We took seats toward the back of the group. Max wrinkled his lips.
“I’m serious, Dar. If you want to succeed at being sober, or at finding your own self, or whatever it was you came out here for, then you have to give yourself a chance.”
“I am.”
“You moved in two days ago and you’re already having dinner with the guy.”
“I did not have dinner with him,” I said, and busied myself smoothing my napkin on my lap. “I cooked for him, true, but we…decided it was better if we kept things strictly neighborly.”
I glanced up quickly to see Max watching me. I suddenly felt naked, as if my stupid little half-truth was tattooed all over my skin. I thrust my chin out.
“I’d never have told you about him if I knew you were going to freak out.”
Max frowned. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea to put yourself in a situation that is only going to get more intense.”
“We’re not even friends, Sawyer and me. Not really.”
“And you’re okay with that?”
“Of course. Sure. Why wouldn’t I be? I’m not going to be the same idiot I was in New York who gets attached to the first guy who’s nice to me. I’m not.”
Max inclined his chin to the podium where Angela was standing, bringing the meeting to order. “Tell it to them.”
“We have someone new with us tonight,” the program director said. “Will everyone please give a warm welcome to Darlene.”
The group turned in their seats and gave me a smattering of applause.
Max nudged my elbow. He’d finally exchanged his gloomy grimace for an encouraging smile. “You’re on. Let’s see what you got.”
I moved to the front of the room. I hated this part. Getting up and telling my story to a bunch of strangers. I know it was supposed to make me feel a sense of solidarity, and to keep confronting what I had done and what I was; to speak it out loud so I couldn’t pretend like it never happened. But it just felt like telling the story of my weakness all over again.
“Hi, I’m Darlene.”
The chorus returned with, “Hi, Darlene.”
Ugh. So stupid.
Briefly, I sketched my history. Three months in jail for possession, parole, an overdose at a New Year’s Eve party, more parole, and finally freedom but for mandatory meetings three times a week.
“And how do you feel being here?” Angela asked when I moved to take my seat.
“Good. Great. Happy to be here in a new city. Starting over where everything is new. Except, for here. NA meetings are the same no matter where you go, right?”
I laughed weakly. No one else did.
When I’d slunk back into my seat, Max’s frown looked etched in stone.
“Didn’t your mom ever tell you if you keep making that face, it’ll freeze that way?” I whispered as another gal, Kelly, was taking the pod
ium to continue a story she’d begun last session.
“Later,” Max said and nudged his chin at Kelly. “Listen.”
After the meeting, a few other group members introduced themselves and shook my hand. Two younger gals and one nervous-looking guy offered to hang out some time and grab coffee. I declined politely, blaming work. I’d already decided that the only time I was a recovering addict was when I was in this room. The old Darlene was here. Everywhere else, I was brand new.
I gathered my backpack as Angela and Max talked near the podium. They both glanced at me at the same time, like parents trying to figure out what to do with their problem child.
Let them, I thought. The past stays inside these walls. That’s what anonymous means. No one has to know. Sawyer doesn’t have to know…