Came to Realize
Jane Harper
When he came through the door, I said to my friend Betty, "Uh oh, here comes a live one." He looked more like a dead one. The kind of scrappy little guy who lets the class bully think he's easy, then wipes up the playground with him. Leads with his chin as if he's out to prove something. Probably was nice enough looking once, but he's spent way too many nights on his face, 'cause he's finally me the bully he can't whip.
I looked around to see if anybody else was gonna go over to say hi, but everybody else took one look and wrote him off. I like the hard cases, so I headed that direction, and took a donut and a cup of hot black coffee.
"Hi, I'm Ellie."
"Hi," he said quietly. "I'm here for—" His voice sounded like honey on a gravel road.
"I know. C'mon in and sit down, here, have some coffee."
He took the coffee and the donut. His hands were shaking a little so I sat him down next to a table. No need for him to wear the coffee instead of drinking it.
"Eat the donut," I said. "The sugar will help the shakes."
"Are you . . . ?" he looked at me with quiet desperation.
"Yeah, I'm an alcoholic."
"How long have you been . . . ?" He couldn't seem to finish a question.
"Six years tonight."
"Congratulations."
"I didn't do anything except keep dragging my sorry ass here. But thanks. Want another donut?"
"Thanks."
"What's your name?" I asked.
"Leo," he said. "Leo—"
I cut him off. "No last names here. That's why we call it anonymous."
"Oh OK."
"How long you been a drunk?"
That's always a risk, but he was on his last legs and I figured there was nothing to lose. He already had a little of that ammonia smell about him, and a tinge to the whites of his eyes, and that might have been a beer belly but it also might have been something else.
"Depends on how you define 'drunk.'"
"You must be a lawyer."
He laughed. "Yeah, does it show?"
I nodded.
He stared at his coffee cup for a few minutes; I didn't say anything. Finally he looked over at me, fighting tears. "How does this work?" he asked.
"Well, first you have to decide if you're really an alcoholic."
"How do I do that?" I could see the hope flicker past his face, that last frantic wish that it might not be so.
"Well, ask yourself two questions. Am I powerless over alcohol? Has my life become unmanageable?"
There went the last drop of hope. His voice slid to a whisper. "And if I am?"
"Then you're one of the lucky ones."
He, of course, looked at me like I was crazy.
"Lucky? How can that be lucky?"
I grinned. "Because you're where you belong, in a room full of other drunks, stumbling through life one day at a time."
Harry was getting ready to start the meeting, so he banged on the podium a few times. As we went through the formalities I sat there with the new guy, catching him out of the corner of my eye every so often. Chuck did his pitch, and so did Sharon and Mack; I could tell Mack really got to him. They were a lot alike, turned out. Mack was a kid from the wrong side of the tracks who came up the hard way and spent almost forty years imitating Diamond Jim Brady: live fast, die young, and leave a good looking corpse. Lost it all, wife, kids, career. Now he has another family and is some kind of union honcho.
Then it was birthday time. I heard Harry say, ". . . Ellen, who has six years today! C'mon up here and get your chip, Ellen."
"Hi, I'm Ellen, and I'm a grateful alcoholic." Gets me every time. I started to cry.
My friends all clapped. "Hi Ellen!"
Harry laughed and handed me a Kleenex. "Here comes the water works," he said. "You're so predictable."
"So sue me," I laughed back. I blew out the candles and took the chip, and told the same story I tell every year on my birthday.
"Sing along if you want, guys; a lot of you know the words. But this is especially for the new folks. There's a man walking down the street, and he falls into a hole. The walls are steep and slick and try as he might, he can't get out. A famous doctor walks by, and he yells up 'Hey doc, I'm down here, can you help me up?' But the doc just writes him a prescription, tosses it down the hole, and splits. A preacher comes by and the guy in the hole tries again. 'Hey reverend, I'm down here, can you help me up?' But the preacher just waves his hands and prays over the guy and then keeps going.
"Finally somebody this guy doesn't know from Adam comes by, looks down in the hole, and jumps in. The first guy says, 'Wow, are you stupid! Now we're both stuck down here.' But the second guy says 'Nope. I been down here before. I know the way out. Follow me.'"
I looked the new guy right in the eye. "That's what it's about here," I said. "We've all been in that hole, and we know the way out. All you have to do is ask—not even really ask, just admit to us and to yourself that you're a drunk like the rest of us. And keep coming back."
I went back and sat down next to the new guy again, and Harry asked for hands from the first-timers. He put his hand up, God bless him; I figured he'd be scared. And then I started to cry again, because when Harry asked his name, he stood up and said, "Hi, my name is Leo and I'm an alcoholic."