Little by Slowly: a Story of Love and Recovery

by Paul Hina

really out. There is an empty glass in her hand. He reaches out, touches her arm. She feels cold. She is wearing a sleeveless blouse, and a short black skirt over bare legs, and though the bar smells like sweat from all of the dancers, it is cold on this side of the room. He sees her old coat hanging on a chair by a nearby table. He gets up, goes and grabs the coat, and moves back to her. He covers her up with her coat as best as he can. He leans down and whispers in her ear, "I'm sorry, Kelly." And he walks away, leaving his drink on the stage.

  Sam no more than shuts his apartment door before he can feel his phone vibrating in his pocket. He looks at the display but doesn't recognize the number. He reluctantly answers the call.

  "Hello?"

  "Sam?"

  "Yeah?"

  "This is Ellyn…," she says, waiting a beat, "from the meetings."

  "Yeah, I know who you are," Sam says, trying hard not to start the call on a defensive note. Ellyn's never called him before, and there's only one reason why she would be calling him now.

  "I'm calling because I'm concerned about Jessi."

  "Yeah? Me too."

  "I'm sure you are, but I don't like the direction her initiation into the program is going."

  "How so?"

  "Well, you guys have latched onto each other pretty quickly, and as much as everyone would like to believe that the connection is innocent—and it may be—it could just as easily turn into something more complicated, and the group—"

  "Wait. The group? Are you speaking for yourself, or are you speaking for the group?"

  "I can't speak for the whole group, but from the conversations I've had—"

  "Imagine that. Your gossip has ginned up concern."

  "Sam, I don't see any reason to make this personal."

  "Oh, I think that line was crossed when you decided to call me—for the first time by the way—to question my intentions toward Jessi."

  "It's not a matter of intentions, Sam. You may very well have the most honorable of intentions, but we can't be expected to chart a future course for our emotions."

  "I know that. I've talked about all of this with Russell."

  "I know you have."

  "I'll bet you do. And I'll assume he's told you that she came to me, asked me to talk with her, asked me for help, and not the other way around."

  "He has."

  "And I'll assume he also told you that she's engaged."

  "Yeah, he did say that. But she doesn't wear a ring."

  "Sure, but that's just… It's complicated."

  "By the time someone gets to AA, it's always complicated."

  "Look, Ellyn, I know you're just trying to help, but I have this under control. I just—"

  "It doesn't look like that from where I'm—"

  "Ellyn," he says, a little too sharply. "I've had this conversation with her. I've told her that she needs to find someone else to sponsor her, that the male/female relationship is frowned upon when someone is beginning the program. But she needs help. She's asked me for help. I didn't turn her away. But I've not been shy about explicitly guiding her toward female sponsorship."

  "Well, it's not working. She clearly has no intention of talking with me. Whenever we talk her eyes are always on you, chasing you."

  Hearing this made his heart jump, and he tried to suppress a smile, as if Ellyn might be able to hear his happiness.

  "She's clearly smitten with you."

  "I don't think that's fair."

  "It may not be, but this is the kind of thing that happens when we go thirteenth stepping."

  "No one's thirteenth stepping."

  "Maybe not today."

  "Ellyn, I don't know what you want me to say. I've tried talking to her about this. It sounds like you've tried, too. What do you suggest I do? Do you want me to tell her that I can't talk to her anymore?"

  "I don't know. I need to trust that you really want her to talk to someone else. I believe you when you say that you don't think she should be looking to you for guidance, but do you believe it when you say it?"

  "Yes, I do," he says, and pauses, waits for Ellyn to pick up the dangling thread of conversation. She doesn't. "But I will acknowledge that I do enjoy her company."

  "Well, enjoying someone's company is a good thing, particularly if you're tasked with helping them. What matters is the level of that enjoyment. And that can mean the difference between you wanting to help her, or you using her to help yourself."

  "I'll talk to her again, Ellyn. I'll continue to push her toward a more appropriate sponsor."

  "Tell her that it doesn't have to be me. There are several other women in the group that would be happy to talk with her. And if she feels like she needs someone more her own age, she should spend some time at other meetings. Maybe a group on campus."

  "I'll let her know."

  "Please do."

  "Okay, Ellyn," Sam says.

  He moves into his apartment, falls into a chair, and stares blankly into the room for a minute. He hadn't thought about telling Jessi to try another meeting. There are certainly plenty to choose from in the city. Sam only chose his group because they were the only local group that met seven days a week. At the time, he felt that he needed that kind of immersion and consistency. Plus, once Russell had taken him under his wing, it was easy to stay. He was never wanting for more meetings, for different people.

  But just thinking about sending Jessi to another meeting really scares him. What if she finds someone she likes better? What if she finds that other meetings are more lively, other groups are more closely knit? What if, once she starts these other meetings, she stops contacting him, and he slowly fades away in her memory?

  This is when he realizes that Ellyn is right. There is a fine line between helping someone and helping yourself. And, though he's convinced that his concerns for her well-being are genuine, he also knows that her mere proximity has given him no small measure of some much needed hope these past few days. And it occurs to him that if he hadn't had her to lean on today, if he hadn't had the hope she's planted in him, the turbulence of the day might have led him to Lucky's much earlier. And though it's certainly true that having that hope, and subsequently losing that hope, has added its own emotional turbulence, and sent him to Lucky's anyway, he knows that the reason he didn't take that drink is because he knows that something as perfect as Jessi exists in the world. And even though there is pain when he thinks that he'll never be as close to her as he would like to be, that pain is something he wants to experience with clear eyes.

  The pain of unrequited love is a beautiful torment.

  And now, if he pushes her away, what will he be left with? Unrequited love certainly has its beauty, but it can quickly descend into despair. He has, no doubt, been lonely the past few months. Times have been difficult. But he didn't know how difficult, how empty, until he had hope in his life again. Now, slouching in his living room chair, staring out his window, and suddenly seeing his reflection—that blank, scared expression on his face—he knows he can't go back without her.

  So, he's caught between helping her stay sober, and getting her to stay in his life somehow. He needs to rescue her while she rescues him. But he knows how dangerous this is, not only for her sobriety, but also for his overall emotional health. He wants to love her, and wants her to fall in love with him, and he knows how he chooses to attempt this may be the most important decision of his life—not one he can afford to put off.

  Then it occurs to him.

  He will let her know about the other meetings, encourage her to go, and tell her that if she's not coming to his meetings, then there's no reason why they can't still talk, meet for coffee, or do anything else together.

  Sure AA discourages starting a new relationship while at the beginning stages of the program, but AA doesn't control his life. If he can go into a bar, order a drink, hold it in his hands, breathe in its scent, and not drink it, then it's clear that he's in control of his sobriety.

  Sam has spent years chasing ways to get lost
so that he wouldn't have to face himself, and now all AA has him doing is chasing his tail, spinning his mind in a state of perpetual self-reflection. This was fine for a time, but now he's ready to chase something else. And if, ultimately, she rejects him, then he knows he didn't shy away from love out of fear of someone else's rulebook. If he fails, he would've failed on his own terms, and lost love the right way. He would've at least lost it trying. The only thing he has to lose is Jessi, and since he's never had her anyway, it's a chance he's willing to take.

  If he didn't think she might still be out with Michael, he would've called her already. But she probably is still with Michael.

  He thinks about the fact that they've lived in the same house in the past, that they're lovers, and, chances are, since they live separately now, when they do get together, they probably unleash all their penned up desires. They'll probably be together all night, sleep in the same bed.

  This is such an obvious conclusion to have come to earlier, and perhaps he just didn't care to consider it. But now that it's there, standing right in front of him—Jessi and Michael in bed together, caught in an embrace—he can't shake the image.

  Sam gets up from his chair and crosses the room to open the window. He leans out into the air, stares into the skyline, lets the rush of cold air breathe against his face. He's happy to be looking into something other than himself for a moment. But the moment doesn't last. And there they are again. Jessi's face is being kissed by another man. And he can't take it. He shuts the window and moves toward the door. He's not even