First Meeting

         

First Meeting

                    This is Nate. I know it’s Nate because his blue Maaco shirt says so.  I meet Nate first.  He greets me at the door.  I put out my hand, to shake his.  “We don’t shake hands”, he tells me while pulling me in for a hug.  “Here, we hug.  Welcome.”  Axle grease consumes my nostrils, I hold my breath.  Nate’s big arms finally loosen their grip.  I take a big gulp of air.  “Thanks.”, I say.

                    This is Wendy.  I know this because she says, “Hi.  I’m Wendy.”, as she extends her hand, pulling me in for another hug.  She is small.  I wrap around her like a tortilla shell.  In high school I dated a girl that wore Charlie perfume.  This is what Wendy smells like.  “Have a seat,”, she says, “We’re about to begin.”

                    This is Joe.  He is standing behind the podium at the front of the room.  The room is in the basement of the Good Samaritan Baptist Church.  There are four round tables set up.  Each table has three or four people seated at it.  At my table, there are five.  The table is in the back.  Joe asks everyone to stand.

                    Joe starts, “Our father,”, then everyone continues, “which art in heaven…”  I don’t follow along.  Later,  Mike will ask why I didn’t recite the prayer.  I’m atheist I’ll tell him.  He’ll look at me, say “that’s not good, man”, then walk away.  I’ll never see Mike again.

                    Joe continues on, reading from the ‘Big Book’.  Rules, regulations, upcoming events.  Joe asks if anyone would like to share.  Wendy raises her hand.
                    “Hi, I’m Wendy and I’m an alcoholic.”, she says.
                    “Hi Wendy.”, everyone says.
                    “Well,”, she continues, “Tuesday was my birthday.  I’m 32.  Yay!  Anyway, I wanted a drink.  That’s what I do on my birthday. I mean, that’s what I used to do,  but I held back.  It’s been almost six months since I’ve had a drink.”  Everyone claps.  She goes on, but I don’t listen.

                    This goes on for the next thirty minutes.  People share, tell stories, and cry.  Mike cries because he recently found out his sixteen year old daughter is drinking.  Al cries because he relapsed after almost a year sober.  More people share, more cry and more often than not, I don’t listen.

                    Finally, Joe says, “It’s token time.”, and I know it’s my cue to leave.  The people at my table ask where I’m going.  Bathroom, I tell them, but I walk right out the door to my car.  I call Leo.  “Hey man.  Meet me at Harry’s.  I need a drink.”