8/15/2012: Word Prompts: Candle, handle, vandal
They say telling your story isn't something that can be scripted, and they're right. I discovered how true that statement was the first time I went to a meeting and tried to tell mine.
For days I'd written myself notes; just little thoughts and sentences that popped into my head. I wanted to be prepared. To be ready to talk. But when I was finally standing up there at that podium, looking into a hundred different pairs of eyes, nothing that came out of my mouth was what I expected. And when all was said and done, I realized that was actually a good thing.
When you speak from the heart—from inside you—instead of trying to say what you think sounds the best, people can tell the difference. They can tell who, of those brave enough to speak at all, are being truthful…and those who are not.
So with that in mind, I tried not to think about what I was going to say when it was my turn at the podium. I tried not to plan or prepare, because I wanted my words to be honest. I wanted them to actually mean something.
I just hoped that they would. And that I wasn't setting myself up for yet another huge disappointment.
The drive from our hotel to the rec center felt like it took a year, when in reality, it was little more than a twenty minute drive. My palms were sweaty on the steering wheel, and I was driving much faster than I should have been in downtown traffic. I slammed on the brakes as another light turned red and growled under my breath. I couldn't help the anxiety coursing through me. It was a big night. I just wanted to get there.
"Edward, son, I think you should slow down a little," Dad said, putting his hands on the dashboard to keep himself from flying through the windshield as I slammed on the brakes again.
"Sorry." I eased off the gas a little and took a few deep breaths.
Mom's hand squeezed my shoulder from the backseat. "It'll be fine, Sweetheart." I met her smiling eyes in the rearview mirror for a moment before focusing back on the road in front of me.
"What if it's not?" I asked, knowing that if this went badly, I wasn't sure I'd be able to handle it.
It was my father who answered first, giving me the same words Leah had just a few days before. "Then at least you'll know."
I sighed as we finally pulled up outside the rec center and parked, thankful that my parents were—and always had been—so supportive of everything I did. Even this.
A few of the faces inside were familiar, but none of them were the one I was looking for. She'd promised to be here. And though I was ninety-five percent sure she'd keep that promise, there was that five percent that wondered if she would change her mind like she used to do all the time.
I tugged at my hair as my mom worked to straighten out my button-down shirt and dad disappeared to fetch coffee. My eyes moved to the door every second.
Mom put her hands on my cheeks when she was done, bringing my attention to her. She smiled up at me. "I'm proud of you, no matter what happens tonight. You know that, don't you?"
I smiled in return. "I do." I wrapped my arms around her. "Thank you," I whispered before pulling away.
As we separated, my eyes caught on familiar brown. Standing in the doorway, her eyes searching, was Bella.
She came.
Her hair was up, twisted this way and that; loose curls falling all over, out of place…but not. She looked as nervous as I felt as her eyes roamed over all the unfamiliar faces in the room, moving until they landed directly on me. Her smile lit up the room.
And then so did mine.
She didn't hesitate to come over to us, steps quick-fast and full of hurry, arriving just as my father returned with coffee for both he and mom. I tugged at my shirt again, breathing slow as Bella stopped in front of me. She looked even better up close.
"Am I late?" she whispered, slightly out of breath. "My GPS thinks it's funny to send me on wild goose chases."
I shook my head, snickering as I buried my hands in the pockets of my jeans. "You're perfect."
Her mouth fell open and thank goodness my mother was there to save me. She stepped forward and hugged Bella. "It's so good to see you again, Honey."
"It's good to be here," Bella replied, stepping back and then accepting a hug from dad as well. Her eyes didn't leave mine for a second, though.
And fuck, I wanted to hug her. Touch her. Something. But we weren't even close to being ready for that. At least, I knew I wasn't close to being ready for that.
It was the screech of a microphone as one of the group leaders stepped up to the podium that finally broke our silent stare-off. Everyone's attention shifted to the front of the room.
"Ladies and gentleman…" It was the man I recognized as Jacob, who we'd met on Saturday. He was one of the ministers at a local church, and also thirty years sober. He was the one who'd ultimately convinced me that asking Bella to be here was a good idea. "We're going to get started, so if everyone could please take their seats."
A flurry of activity went on around us as everyone moved to sit. I watched them move, only then realizing that I had a choice to make. I could ask Bella to sit with me, or let her go to the back of the room where my parents had already picked out a few empty chairs.
"Did you," I started, and then lowered my voice as I stepped closer. "Did you want to sit with me, up there…" I pointed to the front row. "Or go with my parents?"
She twisted her fingers together, staring up at me from beneath her lashes. "I'd like to sit with you…if that's okay."
"Yes," I said, a little too quickly and totally unable to hold back my smile. My hands itched with the need to touch her as I motioned her to walk ahead of me. And even moreso when she took her seat and crossed her legs.
God, I missed those legs.
Needing a distraction, I focused my attention down front after taking my own seat. I tried to ignore the warmth I could feel from Bella's arm touching mine just the littlest bit. Up on stage, Jacob was back at the podium, shifting papers around. He tapped them together and then looked up, eyes scanning the room as he smiled. He was older, probably my dad's age if I had to guess, and an all-around nice guy. Definitely someone who was suited to run these kinds of meetings.
"Good evening," he began. "This is the regular Tuesday night meeting of the Seattle group of Alcoholics Anonymous. For those of you who don't know me, I'm Jacob and I'm an alcoholic, but I'm also your Secretary." He tapped his papers on the podium again. "Alcoholics Anonymous is a fellowship of men and women who share their experiences, strength and hope with each other so that they may solve their common problem and help others recover from alcoholism. There is no requirement to join the club other than a desire to stop drinking. That being said, I'd like to welcome you all here tonight."
As he continued on, observing the customary moment of silence and then leading us all in the serenity prayer, I couldn't help watching Bella from the corner of my eye. I was looking for a reaction. For anything that would tell me she wasn't comfortable being here. But if she was uncomfortable, she gave absolutely nothing away. She was focused, listening intently to every word as the meeting progressed through readings from chapter five of the Big Book and then the Twelve Traditions. She kept her hands folded neatly in her lap, only lifting them when Jacob opened up the floor for people to speak. She chewed her thumb and then rested her fingers over her mouth.
"Tonight's gathering is what we Friends of Bill like to call a Speaker Discussion meeting. We're going to hear from a group of individuals tonight who have made it, who are now sober, and have lived to tell their story." He smiled. "That being said, who'd like to go first?"
My stomach dropped, and I felt sweat gathering on the back of my neck. I was glad I'd worn a dark fucking shirt. Without waiting for anyone else to respond, I stood up first and lifted my hand into the air. I wanted to get up there and get it done. I knew that the longer I waited, the more stressed out I was going to be.
And I had waited long enough.
My steps were quick as I climbed the stage. I didn't look back at Bella, because I was too afraid the lump suddenly forming in my throat would grow and I wouldn't be able to speak at all.
Jacob shook my hand, leaving me on stage alone as I moved closer to the microphone. My hand wrapped around the heavy twenty-four hour chip I still kept in my pocket. It was always with me. Always reminding. I looked up into the audience and cleared my throat.
"Hello," I said. "My name is Edward, and I'm an alcoholic." I paused as a chorus of 'Hello Edward's' filtered through the room, smiling nervously as I pushed my fingers through my hair. "Today I've been sober for seven hundred and forty-six days, or to put it in a different perspective, I'll say it's been two years, fifteen days and…" I looked down at my wrist. "…about six hours since I took my last drink."
I could feel Bella's eyes on me, but I still avoided looking at her as I continued. I didn't want to see the disgust in her eyes when I admitted the dirtiest parts of me.
"It wasn't until after my childhood sweetheart, and my wife of three years left me that I began drinking heavily. It started gradually, a beer here, a shot there." I shrugged. "I completely used alcohol as a crutch back in the beginning. It was a way to numb the pain away because the reality of my situation was unbearable, even though I'd let her walk away. I just…couldn't accept that she was gone, and I couldn't accept that it was all my fault. I let myself be consumed by the bottle; I let it grab hold of me until I fucking needed it. Every day; several times a day. As much as I could get it." I curled my hand into a fist and held it against my chest, feeling the warmth of that little chip I had wrapped inside my fist. "I let it become a replacement for all the things in my life that actually mattered, and worst of all, I let it send me into the arms of other women until it almost killed me," I choked out, my eyes burning as I tried to blink away the tears that were ready to fall.
It took me a few minutes to start again, and I still couldn't look at Bella, even though I could feel her eyes on me. I took what felt like my hundredth deep breath and looked out into the crowd, seeing nothing but sky as I continued, thinking back to that night when everything had finally come crashing down around me.
"Bottom for me was the morning I woke up in a hospital bed and had no idea how I got there." I shook my head. "All I remember was seeing a picture on my best friend's fridge the day before of my wife with another man. And it killed me, almost quite literally. I was so gone at that point that I didn't care what happened to me. I was so messed up I just wanted to…die. So I went home with a woman whose name, to this day, I still don't know, and she offered me something new. She offered me more than alcohol. And I took it, because why not? To me, my life wasn't worth saving at that point. It didn't matter what I put into my body, or whose bed I was in. If it made me forget, I was more than willing to try it." I wiped at my eyes angrily, pissed off that I couldn't hold it together without crying. I stared down at the podium.
"This week is the first time I've been home in over two years since the day after that night. And this weekend, I got the chance to celebrate my niece's first birthday with my family and friends." I couldn't help the small smile that came to my face at the thought of Annabelle's cute, frosting-covered cheeks. "But I also proved something to myself. I proved that all the work I've done, and all the times I've admitted it was me who had the problem and not everyone else, were worth it. Because I'm here now, and I'm still sober."
I finally looked at Bella, because everything I said from there on out were the things I wanted her to focus on most. Her eyes were red, mouth hanging wide, and it broke my heart to see her look like that.
Because of me.
Again.
She surprised me by offering the tiniest of nods, just a little jerk of her chin, like she knew I needed the motivation.
"I spent far too much time blaming everyone else for my problems; primarily someone who didn't deserve it. I blamed my wife for leaving me, even though I know now that it was exactly what I deserved. I blamed her for sending me into the arms of those other women because I needed to find something that didn't hurt so much. I blamed her for my alcohol dependence. And she didn't deserve that. She didn't deserve my blame, or my burden or any responsibility for the things I did to myself. She deserved so much more than I ever gave her, and I just…I hope she knows how sorry I am for everything. For every drink, and every moment I made her worry. For every argument and every second of pain I put her through. But what I hope most of all is that she'll be able to look past the boy I used to be, and see me for the man I've become."