Kat
Every car in the parking lot of the First Presbyterian Church is festooned with some motivational bumper sticker. Ridiculous quips like One Day At A Time, Easy Does It, and Higher Powered. Black Betty swings into the next open parking spot. I’m nervous. There’s a long running joke my dad always says: “I’m not an alcoholic, I’m a drunk. The difference? Alcoholics go to meetings.” Being here makes it feel too real.
Feelings of inadequacy and regret churn in my gut like a virus. I don’t belong here. I’m not an alcoholic; I just want to have a little fun while I’m still young enough to have it, but Chase insisted I come, and I’m willing to see it through. To at least show him I’m trying. To prove to everyone that I don’t have a problem so they get off my case.
The cloud of smoke surrounding the group of randoms milling about the entrance shines brightly in the dim yellow lamplight. People from all walks of life. Men and women—some old, some young—talk and laugh as if they’re old friends. If I walk over now, I’ll disturb the herd, so I wait, leaned up against my car, and bring another cigarette to my lips with shaking fingers.
I should have taken Chase up on his offer to come with me. My stupid pride and insecurity told him I’d be fine, but I’m so far from fine I can see it in the rearview mirror getting smaller with each step I take toward the entrance.
One hour of my life. That’s all it is. Go in. Smile. Listen to some stories. Go home. Those are the key elements to surviving your first AA meeting. That’s what Chase told me.
The low din of voices greets me as I approach. The deep fragrance of coffee wafts in from the door. Off to the side, a small banquet table with cookies and cake sits before rows of chairs facing a table at the front of the room. That’s at least somewhat relieving. For some reason, I assumed they’d all be in a circle where everyone sits and talks about feelings and shit. I’m not ready for that.
Light wisps of shoes trek across the low-grade carpet as everyone wanders to find a seat. I grab the one closest to the door, resting my palms against my knee to keep it from bouncing. I’m a spastic ball of nervous energy all the time these days, which is crazy since I’m still not sleeping. It’s weird. Every part of my body feels alive. My brain feels sharp, and food even tastes different. It’s hard to explain. I guess that sounds crazy, but so am I, so it goes with the territory.
One of the women sitting at the table clears her throat before speaking. “I am Stephanie, an alcoholic. I would like to welcome you to the Monday evening AA meeting. We would like to give a special welcome to new attendees and have you introduce yourselves.”
I can feel their judgments from here. Timidly, I extend my hand and feel all eyes on me. “Hi. Um, I’m Kat. This is my first time here, but I’m not sure if I’m in the right place.”
“Do you have the will to stop drinking, Kat?”
My throat’s as dry as the Sahara. I lick my lips in a futile attempt to wet them, but the fruity taste of my gloss only makes things worse. “Yes.”
“Well, you’re welcome to stay and listen.” Her warm smile offers a minute sense of comfort. She lifts a laminated flier from the stack in front of her. "Alcoholics Anonymous is a fellowship of men and women who share their experience, strength, and hope with each other that they may solve their common problem and help others to recover from alcoholism. The only requirement for membership is a desire to stop drinking . . . ” As Stephanie keeps reading, my mind begins to wander. There’s so much to know. So much to learn.
After going over The Twelve Steps and The Promises, my thoughts are racing so fast I can barely keep up. What is this? A religious cult? People can’t honestly buy into this crap, can they? Some of it makes sense, I guess. I like the idea of becoming a better me because the current version is pretty shitty.
“Today we’re going to discuss the consequences of our drinking. Does anybody have something to share?”
Consequences? Nope. Can’t think of one.
A man with a large belly and thinning hair raises his hand then stands. “Hi. I’m Mark, and I’m an alcoholic.”
“Hi, Mark!” the group instantly replies with emphasized zeal.
I listen as Mark shares a story of a family long lost. Children who no longer speak to him and an ex-wife who’s moved on with a new husband. Chills slither up both arms. The remorse in his voice arcs over the small crowd of people listening and rotates around me before heading back. This guy let alcohol destroy his life. Sheesh, what a loser.
“Thank you, Mark,” Stephanie says. “Anyone else?”
Another man stands, this one younger. A trimmed thicket of dark black hair covers his jaw and curls up from under the beanie resting on the back of his head. Well, hello there, Bearded Cutie. The second the thought crosses my mind, my blood runs cold. I could have slept with this guy. My eyes slide to each of the faces in the room, both young and old. I could have slept with any number of people walking past me on the street, the only evidence being a silly nickname saved in my phone along with a number I never had any intention of calling.
A consequence of my drinking.
One of many, I’m sure.
I feel instantly pathetic.
“I performed oral sex on a police officer to escape the ticket that would ultimately strip me of my license. When he finished, he wrote me the ticket, anyway. . .” Lost in my own head, I missed the next speaker’s introduction. A woman, about thirty or so, is sharing a story so riddled with frightening similarity it makes my palms sweat.
I’m taken by the intense sensation of ascending on a roller coaster. She’s calm. I stare directly at her face, trying to find the faintest hint of shame, but there’s none. Only stark serenity as the sordid tale of her rock bottom moment comes to an end.
This isn’t a cult. It’s regular people living regular lives who lost their way. I don’t pity them the way I thought I would. I’m one of them.
“Hi,” —I raise my hand and pull myself up on shaky legs— “I’m Kat, and I’m an alcoholic.”
“How did you learn how to be such a bitch? Did you take a class or something?”
“Don’t you talk to me like that, Miss Thing! You got no right cussin’ in my face! I am your elder!” Her palm raises to the sky as her head rocks back and forth on her neck. The veins in her forehead are bulging out so far, I feel like I need to duck and cover to avoid getting splattered when they rupture. This woman is a goddamned lunatic.
“You’re so dramatic! Talk about respecting your elders, you barely even speak to Grandma! All you do is sit on your fat ass and play on your phone! You suck!”
The front door opens and shuts as the word suck rings through the house. When both our heads whip toward Chase, he winces. This is the third time he’s had to come between us this week. It’s been a month of this, and I just can’t with her condescending, Jesus preachy bullshit anymore. I’m so done.
“Chase!” I stalk to the front entryway where he greets me with a weary expression. A black smudge whisks across his forehead and a stain of sweat leaks down the neckline of his torn-up tee. “Tell Haggie she’s being completely unreasonable!”
“Kat.” He sighs. “What happened now?”
“Oh, I’ll tell you what happened!” The thin material stretched across Maggie’s gargantuan thighs makes a swish sound when she walks. “Painted Granny up like a three dolla’ prostitute, this one! One hooker in this house is enough!” When she hooks her thumb in my direction, I have to stop myself from breaking it off her ham hock hand. I’ve taken down tougher dudes than her. An open-handed chop to the throat ought to take her down a peg.
“You callin’ me a hooker, you fat, lazy bitch?” Chase’s strong arm comes between us as I dive toward Maggie ready to kill.
“I don’t have to take this! I’m a Christian woman! I ain’t gotta be comin’ to work and dealin’ with this abuse! I quit!”
Maggie turns and storms out the door. “Well, don’t let the door hit ya’ where the good Lord split ya’!” I spit, flipping the bird at her back.
“Great!” Chase shouts. “Now I need to find a new home healthcare nurse! Thanks a lot, Kat!”
“Whatever! Grandma hates her anyway! Her biggest accomplishment of the day was converting oxygen to carbon dioxide,” I bluster, following him through the living room.
He stops to kiss the old woman hello but stops short with a raised brow. “What did you do to her?”
“I gave her a makeover.” A smile spreads across my face and hers. “Doesn’t the bronze eye shadow make her eyes pop?”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” He drops his lips to her forehead. “You look very pretty, Grandma.”
She mumbles thank you and nods her head before settling her gaze back on Chuck Woolery. Chase hisses in my direction and walks toward the back of the house. “Come on! Don’t be mad! We had a great afternoon! She doesn’t need Maggie; I’m here!”
“Yeah, okay.”
He rips his filthy tee off his body and drops it to the floor, but I’m too angry right now to gawk at the delicious sight of his naked chest. Okay, maybe I look a little.
Wait—what the hell was that supposed to mean? “What the hell is that supposed to mean? You’re telling me I’m too much of a disaster area to take care of one old lady? I’ve been sober for a month now!” I call after him as he disappears into the bathroom.
The sound of rushing water stampeding across the basin floor filters out, followed by the tinkling sound of the metal rings screeching against the rod. “She sits in this house all day with no one to talk to. Maggie never paid any attention to her anyway!” I pause, waiting for a response that doesn't come. “She’s not as bad off as you think she is, Chase. She’s just bored! Are you even listening to me?”
“Kat! I just walked in the door.” His voice echoes off the white subway tile in the tiny bathroom. “Can I please take a fucking shower in peace?”
“Aww, are you shy? Trust me; you don’t have anything I haven’t seen before.” A frustrated grumble escapes from beyond the curtain. I poke my head behind it then immediately snap back with a gasp.
Except that . . . holy shit-balls, what was that thing? It’s friggin’ huge! It’s not a cock; it’s a weapon of vag destruction! Not only that, but did I see a barbell in it? Part of me is dying to take another peek, but the other part wants to run screaming away from the ginormous sea monster hanging between his sinewy thighs.
“Fine,” he continues as if his full-frontal view didn’t just scar me for life. “You want the job, it’s yours, but it’s a big responsibility. I hope you’re ready for it.”
Of course, my mind only catches on the words big and ready. Oh, the filthy thoughts going through my head right now are dirty enough to make a sailor blush, which is perfect because Chase’s penis is just like a Navy ship—long, hard, and full of seamen. Semen—get it? I crack myself up sometimes . . .
“What are you laughing at?” A set of crystal-blue eyes peers out from behind the sapphire shower curtain.
“Nothing. Yes, I’m ready, Admiral.” With a goofy grin, I offer him a salute before turning on my heel and exiting the bathroom.