Little by Slowly: a Story of Love and Recovery

cover. You can reach me anytime, day or night."

  "Thanks. I appreciate it."

  "Keep coming back," Ellyn says, and moves back to her clique.

  "Well, that's four 'Keep Coming Backs,' two plain 'Keep Comings,' and one 'Don't leave before the miracle happens.' That one was my favorite."

  "Do yourself a favor and don't keep a tally," he says.

  She sits there silently looking around the room. He stands by the row of chairs where she's sitting, and thinks about moving in next to her, but he doesn't want to presume her continued presence, or awkwardly invite closeness. She already has her coat on, and her purse is resting over her shoulder.

  "I guess I should…," she says, starting to stand.

  "I was…," he stops, realizing he's interrupted her. "Sorry."

  "Sorry," she says, stepping on his 'sorry.' She smiles, but looks away. "What were you saying?"

  "Nothing. I wasn't… Nothing," he says, looking down at the ground.

  She leans toward him a little. "Listen, do you want to go grab some coffee or something?"

  "Well, I was—"

  "It's alright if you—"

  "No, yeah. Let me just grab my coat," he says and goes to get his coat from the rack behind the refreshment table. He's trying to keep as straight a face as possible as he maneuvers by everyone, but he can hardly contain the excitement of the moment rolling over him. The possibilities that Jessi's existence have inspired within him offer up so many different paths, and he wants to allow himself the freedom to explore every one.

  As he circles back around the table where Jessi is waiting for him by the stairs, Russell stops him.

  "You going?"

  "Yeah."

  "With the new girl?"

  "Well, were—"

  "Sam, you know how that's going to look."

  "I know. I'm not… It's not like that at all."

  "You sure?"

  "Yeah," he says, but he's not sure about anything. He certainly feels more nervous and excited than he can remember feeling in a long, long time.

  "Okay," Russell says as Sam moves toward Jessi. "Hey, Sam, call me if you decide to meet with Kelly. I'll be around," he says, raising his voice. Sam's sure he spoke Kelly's name on purpose. He was clearly trying to insert another woman into he and Jessi's evening, aiming to poison the dynamic if Sam did have an ulterior motive.

  "Thanks, Russell," Sam says as he puts his coat on. He turns to Jessi. "You ready?"

  "Yep," she says.

  As they walk up the stairs from the basement of the church, he moves, instinctively, to place his hand on the small of her back, but gets his bearings back just before the touch.

  Things are quiet between Sam and Jessi as they walk down the street, moving aimlessly toward no place in particular.

  "Where are we going?" she asks.

  "I don't know. You have anywhere in mind?"

  "There's Stripe's around the corner," she says.

  "Yeah, we could go there. But we'll run into some folks from AA. That's where most of them go after meetings."

  "Oh, then not there."

  "Come on. They're not so bad. They're good people."

  "I'm sure they are, but there's only so much goodness I can take in one day."

  "No, I understand," he says as they turn the corner to Blue Ave., where a lot of the city's businesses and restaurants are located. "I know a place about half a block away if you're game."

  "I'm game," she says, smiling at his vernacular.

  "So, you got the Big Book, huh?"

  "Sure did," she says, hugging it in front of her body. "Have you read it?"

  "Cover to cover three times. Just started again for the fourth time."

  "Really? A page turner, huh?"

  "Well, no. It can be terrible in parts. The references are dated, particularly toward women, and it takes a while to get used to the formality of the writing in the beginning, especially if you're used to reading books written by actual, professional writers. But it helps. It gives me something to turn to when I'm thinking of drinking."

  "You still think about drinking a lot?"

  "Everyday."

  "And you've been going to meetings for how long?"

  "Three months."

  "Oh, so you're still new."

  "I guess, yeah."

  "Has it gotten any easier?"

  "What? The desire to drink?"

  "Uh huh."

  "I'm not as scared that I'll just go and do it as much these days. The prospect of actually drinking seems to have faded a little, but the desire is still there. It's always there."

  "What about the meetings? The prayers? The people? The endless one-liners? Does any of that get easier to take?"

  "The people are easy, mostly. Honestly, they've been a blessing to me."

  "A blessing. So, I take it the prayers are easy for you then?" she asks as he opens the door to a diner. The place is lit with neon and heavy florescence. It's a very retro-looking place that she's never been to before."What are we the Nighthawks? Is this place serious?"

  "They have good coffee. And their pie is really good, if you're interested."

  "Well, if they have pie," she says, smiling again at him. He can't quite tell if she's making fun of him or not. He thinks she probably is, but he kind of enjoys her humor. He certainly enjoys seeing her smile, even if it is at his expense.

  "You want coffee?" Sam asks. She nods. "Two coffees, please," he says to the waitress behind the counter. "Do you mind sitting at the counter?"

  "No, that's fine."

  They take their seats on two stools at the counter, and the waitress sits two cups of coffee in front of them.

  "Anything else?" the waitress asks.

  "You?" Sam asks Jessi.

  She shakes her head no.

  "We're fine for now. I might have some pie later though."

  "I'll be here," the waitress says and walks away, wiping the counter as she goes.

  "You were saying something about the prayers a minute ago," Sam says.

  "I was just asking if it was easy for you."

  "So, I assume it's not easy for you."

  "I don't know. I don't have anything against other people praying, I guess. I just don't have any personal belief system. I mean, I have beliefs, but not about a God, and definitely not about a personal God."

  "No, I don't either, really."

  "Really? Then how do you do it?"

  "When I first started the program, it was my biggest concern. I knew religion was an important element of AA, but when they recited the Lord's Prayer, I was confused."

  "Right? That's weird, isn't it?"

  "Yeah, it is a little weird. They claim not to assign themselves to any particular faith, but then they recite a Christian prayer. But—"

  "This should be interesting."

  "What?"

  "Listening to you rationalize your way around this should be interesting."

  "Yeah, but see, that's the key. It's part of the program, and the program works. You'll see from the book that, though it is condescending at points, particularly in the section addressed to agnostics, the most basic element of the program—outside of admitting you have a problem—is turning your life over to a higher power. And the steps never assign a particular faith to this higher power, even acknowledging, 'God as we understood Him.'"

  "Yeah, but then they not so subtlely push you toward the Christian God."

  "Maybe, but don't allow yourself to be pushed. Besides, I don't really think they're pushing."

  "But even you said—"

  "Right. But, to be fair, I don't think all AA meetings start with the Lord's Prayer. Some meetings, as far as I know, only say the Serenity Prayer. Plus, no one says you have to say the Lord's Prayer with the group. I never have."

  "So, how do you surrender yourself to a higher power if you don't believe in a higher power?"

  "I had the same question at first, and Russell—the big, bearded guy that leads the meetings—gave me some gr
eat advice. He said, 'Fake it 'til you make it.'"

  "What? That's absurd," she says, her voice rising.

  "What's so absurd about it?"

  "So, you just pretend that there's a God?"

  "Yeah, pretend there's some kind of order to the world, something bigger and more powerful than yourself. This is what Hershel called radical amazement, that merely existing is so utterly incomprehensible that we stand in awe of its grandeur. Just surrender to that grandeur, that order, that power."

  "That's a terrible idea."

  "Why?"

  "Just lie to yourself?"

  "If you're a drunk you've got plenty of experience lying to yourself," he says, and she turns away, not responding. He's sure he's stung her by saying this, and he tries to soften the blow. "Sorry. I didn't mean you as in you personally, I meant more the plural you."

  "Right," she says.

  They sit in silence for a minute, staring into the large mirror in front of them, watching the world outside the plate glass window behind them. He sneaks a look at her face through the mirror, and she looks tired. He notices her hand, the one near her coffee, and it is shaking, a clear reaction of a drunk too long without drink.

  "How long has it been since you've had a drink?"

  "Why?"

  "Just wondering?" he asks, not wanting to call attention to the fact that he's noticed her delerium tremens, or DT's.

  "I haven't had a drink today if that's what you want to know."

  "I wasn't accusing you."

  "Well, I've grown accustomed to accusations about my drinking."

  "But you do drink a lot?"

  "What do you think? Do you think I come to the meetings for kicks and giggles?"

  "I suppose not," he says, wondering why she's become so defensive. "It's just that some people that are court ordered to appear at meetings are nothing more than occasional binge drinkers who just happen to get caught putting themselves in a bad position."

  "Yeah, well, I got myself into one too many bad positions recently."

  "Do you mind me asking—?"

  "If I did, would it matter?"

  "Sure, it would. I'd still be curious though."

  "Just a little advice, never start a food fight in a restaurant where no one else wants to play, especially in a place so uptight that the police are on speed dial."

  "Really?"

  "Unfortunately, yes."

  "And it wasn't your first run-in with the law?"

  "It was not."

  "Gotcha."

  "So, if were asking personal questions, who's Kelly?"

  He turns and looks at her. "How do you know—?"

  "That guy, Russell, said to call him if you decided to meet with Kelly."

  "Oh, right," he says. For a minute, he'd forgotten all about Kelly, and, when Jessi said her name, he panicked, like, maybe, she knew Kelly. "She's my ex-girlfriend."

  "And you're meeting with her?"

  "I haven't spoken to her since I entered the program. And things didn't end especially well."

  "Did you drink yourself out of the relationship?"

  "Something like that."

  "Yeah, that seems to be happening a lot lately."

  "What?"

  "Was she in Al-Anon?"

  "God, no. Let's just say that we both drank ourselves out of the relationship."

  "Oh, you drank together."

  "That was our thing. That's what we had in common," he says. "Why did you ask about Al-Anon?"

  "Because my fiancé has been taken in by all this Al-Anon literature," she says. And when Sam hears that she's engaged, the shock physically hits his face. He hopes she didn't notice.

  "You're engaged?" he asks, as dryly as he can.

  "Yeah, well, we're currently on hiatus," she says. "His words. Not mine. He's playing the tough love schtick with me."

  "Where's your ring?"

  "It was one of the many casualties—along with a dessert cart, the food from our table and the tables of the others in my vicinity—the night he told me about this experiment with tough love."

  "Oh, the food fight."

  "Right. Nothing worse than someone breaking bad news in the middle of a quiet restaurant. It's such a cowardly thing to do, trying to protect yourself against someone making a scene."

  "And you made a scene anyway."

  "I did. Mostly because I knew that's why he took me out that night—to try and avoid the scene."

  "So, what's his version of tough love?"

  "Well, the engagement is, as I said, on hiatus, until I show him my thirty day token."

  "I see."

  "So, I need your help."

  "No, you can't have my thirty day token," he says.

  "I'm serious."

  "Okay."

  "I need you to help me get there. I need you to help me stay sober."

  "Okay."

  "Isn't that what AA is all about? Recognizing you have a problem? Recognizing your powerless to that problem?"

  "Yeah, but what are you asking me specifically?"

  "I don't know if we need to define it, but I can see that this Ellyn woman wants me to go to her with all my problems, cry on her shoulder a bit, call her mommy and all that, but I can't."

  "Why not?"

  "I can just tell that I won't identify with her. I'll never feel comfortable with her."

  "You know, there's a saying in AA, 'Contempt Prior to Investigation.'"

  "There's a saying for just about everything in AA, isn't there."

  "Yeah, pretty much."

  "It's not contempt though. I have no particularly bad feelings about her. I just feel… I don't know. I don't want to get all girly about this."

  "What?"

  "I just feel a connection between us—me and you. I felt it the first day. When I walked in the meeting for the first time and saw you, I immediately got the impression that I could sit with you, I could know you. It's silly, I know. I just—"

  "Are you asking me to be your sponsor?"

  "As I said, we don't have to define it."

  "Well, we can call it whatever we want, but that won't change the fact that everyone else will see it as a sponsorship."

  "So?"

  "So, there are a couple of problems with that. One, it's not technically wrong for someone whose been in the program as briefly as I have to be someone's sponsor, but it's not encouraged. I'm still focussing on the program, working my way through the steps. I'm not really in a position to be sponsoring anyone. My first priority should be to my sobriety."

  "So, you won't help me," she says, her voice shaking. She looks rejected, eyeing the door through the mirror like she's ready to leave.

  "I didn't say that. If that were the only reason we shouldn't do this, then I would ignore it. But—"

  "But?"

  "You're a woman."

  "Too bad, huh. Sorry about that."

  "And I'm a man."

  "You are? You should've said something."

  "Men aren't supposed to sponsor women and vice versa, but I think it's particularly discouraged for men to sponsor women."

  "Why?"

  "It's dangerous."

  "Dangerous? Why?"

  "Why do you think?"

  "But I'm engaged."

  "I'm not."

  "Oh."

  "All I'll say is that things, even if unforeseen now, could develop, and it could interfere with, or even just complicate, the process. I mean, we are addicts. If it's not alcohol, then it's something else. It's called thirteenth stepping in AA when you start a relationship with another member before you've gone through the steps, particularly the first steps."

  "God, they've thought of everything haven't they?"

  "It's an old program."

  "As evidenced by the average age of the people in our meeting."

  "Yeah, not too many people our age there."

  "That's what we should say."

  "What?"

  "When they ask us why you're sponsoring me," she says,
holding up air quotes when she says 'sponsoring.'

  "Oh, don't do that," Sam says, wincing.

  "Right, sorry about that," she says, and reaches out and touches his arm. "I never do that. I don't know why I did that."

  He wishes she hadn't touched him. The electricity of it shook him out of the conversation. It had been too long since someone had touched him, and he wasn't ready for the jolt it gave him. He could see now with astounding clarity that he could easily become addicted to this girl, and he wouldn't want it to stop, doesn't know if he has the strength to avoid the attraction that is building, the gravity that is pulling them together.

  "We'll just tell them that I felt more comfortable working with someone my own age."

  "We could do that, but it's still going to be frowned upon."

  "Who cares?"

  "I do. I spend seven days a week with these people. They've helped me through some of the toughest times of my life. I care what they think of me."

  "Right."

  "We'll have to say… Well, we'll say it's temporary. Having a temporary sponsor is acceptable, even encouraged."

  "Who will I be saying this to?"

  "Oh, you'll be asked. My guess is Ellyn already thinks she's your sponsor. She probably half-expects a phone call tonight."

  "You're kidding."

  "No," he says, and then, out of the corner of his eye, he can see her hands, and they seem to have calmed. "They'll want to know why you're talking to me, why you chose me, and you'll say…"

  "I'm comfortable with you."

  "Yeah. I was the first one you met in the group and you're waiting until you get to know everyone else before you pick a new sponsor."

  "Right. Good."

  "But if you want me to be your sponsor, even if it does turn out to be temporary…" Even as he's saying this, he realizes how dangerous this is going to be. There's no conceivable way that he can avoid the attraction he feels. He won't be able to quiet the desire to know more about her. He can't deny the craving he feels for her attention. Even now, as she's staring at him, he never wants this to end. "There are a few things you're going to have to agree to."

  "Wow. So, you're taking control of this. I like that. We're serious. Okay. This is serious," she says, making her face very serious looking, in a caricatured way.

  "It is."

  "Right. What are your terms, sir?" she asks, trying hard to stay serious, despite the smile trying to bend on her face.

  "Daily phone calls. You can choose the time, but we need to talk everyday. If you're going to miss a meeting, I need to know why. And if you drink… Don't drink. But, if you do, tell me. If we're going to do this, honesty is integral to a good sponsorship. I can't help you if you're not completely transparent about everything."

  "Everything?"

  "Everything," he says. "You'll never get through the psychic inventory required in the program's steps unless you can share that inventory with me. It's all in the book. Read it."

  "So, this sponsorship thing is an all-in endeavor."

  "It is," he says. "The whole program is. If you're not comfortable, or if you have any reservations—"

  "No. No, it's just a lot to take in."

  "So, if tonight, you feel like taking a drink—"

  "I'll call you."

  "Don't hesitate. Any time."

  "It would help if I had your phone number."

  "It's in the book. Most of us put our first names and our numbers in the front of the books we give to new members. I'm the only Sam."

  "So, we're doing this?"

  "If you're game, I'm game."

  "Oh, I'm game. Game on," she says, stifling a laugh again over his vernacular.

  "Game on, then," he says.

  The space between them descends and widens as they sip their coffee in silence. He looks at her in the mirror, and she is turning away. The shaking has returned to her hands and those poor, half-eaten fingers.

  "I should go. I still have some things to take care of tonight," she says, sliding off her stool, and digging into her purse.

  "No, I got this."

  "You sure?"

  "Yeah, it's only coffee," he says. "Do you need me to walk you?"

  "No, I'm a big girl. Besides, I'm just around the corner."

  "You'll call me if you—"

  "I said I would."

  "Okay."

  "I'll call you tomorrow,