"Hey, Doc." Dick nodded at Dr. Blake and sat in the chair in front of his desk. "What do we have on the agenda today?"
It was the morning after Dick's success with steps two and three. He knew that the doctor must have heard; there wasn't much that Dr. Blake didn't know about what went on at the center. As expected, he was beaming when Dick walked into the office and proceeded to offer his congratulations on Dick's progress.
"It's good to see you taking the program so seriously this time, Richard. So let's capitalize on your momentum, shall we? Tell me about your family."
The question took Dick by surprise, and he recoiled, shifting around as he composed himself, crossing his arms and lowering his eyes, suddenly finding the inlay on the front of the desk extremely fascinating.
"Uh, what do you want to know that you didn't already find out in line at the grocery store?"
Dr. Blake's mouth tightened, but otherwise he stayed quiet. Dick grumbled under his breath at the doctor's unwillingness to be provoked into distraction and lifted his eyes, resigned. "Sorry. Um, I assume you know the gory details of my family circus?"
Dr. Blake nodded and replied, "I do, though I'm not interested in those particulars right now. I want to know about your day-to-day relationship with the members of your family."
At this request, an unbidden "Ha!" burst out of Dick. "That's easy, dude. I don't have one. It's kinda hard when your dad lives on an island in the Atlantic, your mom forgets that you exist, and your brother jumped off a hotel roof." The bitterness underlying his words bled through.
"Most people who come here don't compare their family life to the Brady Bunch, Dick. You're hardly the first to have it hard at home. And you did mention in group that you had friends to support you when you leave here. Today I'd like to discuss your feelings about not having family around-," he raised an eyebrow as he made his last point, "-and how that has contributed to your drinking." When Dick nodded, accepting his logic, he began again, "Let's start with your mother since, based on everything I know, she doesn't seem to have been around very much."
"That's the understatement of the century!" Dick huffed and then settled back, forcing himself to relax despite how unnerved he was feeling. "She left when my parents split. I was seven."
It happens to so many marriages; the curse of the seven-year itch. Of course, in the case of the Casablancases, it was debatable whether or not it actually started at seven years and who'd scratched their itch more often, Bettina or Dick Sr. They'd had a cordial marriage at best, and even Dick knew enough biology and math to count backwards from his birthday to his parents wedding anniversary and realize that there weren't enough baby making months in between. He was sure that his mother had gotten herself pregnant in order to get married and live the life she believed that she deserved. There were few better catches for a first husband than the heir to a real estate fortune, after all. But, after she'd caught him, she'd had little use for the tool used to set the trap and had preferred to hire strangers to raise her son while she flew off for shopping trips in Europe and spa getaways. Big Dick was no better, trapped by a woman he barely tolerated, succumbing to the conventions of the time.
Despite being unwilling parents, social norms dictated that they at least show a bare minimum of attention to their child, so Dick was treated as the typical entitled heir to a fortune. He was given everything he wanted that would keep him out of his parents' hair, had had minimal supervision and no rules or structure. Those times when Big Dick decided to play at being a dad usually involved grandiose and inappropriate gestures, like taking Dick Jr. with him to the club to show him off or speeches about what it meant to be a "real man."
Cassidy, on the other hand, had been part of the one percent failure rate statistic of the pill. Neither Dick Sr. nor Bettina had wanted him, and he grew up feeling the effects of that neglect. Obviously.
Dick continued to describe his home life to Dr. Blake during that session and over many others in the following weeks. He shared memories of holidays as a young child spent either surrounded by strangers at Dick and Bettina's fancy parties or alone when they had flown off to some exotic destinations, usually separately. He explained the story of how Cassidy had gotten his nickname, although he still didn't own up to having the dreams. The story of Sally, Dick's hamster, found in pieces on Dick's bed after Dick had taped his brother to his bicycle as a joke, came out. Squirrels and birds found dead in the canyon behind the house. He and his father endlessly making fun of his brother. His mom marrying her way up the food chain-now on her fourth husband, an ambassador to some small country in Europe-and how she sent flowers but didn't come back for the funeral. Big Dick living it up in the Cayman Islands, blowing the fortune that he'd hidden there over the better part of his life.
It was difficult to pinpoint when it happened, but at some point during those weeks of discussions, Dick began to understand just how much his parents had shaped him, despite their self-centeredness and neglect. He had been a child desperate for attention, any attention, even if it came at the expense of another, a habit he carried over into adulthood. And what better way to gain approval than to emulate the behavior of the parent who was still around?
"So you see, Dick, the behavior you're exhibiting isn't altogether unexpected, considering your relationship with your parents," Dr. Blake concluded, three weeks in to their discussions.
Dick, drained of emotion after having rehashed all of the unpleasantness of his childhood, sat staring into the middle distance. "Yeah, someone told me that once," he acknowledged, thinking of Keith and his very first dream.
"Oh yeah? And how did you respond?"
Dick refocused on the doctor. "I blew him off. I mean, I guess he was – you're both right. But I still can't figure out how to stop feeling so guilty. I can barely stand myself most days."
Dr. Blake sat forward in his chair and clasped his hands on his desk, staring intently at Dick. "So, what does that tell you about your drinking problem?"
"That…uh…I drink to escape feeling like crap all the time?" Dick replied, a little hesitant but sure that he was being led to something important.
"And what about your behavior before your brother died? What do you think about that?"
"Um, well, I guess I try to be the party guy because I don't want to bring anyone else down with my shit. I mean, it looks like I have this great life, you know? I'm hot and rich; what's not to like about that? People have always thought that I'm some dumb surfer man-slut. I guess it was just easier to be what they were expecting. I mean, it sounds pretty cool, right? Better than some lonely, pansy-ass kid, anyway."
"So, basically you're saying that you drink, do drugs and use casual sex because that's what you think people expect of you, as well as to alleviate all the feelings of guilt and abandonment you've been harbouring." Dr. Blake leaned back in his chair and waited.
Dick took a moment to absorb what the doctor had paraphrased back to him. He had to admit, that was pretty much what he'd said, just with a bunch of big fancy words added. Maybe those dreams weren't full of shit after all.
"Yeah, I guess that's what I'm saying."
Dr. Blake clapped his hands together. "Excellent, Richard! Now, pull out your card."
Dick reached into his back pocket for his wallet and pulled out a laminated yellow card with six statements on either side.
"OK, so read me number four."
Dick had reprinted Mac's list of twelve steps three times already. He had folded and refolded the copies so many times they kept coming apart. After the last time, he'd decided to laminate himself an easy to use card for his wallet.
"Make a searching and fearless moral inventory of myself."
"And what does that mean?"
"I need to understand myself and why I drink so that I can figure out my triggers."
"Well done. Do you think you've done that now?"
Looking up from the card, Dick smiled his first real smile in many weeks. "You bet, dude! Man, I gotta call Logan tonight and tell 'im. I hope he and Ronnie are back from Bali."
Dr. Blake returned Dick's smile and got up from his desk to signal the end of the meeting. "You've come a long way, Richard. Our next step is to look at strategies to help address your feelings of guilt and keep you out of the bottle. But for right now, go celebrate your achievements. You've earned it." He stuck out his hand for Dick to shake.
"Thanks Doc. I'm gonna go find the bar in this place and party." He smirked as the doctor's face fell. "I'm kidding, man. What, too soon?" Chuckling, Dick left the office in search of some Häagen Dazs and his bathing suit.
The package arrived the afternoon after his ice cream celebration. The day before, as soon as he finished his bowl of Vanilla Swiss Almond, Dick had called Logan to tell him about his progress with Dr. Blake.
"Hey, dude! How was Bali? When did you get back?" Dick asked his friend when Logan picked up.
"Dick! How you doin', man? I'm sure Bali was wonderful, but we didn't see more than our room, the hot tub and the ten feet of ocean right off our pier. You know how it is." Dick could hear the smug grin in Logan's voice and shook his head. Then he heard Logan add in a whisper, "Uh, don't tell V I told you that, okay? She'll kill me."
Dick chuckled. "Don't worry, bro. I don't think Ronnie has any plans to talk to me anyway. Your perviness is safe with me." Realizing that his joking had inadvertently touched on a darker subject, he cleared his throat and continued awkwardly, "Uh, yeah, about that, Logan…"
"Dick, stop. I pummelled you already for that years ago; I've got no beef with you. But Veronica…I don't know. We're going to need to figure it out when you get home. I'm still here for you, though. Whatever you need. She understands that."
Dick closed his eyes in relief. Logan had called him when he got back from his deployment, before they left for Bali, but there hadn't really been time to discuss what happened with Veronica. "Thanks, dude. I owe you a big sloppy kiss when I see you."
"Uh, no thanks. Besides, you know there's supposed to be no hooking up for, like, a year, right? No breaking the rules!" Logan's voice was dry.
"Don't remind me," Dick replied morosely. "But look, I called to give you some good news. Uh, so, yeah, I climbed step four today. The doc even told me to celebrate. Ice cream isn't quite the same as Cristal, but I'll take what I can get in here." Dick shrugged, a little bashful despite the fact that Logan couldn't see him. "Seems weird to celebrate realizing how much I suck as a human being, though."
"No, you should celebrate. It helps to keep you moving forward. Did he have you make the list?" Logan's pride could be heard through the phone and Dick felt silly when he admitted to himself how much he had been waiting for Logan's approval.
"List? No. What list?"
"Ha, you'll see. Look man, that's great news, but I need to go. You still set to get out next week?"
"Yeah, I think so. Look, can you do me a favour? Can you let Mac know, too? She, uh, was really great about making me check in while you were gone. I'd…like her to know how it's going." Dick cringed, knowing he was tipping his hand. He could practically hear Logan's eyebrows raise in surprise, but admired how his friend kept his voice neutral when he said that he would.
"One more thing."
"Yeah? I, uh, really gotta go here..." Logan's voice was distracted and suspiciously husky, but Dick persevered, anxious to settle something.
"Focus, Romeo. Tell your woman to take her hand off your dick for a second; this is important." He could hear a brief rustle on the other end of the line and waited for Logan's "Yeah, yeah" before continuing. "You said you were back for, like, eighteen months or something, right? I was hoping that you could be my sponsor, man." Dick held his breath, waiting to see if he was climbing step six too that day by asking for a sponsor.
Logan's response was solemn but he clearly sounded touched. "Of course."
The breath he was holding erupted from Dick. "Thanks Logan. Now go and satisfy your woman. One of us might as well be getting lucky."
Apparently, Logan was taking his role as sponsor seriously, which was how Dick ended up opening the wrapped parcel and finding a moleskin notebook with the Serenity Prayer inscribed in the front cover in Logan's neat block letters, signed with a loopy "L". Inserted inside was a red bookmark with the words "Keep Calm and Stay Sober" written on it, which he was sure came from Mac. Instead of leaving it in the book, Dick pulled out his wallet and stored it along with his twelve steps card.
Later that day, Dick had finally understood what Logan had been alluding to on the phone. During his group meeting where he admitted all his faults to the others (step five, telling people his reasons for wanting to escape into a bottle; booyah!), Sam explained that it was useful to start logging all the issues that he want to address and all of the people that he had wronged. It was the beginning of the process of making amends.
Never much of a writer, Dick stared at the journal on his desk doubtfully before sitting down and picking up his pen. He decided to begin at the beginning, by writing down all the dreams and what each one had made him see about himself.
The scratch of his pen could be heard well into the night.