Dawn #2
As other women took turns sharing anecdotes from their lives, I lost track of my own thoughts, my own self, entirely.
It was like getting immersed in a book of short stories, each one with characters I immediately cared about who brought me straight into the action.
In the handful of filmmaking workshops I’d taken on and off since college, I’d noticed that the question asked of every script, every direction, every edit, was Why now?
What is important about this moment in the character’s life?
That question was answered by every woman who spoke that day.
One of them shared that she’d “slipped” and had a few cocktails with an old friend after nearly two years of sobriety, and she missed drinking so much that she was tempted to really start back up again even though she knew exactly where it would lead.
“I heard a great metaphor in another meeting once,” she said, “that everyone with an alcohol problem might board the train heading to New York in San Francisco. And New York is like the worst version of alcoholism you can imagine. Some people get off in Chicago or Milwaukee, but that train is heading for New York no matter what. Some people get all the way to New York. I feel like I’m on a detour somewhere in Tennessee maybe.
Nashville. Anyway. I do not want to get to New York. ”
“Oh, I got to New York, alright. I took the fast train there at least twice and woke up with my head in a gutter,” said a woman whose bright maroon hair was cut into a sharp bob and who wore a silver ring on every finger of her hands.
“Me too,” said Sharon, who now had her poodle on her lap. “Three times.”
Remarkable. I’d never seen women who looked so different from each other admit to being so alike. And there was something healing in the telling of these stories, the repeating of phrases and ideas that everyone seemed to know. The holding space.
Words clogged my throat every time there was a break between speakers, but I didn’t raise my hand.
What would I say, exactly, anyway? Thank you for having me here today.
I’m a total mess. My train is maybe in the Rockies?
Somewhere in Colorado? There’s a guy I like who keeps asking me out, and I can’t stomach the idea of seeing him and only drinking coffee.
And yet, physically I feel better than I have in years.
Since I stopped drinking five months ago, I get my work done faster and I haven’t woken up at 2:00 a.m. a heart-pounding mess of regret and shame once.
I don’t want to go back to that. And I don’t want to not drink, either. What is wrong with me?
Eventually, Audrey put her hand up, and when she was called on, she audibly inhaled through her nose and exhaled through her mouth, yoga style. “Thank you so much for this meeting. You all know that I’ve been struggling with Jed. The pull to him is just so strong.”
Around the room, nods of understanding.
“So after seventy-three days of no contact, I slept with him again the other night, and suffice it to say, he hasn’t changed.
He asked me if I wanted a gummy to help me relax.
You’re so wound up, he says. They’re not addictive, he says.
He knows how I feel about putting anything into my body.
I’ve had enough of all of it. I need to get sober from Jed and use the tools I’ve used to stay away from drugs and alcohol to stay away from him.
” She shook her head in frustration, then rubbed her temples.
“Thanks for listening. I know you all get this. And this is why I chose that reading. I mean, I always choose passages from Vineland, but I really do take so much comfort from knowing there is a writer out there who understands me. Whose main character basically is me in a fantasy world. I wish I’d had these books when I was a kid.
Maybe I wouldn’t have turned to alcohol and drugs for compassion. ”
I swallowed. I did, 100 percent, turn to wine for compassion.
And what a strange thing to realize. It was a liquid.
It couldn’t offer a helping hand, no matter what the lush advertisements implied—the ones of families and girlfriends sitting on sun-soaked patios, laughing together and drinking rosé.
I hated those ads. They weren’t exactly wrong, but they masked so much.
“We’re nearing the end of our time together,” said Sharon. “Would anyone else like to share?”
Almost like someone else was driving the motor of my body, I lifted my hand into the air.
Sharon nodded at me as she gave her dog a good scratch under the collar.
I cleared my throat, and Alfie sat up to look at me.
“First, I want to thank all of you for sharing your stories so candidly. Just an hour ago, I didn’t really understand what I was doing here, but I think now I’m starting to…
” I glanced at Audrey, who gave me an eager, encouraging smile.
“I’m in a bad place in my life right now.
My career is stalled, and my long-term relationship ended nearly a year ago, but I still ruminate on all the ways I fucked up.
I’m almost forty years old, and what do I have to show for it?
On top of all that, I’m…ashamed of my drinking.
My mother is the head of Hartley Vineyard, and you’d think she’d be a big drinker, but she’s not.
Why can’t I be more like her? Why can’t I have just one?
I’ve been alcohol-free for five months, but I still want to drink.
I don’t want to be sober, even though I do feel better without all that wine and vodka in my system. ”
The buzz of sympathy and understanding that filled the room was so affirming, I felt a hot gush in my chest that I would normally associate with love.
“Anyway,” I continued, “I don’t know what’s next for me, but I’m glad I’m here with you today.
” In the moment. I finally felt really in the moment. Thank you, I mouthed at Audrey.
“Thank you for that moving contribution, Dawn. It’s truly a privilege to have you with us today,” said Sharon, and her words sounded entirely authentic, especially backed up by the other women nodding and “mm-hmming” their agreement.
My cheeks burned, and I thanked them all.
It was a first step. I’d spoken at least part of my truth, to Audrey and a room of strangers.
I felt lighter. Actually, physically lighter, as if releasing the words that had been stuck inside me all through the meeting—words that described feelings I’d been carrying around for years—had unburdened me physically as well as emotionally.
Though of course it wasn’t just saying the words. It was having them received by a room full of people who, miraculously, understood them. It was only then that it occurred to me that no one had said, “Hi, I’m Whomever, and I’m an alcoholic.”
After Sharon’s final comments to the group, which I barely heard because the buzz from sharing was so loud in my body, I joined the others in putting away the chairs and coffee.
Those who knew each other well made parting chitchat about picnics and the recitals of children and grandchildren as if they hadn’t just told each other their deepest secrets and fears.
Back in the car, which was stuffy and hot like a sauna, Audrey started the engine and said, “So?”
“That was pretty amazing,” I said.
“I’m glad you liked it. Let me know when you want to talk more about it. Go ahead and marinate for a while.”
“Was it a twelve-step meeting? It didn’t go how I thought those meetings went.”
“We’re an offshoot. We don’t say we’re alcoholics, because that word is triggering for some people.
And it’s not a group that works the steps, though most of us have already done that in other places, like I did mine in rehab.
We use the Serenity Prayer, and we share what’s on our mind related to sobriety, but that’s about as twelve step as we get. ”
“I had no idea meetings like that existed.”
“They are few and far between, but they do.”
I nodded.
“You’re not mad at me for reading from Vineland?” Audrey looked genuinely worried.
“No,” I said, though I was too exhausted to get into all the questions that passage had made me ask myself. “In fact, it’s nice to know the books have helped you.”
I leaned back and closed my eyes as Audrey merged onto the highway, and the next thing I knew, I was opening them to the velvety purple twilight swathing Audrey’s house. She cut the engine and said to me, “I wasn’t sure where we were going next, so I figured we could regroup tomorrow morning.”
“That makes sense,” I said groggily, opening the car door and stretching as soon as my feet hit the driveway. I planned to go straight back to sleep after I took Alfie for a quick constitutional.
Audrey walked with me, saying, “I need to shake out my legs.”
“I am really glad you took me to that meeting,” I said, “because if you hadn’t, I think I’d be looking for a way to drink away everything that’s happened today. And now, I don’t actually want to.” It felt like a miracle.
Audrey smiled smugly. “That’s why we go to meetings.”
We.
Me and all the… I still couldn’t say alcoholics. That word meant the person who’d gotten all the way to New York.
“I’m really impressed by you,” I said.
Audrey laughed. “I don’t know why. I’m a mess.”
“But you seem to know why you’re a mess, and what to do to fix it.”
“I’m on a quest here, same as you.”
“A quest. For Winnie.” In a day full of metaphors, for Winnie felt like the most powerful one of them all.
“For Winnie,” Audrey agreed.
Just as I was about to turn out the light in Audrey’s pale-pink guest room, I checked my phone again, and there at last was a message from Mom.
I just started reading. Will call you soon.