Last Night I Sang to the Monster (10 page)

Sharkey pressed music into the medal. That was cool too. I mean Mark was way too serious and Sharkey said, “Dude, you got to get that music into your head, into your feet. Music, dude, get it?” That made Mark smile. Sharkey, he could make people smile. He went around the world stunning people out.

Sheila cried. You had to know her. She cried about everything. I mean,
it just was not necessary to cry about everything.
Okay, maybe she really liked Mark. That was cool. You were allowed to like anyone you wanted to like. Okay.

When the medal got to me, I pressed peace into it. You know, peace is a good thing. Peace was good enough. Look, I felt bad about the peace thing. Stupid. Peace. Sure. I tear myself up.

This is the thing, people are not supposed to come here and stay forever. They deal with their stuff and they leave. Or sometimes, they don’t deal with their stuff and leave. Sometimes they come, look around, and then leave. I mean Eddie was not the only guy to walk in and then walk back out. I was at dinner the other day and I was talking to this other new person. Well, I wasn’t really talking, but I said, “Hi.”

And she said, “Hi.”

And I said, “I’m Zach.” I was trying to be friendly and she looked really freaked out. She looked like hell. “I’m in Summer,” I said.

“Summer?”

“That’s my group.”

“Oh,” she said.

“What’s your group?”

“Doesn’t matter,” she said. “I’m leaving.”

Another member of the
I’m-Leaving
group. “Oh,” I said,
“that’s too bad.”

“Why is that too bad?” She sounded mad.

“Well,” I said, “maybe it isn’t too bad.”

“You like it here?”

“It’s okay,” I said.

“What’s so okay about it?” she said.

“The food is good.”

I could tell she thought I was really screwy. “If I want good food, I’ll go out to a restaurant and order a nice glass of wine to go with it.”

To tell you the truth, that sounded pretty good.

“My husband said if I didn’t stick it out here that he was leaving me.” She took a sip from her coffee and boy was she shaking. “He can go to hell.”

I knew the score. She didn’t want to get sober. I didn’t blame her for that. Look, I was still thinking how good it would be to get my hands on some bourbon. There were worse things than being a drunk. At least that was my thinking. I said that to Adam once. “Really?” he said. “Make a list, of things that are worse than being a drunk.” Shit. More homework. Do you see why it’s best not to say too much?

This woman, whose name was Margaret, eyes me up and down and said, “There doesn’t seem to be anything wrong with you.”

“You can’t always tell by looking,” I said.

She studied me for a little while. “If I were you,” she said, “I’d pack my bags and get the hell out of here before something really bad happens to you.”

I had the feeling that something really bad had already happened to me. And it didn’t happen here. But I didn’t say anything.

“Look,” she said, “places like this can make you crazy. Really crazy. Get out while you can.”

I wanted to tell her that depression and alcoholism and eating disorders were not communicable diseases. I mean, I didn’t know much, but I did know that. You know, it really doesn’t do any good to talk to someone who’s already made up their mind. But I knew if Adam got her in his office he’d say, “This is just where you belong.” I pictured Adam saying that to
her. I pictured her wigging out. I got to smiling.

“Why are you smiling?” she asked.

“We do that around here,” I said. “We smile for no reason.” I could tell I was beginning to freak her out.

“I need a cigarette,” she said.

“Listen,” I said, “be careful of the people in the smoking pit. Some of them have more than one person living inside them.”

She did not like that one bit. She just sort of stomped away. Look, I don’t know what gets into me sometimes. It was not a nice thing to wig a lady out who was obviously already wigged out. Not a nice thing. Still, I was sort of laughing to myself.

Later that day, I saw that lady get in a cab and leave. I saw her from the smoking pit.

“We lost another one,” Sharkey said. “If I had any brains I’d be getting in that cab with her.”

I wondered if Sharkey meant it. Maybe part of him wanted to just get the hell of out here. But the part that was staying, I was interested in that part of him.

This was my new theory: not everybody was interested in doing the work. Rafael said that change hurt like hell. I think Rafael would know. That guy is in some kind of pain. Sometimes it almost hurts me to look at him.

So even though not everyone stayed, me and Sharkey and Rafael, we stayed.

“Tomorrow,” Sharkey said, “the word is that we’re getting someone new in group. Another messed-up member of the human race.” Sharkey, he kept his eyes and ears open. It wasn’t hard to believe he’d spent a lot of time out on the streets. I mean the guy knew everything about our little society. It was like he made himself an insider into every part of this place. He always knew who was coming and who was going. It was like getting to
know everything about a place was in his nature. I wondered about that. What was in my nature? Isolating. I was hyper on the inside and dead on the outside. Sharkey was hyper inside, outside, hyper all over.

I’m telling you, Sharkey was nervous as hell. Always pacing up and down. I loved watching him. He’d pace like he needed to go the bathroom or like a tiger that was trying to figure out a way to get out of his cage. He could be funny as hell. And he could be really scary. He tore me up, that guy.

I stared at Sharkey as he lit up another cigarette and looked at his watch. He always had to know what time it was. What was up with that?

Lizzie shook her head. “Any bets on how long she’ll stay?”

“How do you know it’s a she?”

“Because she’s going to be my new roommate.”

Sharkey nodded. “I’ll give her a week.”

“I say she’ll stick it out.” Lizzie put out her cigarette.

“Since when are you so optimistic?”

“Optimistic? Me? Look, Sharkey, let me tell you something. Just because someone sticks it out for thirty days or forty-four days or sixty days or ninety days, that doesn’t mean anything will change. Sticking it out isn’t the same thing as doing the work.”

“Then what’s the point?” I said.

“He speaks,” Lizzie said. “Wow. He knows how to pronounce words.”

“Knock it off, Lizzie,” I said. “Just knock it off.”

She laughed. I liked her. We were just joking around.

“I’m serious,” I said. “What’s the point?”

“Maybe that’s what we’re here to figure out.”

I wanted to ask her if she was better. I mean, if she was getting well. I wondered if something changed inside of you. I mean, there was this talk about change all the time and I wondered how anyone would know if they changed. Did it feel different? What would that feel like? It’s not as if I could grow wings. It’s not as if I could ever fly. It’s not as if I could ever be anything beautiful.

Annie. That was the new member of the group. She came in, looked a little scared, looked down at the floor, than grabbed a chair. We always sat in a circle. The chairs weren’t too bad. Not too bad, not really. Adam introduced her. She was supposed to say something about herself. Later, she could tell us her story. Everyone had told their story except for me and Sharkey and Rafael. Look, I didn’t mind Storytime—as long as it wasn’t me telling the story.

“I’m Annie,” she said. “I’m thirty-four. I’m an addict and an alcoholic and I’ve been sober for twenty days. I’m from Tulsa, Oklahoma.”

“Twenty days.” Adam said. “Good job.”

Yeah, sure, okay.

We all nodded. “Welcome.” That’s what we all said. It was weird. We were all more or less sincere when we said it. What else were we supposed to say—
run for your fucking life
?

That’s when we did our Check-in thing. We went around and said stuff, how we were feeling, what we wanted to work on that day, healthy behaviors, unhealthy behaviors, secrets, stuff like that. Oh, and we always had to say something good about ourselves. We called them affirmations. We were supposed to say three good things.

Rafael was first. “I’m Rafael. I’m an alcoholic.”

“Hi Rafael.” That’s what we said. That’s how it went.

And then Rafael just paused and said, “No secrets. I’m sad. Guess that’s not much of a secret.” And then he paused again and said, “I’ve been having bad dreams.” He looked at me and grinned, “There’s a lot of that going around.” He looked around the room. “No unhealthy behaviors—well, I thought about drinking. It passed.” He took a deep breath. Rafael, he was like me, he hated affirmations. “I am capable of change.” He always said that. Sometimes he said it, you know, ironically. Sometimes he sounded sincere. Today, he sounded more or less sincere.

“Yes, you are.” That’s what we all said at the affirmations. See, I just didn’t like this part of the whole group thing. Made me anxious.

“I like being sober.”

“Yes, you do.” Yeah, we were like this little congregation at church saying
Amen.

“I like trees,” he whispered.

“Yes, you do,” we whispered back.
Amen.

“Trees?” Sharkey interrupted. We were not supposed to interrupt during Check-in. “That’s your affirmation? You like trees?” I mean Sharkey was all outraged over the whole thing.

That just made Rafael laugh. “Yes, Sharkey, I like trees.”

I could tell Sharkey wanted to tell Rafael that it was all bullshit. But Sharkey just decided to drop it.

“Trees are good,” Adam said. “Anyone here not like trees?”

Sharkey just couldn’t take it. “What am I? Fucking Tarzan? I like cities—that’s what I like.”

Adam smiled. “You can express your love for cities when it comes around to your turn.” Adam and Sharkey gave each other snarky smiles. I liked watching that. It made me smile.

We moved on—all around the room. Lizzie was happy—sometimes she was happy. “I’m physically, spiritually and emotionally connected.” People in group said that a lot. Connected to what?

And me, God, I hated when it was my turn. “I’m Zach. And I think I’m an alcoholic.”

“You think?” Adam said.

I shot him a look. “I AM AN ALCOHOLIC.” Then I shot him an are-you-happy-now kind of look.

He grinned back at me.

I looked at the card in front of me. The card had affirmations in case we couldn’t come up with our own. “I deserve good people in my life.” I know I sounded like a wiseass when I said it. Look, let’s get real. I had no clue as to what I
did
and
did not
deserve.

“Yes, you do.” I didn’t doubt the group’s sincerity. But who wrote this card?

I stared at the card. It was really pissing me off. “Can we move on here?”

“Why is it so hard to say three good things about yourself?”

“I was born beautiful. There. How’s that?”

“Yes, you were.” Adam really smiled at that one. So did Rafael. Sharkey thought it was funny as hell. And it was funny as hell.

“My life has a purpose.” I read that one off the card.

“Yes, it has.”

I ended my Check-in with, “Physically, I’m good. Emotionally, I’m screwed. And spiritually, I’m, well, screwed. That’s the sorry dirt of it.” Next. God, I really
did not
like Check-in. It made me feel like I was in a really bad television show. The sad thing was that if this was a television show, there are people in the world who would actually watch it. The world is really, really screwed-up.

After Check-in, Rafael took out a picture he’d drawn. You know, we all get time to talk about our artwork and stuff. Or the lists we’re always working on. We’re supposed to ask for feedback or for whatever else we need. Like I knew what I needed.

I really liked Rafael’s painting. The guy wasn’t a hack. His art said something. It was real. The sky was really deep blue, not like it was day but like it was night. But there weren’t any stars in the painting. And there was this monster that sort of took over the whole sky and he looked like he was about to pounce on this little boy who was reading a book. God, his painting really tore me up and he’d written something on the bottom of the painting and it was like the words were part of the painting and it was as though the boy was sitting on the words.

Adam put the painting in the middle and we all looked at it. And we were all really quiet, you know studying it, and Adam said, “Will you read that for us?”

And Rafael read:
I can hear the warning, the whisper: there’s a monster in the room. The whisper becomes a scream. The world is full of madmen. I have evidence. I can prove it. I look around. The room is as empty as my heart. It used to be full, my heart, but that’s another story. No one is here. Maybe not even me. I can prove there are madmen—but I can’t prove the monster exists. Who was it that whispered the warning? Listen close, the sky is falling. Maybe the monster is outside just waiting for me to step out the door. Maybe he’s already swallowed up the sky. What does he want with me anyway? Is he trying to scare me? Is that it? I was born scared—I don’t need a monster for that. Maybe the monster lives in the books I’m reading. One of books is
about the genocide in Rwanda and the other book is about a little boy who gets raped. Who needs monsters?