The AA Guy, Dan

I met Andy five years ago. If I was being precise, I met him five years, two months, and three days ago. That was the first time I stepped into an AA meeting and the first time I met Andy. My name is Dan, and I'm an alcoholic. Yes, I'm used to saying that now; I say it twice a week, sometimes more if needed, when I go to my AA meetings. I wasn't sure I was going to come to the wedding today. It has nothing to do with Andy; he's a great guy, a truly wonderful guy, but I really just didn't know if I could do it. See, my fiancée did the whole runaway bride thing on me almost six years ago now. She called me the morning of the wedding and said she was about to get on a plane for Mexico, and she wasn't coming back, at least to me. Six long years ago. I really shouldn't be surprised. I was already drinking then, nothing too crazy, but it only got worse after she left. I drank myself to the hospital, not once, twice, but three times before I was willing to utter those words, "I am an alcoholic."

Andy was at the door when I first walked into that church, the greeter of sorts. I wasn't sure I even wanted to stay. Back then, that day, I was SURE I wasn't an alcoholic. No, not me. I didn't drink too much, but the doc at the hospital had suggested it, saying that after three strikes-appearing in his ER three times-I'd better check out an AA meeting before I was out, as in dead. So, I took the card I was handed by the social worker at the hospital. It was for a meeting that next day. I didn't have anything going on; I'd been fired from my construction job for showing up intoxicated numerous times, so I went. Andy took hold of my hand that day, his firm grip, and he just said, "Name is Andy. Glad you came today, Dan." That was it. There was no judgement. There was no sort of what is your story? It was just, "Glad you came today, Dan." I didn't say anything that first meeting, but I also wasn't willing to admit I was an alcoholic. I sat in the back, and I just listened. I almost got up to leave. In fact, I did get up and start for the door, but I had to walk by the coffee station to do so. Andy magically appeared at the coffee station, and he just nodded to it, "Coffee is terrible, but unlike alcohol, it won't kill you." I remember wanting to laugh at that. I didn't, but I thought about it. Something about him, it just clicked. Instead of leaving, I stopped and made myself of the coffee. I can tell you one thing; Andy doesn't lie. He never has, and I suspect he never will, at least to me. The coffee was terrible, but once again he was right; it hasn't killed me, but I now know that if I had kept drinking, that would have killed me.

After that first meeting, I wasn't sure what to do. Several people started to mingle as if they were old friends. I knew no one and meeting Andy and knowing his name didn't count as "knowing him." Once again, he didn't say much or do much. He just nodded at me, because we had both just stood by that coffee table for the rest of the meeting, and he nodded to the chairs, "If you have a minute, the church asks that we stack the chairs." So, I did. I started to stack chairs with Andy. We made quick work of it, and that was about it. When we finished, I nodded to him, almost as my way of telling him I was leaving. He nodded toward the door, "I'm going for a sandwich. Want to join me? My boss had me working through lunch, and I could use the company."

I remember looking around, almost expecting him to be speaking to someone else. When I looked back at him, he offered one more catch phrase, "My treat- no questions asked."

I just nodded, still not sure how I was doing so. Andy flashed a grin at me, one now I know as his famous grin. I can't think of him without seeing that grin. He patted me on the back, and we walked to the door. We didn't say another word until we stepped outside, and then, I looked to him.

"Ahh, are we walking or driving?" I remember asking.

"Driving," he nodded. "Got stabbed here years ago, and I always drive, which is ironic because I got stabbed at my car," he chuckled.

I remember staring wide-eyed at him, thinking that this guy was totally crazy. Before I could ask, he raised his hands in defense, "I'm a cop. Promise. I'm not some psycho, and I'm not here as a cop right now, but just as an alcoholic too."

That got me to relax, and then we agreed to meet at a diner about a mile away. I'm sure Andy was wondering if I'd actually show up. I had thoughts of leaving, but something about his stabbing story intrigued me enough to show up at the diner. Plus, after losing my job, a free meal was appealing. I did meet him for dinner, and we ended up talking for two hours in that rather dismal diner. I still go there; we still meet there on occasion, but over the years, we've found other places to meet too. That night, I told Andy about my crappy life, and for the first time, I realized that I wasn't the only guy in the world who had lived a crappy life. I mainly talked, but I did a little listening too. Andy didn't get into his story, at least that evening, but I could tell from just his comments that he'd gone through some junk in his life too. Andy kept his word that night. He paid for my meal, not that it was the only reason I agreed to meet him, but it did get me to start thinking about my own life. He didn't ask me for any sort of admission that night; he didn't demand that I say I was an alcoholic. No, he didn't do any of that. He just acted as a friend, which was odd because I had only just met him. Here we were, decades apart in age, but we seemed to have more in common with just our stories. The last thing he told me that night was, "Keep coming back. It works."

I did come back, two nights later. Andy was there, which was odd because now that I know him, he usually goes just once a week and has said he has been a once a week guy for years. That doesn't mean that he can't go to other meetings. He does sometimes, like when he's had a bad day at work or something. It's the same with me, but I'm a two meeting a week kind of guy. I've been known, though, to go to five meetings a week at times too. Anyway, I finally asked him how he was there again that night, and he shrugged, "Easy. I had a feeling about you. I knew if you didn't come back in the first week, I might not see you again. I had a feeling you were just about there, just about ready to admit you were an alcoholic. I wanted to be the one friendly face in the room, so for that next week, I planned to go each night." Wow. Andy is that good of a guy. He's not sponsored many, or rather, he has, but people have left the program in different ways. That second night, I stood at the back again, drinking bad coffee, and when the meeting ended, I started stacking chairs; I was never asked or told. I just did it. Now, here, five years later, that's just my thing. I stack the chairs. Andy does some, but I've had to keep him from doing that when he's been injured. He's getting older; we are getting older, but I am still young enough to stack chairs. "Old, but not dead," at least that is what Andy says to me. It's true. Over the past five years, my life has changed a lot. His life has too. We don't sit around and gossip, but I've seen how his life has changed. He keeps telling me that I can find that person, my true love, but I'm just not sure. That's why I was hesitant to even come today. I snuck in on the end of the aisle, toward the outside of the pew because I wasn't sure I could get through a wedding. I haven't been to one since my own bride left me alone. It has just been too painful.

Today, though, today, I am here because Andy has always been here for me. He's been a great sponsor, still is. He's been the guy I can call anytime of the day or night. He always answers my calls, even if he's in a case. The few rare times I've had to leave a message, I've later found out he was literally interviewing a suspect or something critical like that. Knowing Andy, he would probably have answered if he could have even then with something like, "Hey Dan, hold on. I'm getting this dirt bag to confess to a triple homicide. Let me put you on speaker so we can talk while he writes out his confession." Yeah, I could hear Andy say that if he was allowed to answer when dealing with a suspect. He's not, though, and I get it. I've just always been impressed he calls me back, every single time.

I am sitting here looking around today and realize I don't really know anyone. I guess I saw Andy's sponsor when I walked in, but I've only met him a couple of times as well. It's crazy; you'd think we would all hang out, but we don't. It's like a code, a pact, and we just don't hang out together. I'm looking at all these people, amazed that they are friends with Andy. Yes, I know some know Sharon too, but really, most people here probably know both. Sharon, I've now met a handful of times. She's really amazing, and I still shake my head when Andy says I could find someone like her. She's a class act. Class acts don't like washed up drunks like me. I told Andy that, and he rolled his eyes and pointed to himself, "Washed up drunk, right here," he told me. I'm really happy for Andy. He's worked the program for years, and he truly loves Sharon. The guy was in the right place at the right time to meet her. Yeah, I know they've had a crazy work history, but he did meet her at work. It's not like I'm going to meet my wife at work.

Work, that finally fell into place and has me on the right track. I ended up landing a job at a non-profit in construction. I help build homes for those in need. It's a great job for me. There's not a lot of money in it, but I get to do what I love. I get to help others, and finally, I'm seeing that I can do good for others instead of harming myself with alcohol. A lot of the people who work alongside me are volunteers, but I'm one of the few who is paid to basically run a crew and build. Andy put me in touch with one of the other guys in AA who had worked construction, and from there, I was directed toward this job. So, life for me has been better these last few years. I'm really glad to know Andy and have him in my life. I still haven't found the love of my life. I thought I'd found her, and obviously, that didn't work. I suppose I'm a little gun shy; that's what Andy has asked me, and I think he's right. I don't seem to trust my own judgment. I tried before, and it was off. The thought of trusting myself again is just almost too much. So, I'll just keep taking one day at a time. That's what they tell us to do; it's all we can do. I don't know if I'll ever find a woman who breaks down those walls. Honestly, that's why I almost didn't come today. Weddings, for many reasons now, aren't really my thing. I tried telling Andy that, and I still laugh at that conversation we had just a few weeks ago.

"I appreciate the invite, but Andy, it's a wedding. You know how I feel about weddings. It's not you; I'm very happy for you, but I just don't know. Everyone else will be there with a date and will be happy. I don't want to look like a loser," I sighed as we sat and talked over a cup of coffee one evening a few weeks ago. We'd left our normal meeting, and we had driven a couple miles away to a newer diner we've started to frequent.

"Ahh, come on Dan," he encouraged and smiled at me. "It's just a couple hours. It would mean a lot if you came. We've been friends a long time now. I think coming to my wedding can show you that there is happiness out there for everyone. Trust me when I say I've been there and never saw myself ever being this happy."

"I'll think about it. I don't have a date, and I really don't want to stand out as the odd man out," I shook my head.

"Ask a friend," Andy gestured to me and grinned. "I've told you that the first place I went with Sharon was a wedding, my daughter's wedding. You never know what can come out of bringing a friend to a wedding."

I chuckled and nodded, "I'll think about it."

So, here I sit. I ended up not bringing a date. I really didn't have the right friend in mind to bring to a wedding. The women I know aren't close to me like that, but I did come today for Andy. He's been there for me time after time over the years. The least I can do is come to his wedding. I'm sitting here watching thing get started. Yes, I darted in almost at the last minute. Andy looks good up there, and he's surrounded by his friends from work. I've seen some of them before, and I'm guessing the younger guys I've seen milling around are Sharon's sons. He's a lucky guy. Sharon is great. I know that from just the few times I've met her, and I'd be a very lucky man to find a woman half as classy as she is. Andy reminded me during our last coffee chat that it took him two decades of sobriety to get to this point. I suppose hope isn't lost. One day at a time. That's all I can do, and even with him, I know that is still all he can do.

AA. It wasn't a place I wanted to go, or even a place I thought I needed to go. In the end, it was the best place for me to start over. Baby steps. I can't promise I'll always be sober; no alcoholic can, but looking at Andy's bright smile right now, I can see it's worth the fight. He's happy. I'm working my way toward being that happy. To think I was one bad coffee joke away from walking out that church and walking away from my future-wow. When I think of it like that, I'm so glad I came to the wedding today. Andy deserves this happiness. He'd tell me I do too, but for today, I'm just going to try and focus on my friend, Andy.