by Paul Hina
if I don't call tonight."
"Anytime."
"Okay. Talk to you soon," she says as she leaves. He watches her walk away from the diner from his stool, watching the street through the mirror in front of him. Before she steps out of view, she looks back, catches him looking at her through the mirror. She smiles and waves at him.
He sits there sipping his coffee, measuring the depth of this mistake he's made, surveying the possible damage that this could cause to his recovery.
He lays some money on the counter of the café and leaves, walks toward the nearest train station. He knows that he should tell Russell about what just happened. He knows how hypocritical it would be of him to tell Jessi that she must be completely honest with him, that honestly is vital in the sponsorship relationship, and then to not be completely honest with Russell.
He's told Russell everything these past several months, every thought, every feeling. He has put his soul on exhibit for Russell, and Russell has always shown immense understanding, handled every problem, every worry of Sam's with the utmost care. Why should this situation be any different?
Inherently, though, Sam knows that even as Russell will empathize with Sam and Jessi's logic, there's no way he will approve of Sam being her sponsor. AA does not have rules, really. The organization has no real structure, no hierarchy. There's no Poobah somewhere telling you how to proceed. There is the Big Book, the steps, the traditions, and errant literature that makes recommendations, but there are no hard rules. This is what makes AA a great organization. It is built and perpetuated on self-governance with only broad outlines set as a guide. So, a man sponsoring a woman does not technically violate a rule, but it is discouraged.
It is recommended that one stay within one's own gender so that no needless emotional confusions arise as one progresses down the path toward sobriety. This recommendation is there to discourage an obvious manipulation, where a more experienced member takes advantage of the damaged newbie. The newcomer is in such a vulnerable position as it is, and it is best for them to make their transition from drink as smooth as possible.
There are good… No. There are great reasons why a man should not sponsor a woman. And when you consider that Sam has just passed the three month mark, and is still working on his own path toward sobriety, it becomes even more clear that this shouldn't happen.
Although, it's not as if he asked to be her sponsor. She approached him, not the other way around. He even tried to, even if half-heartedly, discourage it. But she wanted him, no one else. She made that clear. Maybe, if he makes it clear to Russell that the arrangement is only temporary, then he will be more understanding.
It will already have been obvious to the group that she gravitated toward him. The two days that she has come to meetings, she has chosen to sit next to him. There were other empty chairs in the room, but she chose him. Why? Well, they are the only two in the group in their twenties. She looks to be roughly Sam's age. So, it shouldn't come as a surprise that she identifies with him, feels that someone her own age might understand her more.
Plus, she's engaged. This, at least, gives him some cover with Russell, and the rest of the group. If she were single, this whole mess would be impossible to reconcile, but her being attached makes it appear more innocent, even if Sam's attraction to her may not be.
As he descends the stairs of the train station, his phone vibrates. He looks at the screen. It's Kelly. He had meant to call her later, or tomorrow since he could be more sure that he might catch her sober. And it would probably be better to wait until she's sober, but he also doesn't want her to think that he is avoiding her.
"Hello?"
"Sam?"
"That's me."
"I didn't expect you to pick up."
"Then why'd you call?"
"I was going to call until you did pick up."
"I'll bet you were," he says.
"It's been so long, Sammy. Too long," and now he can hear that drunk tongue of hers getting in the way.
"It's been awhile."
"Awhile? I saw you everyday for over seven years, and then one day, you just up and disappear."
"Disappear? You make it sound like you were surprised. You watched me pack my things."
"But I didn't understand… I suppose I didn't grasp the finality of it. I knew we were having problems. I guess I just didn't know the extent of those problems," she says, and takes a dramatic deep breath. "But let's not dwell on the past."
"The past is what we've got."
"No. Now. We're talking right now."
"…"
"Have you missed me?"
"Sometimes I do. I miss parts of you."
"That sounds dirty," she says, laughing. She's definitely drunk. Then he thinks he hears… No, he knows he hears music playing in the background.
"Where are you?"
"I'm at Lucky's."
"Lucky's? What are you doing there?" Lucky's is kind of a sleazy bar for the university crowd. It's mostly a place to go if your main objective is to not only get drunk, but laid as well. He hadn't been to Lucky's since before he met Kelly. Once you'd met someone, it seemed kind of silly to go.
"Just hanging out. You should come. We'll talk."
For an instant it occurs to him how easy it would be to just go, to sit with Kelly and talk, to immerse himself in all their memories. In some ways this idea still feels like home to him. He hasn't been away from her long enough, hasn't fully redefined himself as something separate from her.
Kelly was always attractive, even to the end. After all those years of drinking, she was still a beautiful girl, his beautiful girl. And that's how he still thinks of her, as his beautiful girl. And he knows he could have her now. He knows if he went to Lucky's tonight, they would talk, they would fight, and they would make love. But then they would be together again. And he would drink. If he went tonight, sat in a bar with her—everyone drinking around them—he would rationalize his way into a drink (just one), and then he'd slide, and who knew when he'd stop sliding.
"I don't think that's a good idea," he says.
"Oh, come on. Let yourself have some fun."
"Who says I'm not having fun?"
"You certainly don't sound like you're having fun."
"Well, life isn't all about having fun, Kelly. There comes a point—"
"Sure it is. Why wouldn't you choose to have a good time?"
"Kelly, I can't do this."
"Sam. Sammy. What's going on? What's happening?" she asks, not even trying to suppress her drunkenness.
"I can't do this now."
"Why? You got something better going on?"
"That's not what I'm saying. I just don't want to talk to you right now."
"Oh, so, is this it then?"
"No, we can get together some time to talk. But not tonight. Not at a bar."
"Right. 'Cause you're in the program."
"Why don't we get together for lunch?"
"Lunch? How bourgeois of you, Samuel."
"Kelly."
"Okay. Okay. How's tomorrow?"
"Fine," he says.
"At Stripe's?"
"Sounds good. You'll be up by noon?"
"Very funny," she says. "I'll be there."
"Okay, well—"
"You're sure I can't talk you into coming tonight."
"Kelly."
"Okay. Tomorrow. I'll see you tomorrow."
"See you," he says.
He's standing on the corner, hardly half a block from Lucky's. He can see Kelly standing on the sidewalk holding her phone in front of her face, its light shining on her. She leans against the wall behind her as the light of her phone dims.
For a moment, he wants to go to her, but he doesn't know if he wants to embrace her, or shake her to get her attention, snap her out of this place she's in, the same place he was once in, the place they were once in together. It's easy to be miserable when you have company, but impossibly difficult when you're alone. And she looks very much alone—and miserab
le.
She turns and goes back into the bar, the music pours out as the door opens, fades away again when it shuts. Sam stands there for another minute, wondering how long she'll be chasing that fun spiral, never knowing how dizzy the rest of the world has gotten around her.
Sitting at his desk the following morning, he can't concentrate. Getting to work isn't normally a problem for Sam. This is what has always made him a good programmer. Once he sits down and starts a project, starts writing and manipulating the code, the rest of the world usually just falls away. But today, he hasn't been able to get started. He's been at his desk staring absently at his laptop, waiting to begin, then trailing off toward thoughts of Jessi. He wonders when she'll call today, or if she'll call at all. Then he breaks free and stares at the screen again, places his hands over the keyboard as if just preparing to type is the boost he needs to actually start typing. But then he thinks of his upcoming lunch with Kelly, and what it might be like to see her again. Will all those old feelings—the passion and the rage—come back to him like he had only been away from her for days instead of months?
Then there is Russell. He knows he has to call Russell. He should've called him last night after he spoke to Kelly. Sam struggled all evening and night not to call him. It's not as if he doesn't want to talk to Russell about Kelly. No. The talking is the easy part. The difficulty comes in deciding what to say about Jessi. Sam knows that Russell will ask about her. Obviously, Russell saw them leave the meeting together last night. He'll want to know what happened. And Sam knows that his relationship with Russell, and the strength of any relationship between an individual and their sponsor, is based on trust and
