Some Are Sicker Than Others (3 page)

“…you’re not exactly what I would call a
recovered
addict. I mean, you’ve still got a lot of your own problems to figure out.”

“Yeah, so?”

“So, are you sure you’re ready to take hers on too?”

“Vicky doesn’t need me to take on her problems. She can deal with them just fine on her own.”

“No, I know, I know, but—”

“But what?”

“But, you’re still so early in this program. I mean, I don’t really think you’re in a place where you can be making a decision like this.”

“Well, I’m sorry you feel that way Robby, but I love Vicky—”

“Are you sure?”

“What?”

“That you love her?”

“Of course, I’m sure.”

“You sure it’s love and not something else?”

“What the hell else would it be?”

“Hey, you tell me. People in this program get into relationships for all sorts of reasons. Some are confused or just sad and lonely, looking for something to make them feel whole again. I can’t tell you how many young guys I’ve seen come into this program and jump into relationships before they’ve had a chance to heal. I’ll tell you this—they usually don’t last too long. They usually end up relapsing and leaving the program together, going out in much worse shape than when they first came in.”

“Yeah well, Vicky and I aren’t like that.”

“I’m not saying you are. I’m just saying that you need to be careful and really think about what you’re doing. Never underestimate the power of this disease. Because it’ll sneak up on you when you least expect it and tear a damn hole in your ass.”

“Yeah, I know, Robby. You’ve told me a million times.”

“Well, I’m telling you again. I mean, this is a big step.”

“Yeah, I know. Look, if it hadn’t been for Vicky, I would’ve never gotten sober and I sure as hell would’ve never come through those doors over there.”

“I know, but that’s exactly what scares me.”

“Well, don’t be scared. This is a good thing. Trust me. I love Vicky and this is what I’m doing and nothing you say or do is going to change my mind now. So, you can either be a part of it or get the hell out of here, because I have no problem finding another sponsor in here.”

“Aw, come on Monty, don’t be like that. You know I’m just looking out for you, right? I care about you, dude.”

“Yeah, I know, but sometimes you just gotta back off a little. I mean, I only got”—Monty glanced at the grandfather clock ticking next to the stairs—“another ten minutes before I have to get up in front of a room full of people and profess my innermost secrets and fears. I really don’t need you of all people telling me about the “
incomprehensible demoralization
” of this disease. I’ve heard it a million times already, and I really don’t need to hear it right now, okay?”

“Okay, okay. No worries. I’m just trying to help.”

“Well, go help somewhere else, because I really need to focus. I feel like I’m about to have a damn heart attack over here.”

Robby laughed and stepped forward, slapping Monty again on the back. “Don’t worry dude. You don’t gotta be nervous. Everything’s gonna be just fine. I promise.”

“That’s easy for you to say. You like giving speeches. In fact, I think attention should be your new drug of choice.”

Robby chuckled and spit into his spit cup, his eyes moving towards the front door. “Uh-oh,” he said, as he bent slightly forward, covering his mouth as if he had a secret to tell. “Don’t look now, but here comes Vicky.”

“Where?”

“Right there.”

Monty looked to where Robby was pointing, over by the porch, near the front doors. Sure enough, there was Vicky, coming towards them, smiling and waving like the cutest girl in the whole world.

“Just act natural,” Monty said as he stiffened his posture and ran his fingers through his still snow-damp hair.

“Hey Robby,” Vicky said walking up to them, stopping just short of the winding staircase.

“Hey Vicky,” Robby said. “How’s it going?

“Pretty good. How are you?”

“Oh, I’m okay. You ready for the big show tonight?”

“Heck yeah.” She wrapped her arm around Monty’s. “It’s about time this slacker gets up on stage.”

“I know it. I’m excited. It’s gonna be a big night.”

“It sure is.”

“Well,” Robby said, turning to Monty, a sly smirk on his tobacco-aged face, “you have fun up there tonight buddy. And try not to get too nervous.”

“Yeah. I’ll try.”

“If you need me, I’ll be right there in the front row, okay?”

“Yeah. Alright.”

“See you up there?”

“Yeah. See you.”

Once Robby left, Vicky turned to Monty and pulled him tightly against her chest. “You ready?” she said looking up at him, a smile in her eyes, a smirk on her lips.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Alright. Let’s do it.”

When they got to the second floor, they took a right along the banister towards the meeting room at the end of the hall. The room was quiet and still a bit empty with only a handful of people congregating around a coffee pot that was percolating against the back wall. The center of the room was filled with a sea of empty, folding chairs arranged in a horseshoe pattern around an old, dusty stage. On top of the stage sat a large, wooden podium, its paint chipped and cracked from probably more than fifty years of wear and tear. That’s where he’ll be, he thought, staring at the podium, his eyes a bit bleary from the smoke-saturated air—on that stage, in front of all these people, glaring up at him with their judgmental stares. Christ—what the hell did he get himself into? Why did he ever agree to do this thing?

“You okay?” Vicky said, looking back at him as she led him forward to the front row of chairs.

“Yeah, I’m okay. I’m just nervous, I guess.”

“Do you want me to get you something? Maybe some water?”

“Sure.”

“Okay. You go get seats and I’ll get you some.”

“Alright.”

Monty nodded and made his way around the maze of folding chairs to the foot of the stage. He picked the two seats that had the easiest access to the podium then pulled off his jacket and draped it across the back of the chair. As he sat down, he focused on his breathing, his eyes on the floor, his elbows propped on his knees. Vicky came back and handed him his water, then pulled off her coat and took her seat.

As the minutes passed, the room grew more and more rowdy with people greeting one another and taking their seats. As they wandered in, so did the stench of stale cigarettes, following them in like a stray cat from the cold.

Monty just sat there, quietly staring at the podium, going over the speech in his head. Then, like a host for some kind of obnoxious game show, Robby appeared and jumped up on stage. He smiled and clapped as he ran towards the podium then grabbed the microphone and pulled it towards his face. “Welcome,” he said, grinning like a maniac with that disgusting lump of dip still tucked under his lip. “Welcome to the Sunday night edition of Alcoholics Anonymous. I am your host, Robby, a grateful, recovering ex-
crack head
.”

“
Hi Robby
,” the room replied in unison like the congregation of some kind of twelve-step church.

“How’s everybody feeling tonight?”

“
Good
.”

“Aw come on now. I know ya’ll can do better than that. I said, how’s everybody feeling!?”

“
Good
!”

“Isn’t it great to be alive and sober!?”

“
Yes
!”

“Hell yeah it is!” Robby laughed and threw his head backward as he pounded the podium with his fist. “Boy, have we got a special meeting planned for ya’ll tonight. One of my very own sponsees, probably my best buddy in the whole wide world, Monty Miller, is gonna get up here and share with ya’ll his story of experience, strength, and hope. But, before we get into all of that, I need a volunteer to come up and read
How It Works
. Any takers?”

Vicky shot up and waved her hand around excitedly, so fast that she nearly fell out of her chair. “Oooh, Oooh, I’ll do it, I’ll do it!”

“Ah, yes,” Robby said peering down at her, “Vicky, our very own Venezuelan beauty. Come on up here girl. Show us how it’s done.”

Vicky smiled and set down her coffee then, in one quick thrust, popped up to her feet. She hopped on the stage and strutted over to the podium as the people in the crowd whistled, clapped, and stomped their feet. “Hi everyone,” she said, as she grabbed the microphone and pulled it so close that it almost touched her lips. “My name’s Vicky and I am a grateful, recovering addict.”

“
Hi Vicky
!”

“Hi everyone.” Her cheeks turned red as she laughed with embarrassment, dropping her face into her hands. “Okay,”—she regained her composure and pulled her loose bangs back from her face—“so, this is
How It Works:

Rarely have we seen a person fail who has thoroughly followed our path. Those who do not recover are people who cannot or will not completely give themselves to this simple program, usually men and women who are constitutionally incapable of being honest with themselves. There are such unfortunates. They are not at fault; they seem to have been born that way. They are naturally incapable of grasping and developing a manner of living which demands rigorous honesty. Their chances are less than average. There are those, too, who suffer from grave emotional and mental disorders, but many of them do recover if they have the capacity to be honest. Our stories disclose in a general way what we used to be like, what happened, and what we are like now. If you have decided you want what we have and are willing to go to any length to get it—then you are ready to take certain steps.

At some of these we balked. We thought we could find an easier, softer way. But we could not. With all the earnestness at our command, we beg of you to be fearless and thorough from the very start. Some of us have tried to hold on to our old ideas and the result was nil until we let go absolutely.

Remember that we deal with alcohol—cunning, baffling, powerful! Without help it is too much for us. But there is One who has all power—that One is God. May you find Him now!

Half measures availed us nothing. We stood at the turning point. We asked His protection and care with complete abandon.

Here are the steps we took, which are suggested as a program of recovery:

1.We admitted we were powerless over alcohol—that our lives had become unmanageable.

2.Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.

3.Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood Him.

4.Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves.

5.Admitted to God, to ourselves, and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs.

6.Were entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of character.

7.Humbly asked Him to remove our shortcomings.

8.Made a list of all persons we had harmed, and became willing to make amends to them all.

9.Made direct amends to such people wherever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others.

10.Continued to take personal inventory and when we were wrong promptly admitted it.

11.Sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God as we understood Him, praying only for knowledge of His will for us and the power to carry that out.

12.Having had a spiritual awakening as the result of these steps, we tried to carry this message to alcoholics, and to practice these principles in all our affairs.

Many of us exclaimed, “What an order! I can’t go through with it.” Do not be discouraged. No one among us has been able to maintain anything like perfect adherence to these principles. We are not saints. The point is, that we are willing to grow along spiritual lines. The principles we have set down are guides to progress. We claim spiritual progress rather than spiritual perfection.

Our description of the alcoholic, the chapter to the agnostic, and our personal adventures before and after make clear three pertinent ideas:

a. That we were alcoholic and could not manage our own lives.

b. That probably no human power could have relieved our alcoholism.

c. That could and would if He were sought.”

Vicky smiled and turned toward Robby, as she brushed a thick, dark curl away from her face.

“Thank you,” Robby said as he walked back to the podium. “That was wonderful. Wasn’t that wonderful everybody?”

“
Yes
!”

“Thank you,” Vicky said, then did a little curtsy and hopped down from the stage. When she got back to her seat, Monty put his arm around her and gave her a soft kiss on the cheek. “Good job. You rocked.”

“I know.”

“Alright,” Robby said, as he winked at Monty. “You ready?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Alright. Let’s do this thing. Come on up here buddy boy.”

Monty took a deep breath then put his hands on his kneecaps and slowly pushed himself up from his seat. When he got to the podium, Robby was there waiting for him, his arms extended out by his head. “I’m real proud of you,” Robby said, as he threw his arms around him, wrapping him up in a bone-crushing bear hug. “Remember what I told you. Just open your mind and listen to your higher power, and I promise those words will pour right from your heart.”

“Yeah right.”

“Go get ‘em.”

Monty turned to face the podium and slowly looked out into the crowd. There were fifty of them, maybe a hundred, their heads like bobble-head dolls bobbing up and down. His hands were shaking, his heart was pounding, and everything inside of him told him to just turn around and run. But, where could he go? His family was afraid of him. His friends didn’t want to talk to him. The only friend he had was sitting right here in this room. This was it. This was what he’d been waiting for. His life, his future, his only shot at redemption—it all came down to this one simple speech.