Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 129881 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 649(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129881 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 649(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
One: I’m sure they’d like to get in a celebratory fuck, and I think we’d all like it if I wasn’t around for that.
Two: I want to show them that I am actually normal and happy about their news. A gift would probably get that message across.
And three: Beer? Champagne?
I need to find a meeting. Now.
I step into my sneakers and shoot off a text to CJ as I walk to my car, because if I don’t, I know he’ll worry or possibly even come after me. And I don’t want to ruin this night for them.
Going to a meeting. I’m good. Happy for you.
I stay happy when he doesn’t respond.
The closest drugstore has a pretty decent selection of baby shit, and I find this orange and white plush fox that I think is cute, so I buy it along with a pack of condoms and some Newports.
The grandma cashier looks at me funny while she scans my purchases.
“The fox isn’t for me,” I announce, trying to make myself look better.
She doesn’t care.
After climbing into my car, I set the soft plush on the passenger seat and search for nearby meetings on my phone.
It’s almost nine o’clock. The parking lot is dark and nearly empty.
Five minutes into my search, I find a meeting at some Lutheran church a few blocks away, and I’m relieved. I’ll be able to make it there before it gets started.
But my heart jumps inside my chest.
Honestly, meetings scare the shit out of me. Even the ones I’ve been to when my brother comes along.
I don’t know why I’m like this. I’ve never gotten up and spoken at any of them, and no one could make me, but I’m nervous all the same the entire drive over there.
And then I’m standing outside the open doorway and exhaling smoke above my head, and my fingers tremble when I raise my hand to take another drag. I try to ignore it.
I know I need this. I know I need to be here, and maybe it’s because I haven’t yet found a meeting I want to return to that’s got me stalling.
I’m supposed to feel welcomed and at ease. I’m surrounded by people who get me, but do they?
I’ve never spoken to anyone before at these things. And not because I don’t want to either.
“You coming inside, bud?”
I turn toward the voice at my back, betting it’s not being directed at me, and an older black guy with receding hair and a full, dark beard smiles from the doorway. He beckons me forward with his hand.
I can’t move fast enough.
“Yeah. Yes.” I quickly snuff out the cigarette underneath my shoe and follow him inside.
“It’s good to have you,” he says, clapping me on the back.
My throat feels swollen.
I nod when I can’t say anything in return, and stare after him as he walks toward the front of the room. He asks the crowd if everyone is ready to get started.
Murmured voices answer back, and I look for an open seat. It’s a packed meeting.
There are six rows of metal folding chairs, about fifteen deep, and I quickly grab the open one in the back on the end.
I’m closest to the door, and that might not be a good thing.
“Come on,” I whisper, squeezing my hands together between my knees. I need to stay.
You need this. Don’t pussy out.
I feel eyes on me and peer down the row.
A man in his forties or early fifties is seated four chairs away. His goatee is graying, and he has a tattoo of a spider on his neck, crawling up from underneath the collar of his shirt. The detail is sick. That fucking thing looks real.
I feel a pull and my eyes are drawn beside him, because spider neck isn’t the one looking over at me.
The guy sitting next to him is.
I think he’s younger than me, maybe the youngest in the room, and he’s wearing one of those slouchy beanies pulled down over his ears even though it’s ninety degrees in late September. The t-shirt he’s wearing has the sleeves cut off and cut open even further, down along his side, and since he’s sitting forward with his elbows resting on his knees, I can see the tattoos covering his ribcage and his full face as he smiles, right at me.
I think I’ve walked into the friendliest meeting on the planet.
I look away and sit back, listening to the man who got me in here.
He introduces himself (Mac) and welcomes new survivors (me), and I actually feel welcomed when a few people acknowledge my attendance with warm glances and little waves. Beanie smiles at me again. And then people are standing up and sharing, taking the attention off me.
I listen harder than I think I ever have before.
When the meeting ends, I linger, which never happens. I don’t know why I do it. But instead of heading out the door, I find myself standing in front of the table along the back wall that’s covered in donut boxes.