream last night. The snow was falling softly and I was walking the labyrinth. I was completely naked and I wasn’t even cold. I was perfect. That’s how I felt. I felt like I was a perfect human being. I had never carried that word around inside me. It was as if I was living in summer even though it was winter. My heart didn’t have all those pieces of paper anymore—it had leaves. A thousand summer leaves. And as I kept walking toward the center of the labyrinth, it started snowing green leaves—just like in Rafael’s journal. The sky was brilliant blue and it was so amazing.
When I reached the center of the labyrinth, everyone was there: Mark and Lizzie and Annie and Sheila and Jodie and Maggie and Rafael and Sharkey and Amit and Adam.
Even my mom and dad and my brother. They were there. And they were all perfect and whole. They weren’t broken anymore. They all looked like angels.
When I woke up, I was crying.
This time the tears didn’t mean sad. They meant happy.
After writing down my dream, I studied the painting I’m working on. It’s a painting of me walking down a road. I have my heart in my hand and the road is leading to the sky. I remembered Adam had told me that anyone could have come along and erased the sketch I’d done in pencil. But this time, no one’s going to be able to erase me. No one.
Last Night I Sang to the Monster Page 22