Chapter 6
It wasn't even 9:00 am, and Kerrie was already exhausted. She put her truck in park in front of The Church. The day had started in a panic, and the anxiety that had seized her when she woke late hadn't subsided. She would probably have still been in bed had Mabel not arrived, waking her up. It took both of them to get Kenny out of bed and into his easy chair. She only hoped Mabel would be able to help him get up to go to the bathroom. Kenny was never the most graceful, but after his last heart attack, his health had declined, and at times, he was unsteady on his little chicken legs. It would be impossible for small Mabel to get him off of the floor if he fell. Kerrie had a hard enough time last night. No amount of tugging worked to get Kenny out of the bathtub without hurting him, so when she called for help, they sent paramedics and the closest fire department. Everyone was so kind to Kenny and was able to get him out without much pain. Kenny seemed to take it better than Kerrie did. He never complained, but his face would grimace from the pain occasionally. He let the paramedics and nurses do what they needed to do while Kerrie was convinced of the worst. It had been a small fracture—nothing that required surgery—but it was yet another reminder that Kenny seemed to continue his descent into fragility. Kenny was not immortal, and that frightened Kerrie to the core.
When she walked into The Church, she greeted a couple of clients on their way to the basement for morning group. She inwardly crossed her fingers that Wilson would take the morning group again.
Wilson's door was open, so she knocked on the door frame before inviting herself in. She held out the sheet of paper that had his caseload on it. Every morning, Edna, The Main's office manager, printed off each counselor's caseload, even if they didn't have a new client. It listed each client's name, pay provider, and where they were staying. She only had ten clients, while Wilson was now up to 12 with the newest addition this morning. That was the limit a counselor could carry.
He took the paper, looking down at it through his bifocals, and sighed loudly. "Another one? That's four in the last three days. Are they not giving them to anyone else?"
Kerrie shook her head, keeping her thoughts to herself. He always made it sound like the people he was there to help were inconvenient, but he really was a good counselor. She had seen him manage to reach guys no one else could. "It's that time of year. Grants are opening up, and every P.O. in the state is sending them here."
"Right, right," he replied dismissively.
Kerrie rubbed the back of her head, feeling a little awkward. "Uh, look, I know you've got a lot of paperwork, but—"
He didn't let her finish. "I'm not doing group, Kerrie. I've done it for the last three days. I have two new clients. I'm taking this morning to finish their intake and catch up."
"Right, okay, well, do you want me to send one of your new ones up?"
"Yeah, how about this Tucker guy?"
"Can do."
The ball of anxiety in Kerrie's gut grew another inch. She had really been hoping he would do group. She could use an hour and a half to catch up further. Not to mention, today was the day they needed to change chores. "Fuck," she mumbled to herself.
"Ms. K, can I get a minute?" A voice called behind her as she rushed to her office.
Looking over her shoulder, she saw Dustin, a young guy who didn't think he had a problem with alcohol but had three DUIs at 22, and one of them was when he was 17. She liked him. He was smart but hadn't reconciled with his issues yet. She hoped he'd come around before leaving the program. He had a lot of potential. "Can it wait until after group?"
"Yeah, totally. I was just wondering if we could get more stuff printed for the coloring tray. There's not a lot left, and I've been coloring them and then writing home to my girlfriend on the back."
"Right, yes, I can do that. Would you mind reminding me again before you leave?"
"Yeah, I can. Are you doing group?" He asked, a hopeful look on his tanned face.
"I am. I'll be down there in a few. "
"Great! I love it when you do group. It's been a while." He turned to go to the basement, leaving Kerrie's gut of anxiety to now add a dash of guilt. Maybe Tyler was right. Perhaps she was behind.
Stepping into her office, Kerrie glanced at her watch, a gift from Kenny and Mabel for her 20th year as a counselor. It had a thick leather strap, a bronzed face, and black hands that showed the time. She loved an analog watch. It was reliable and old-fashioned and made her smile. She had three minutes to get to the basement—not a long time at all.
Looking around her office, she glanced over the bookshelves, stuffed to capacity and in total chaos. Her eyes landed on a picture of her and Kenny at Easter. Both of them had dressed up, and she couldn't get over how dashing Kenny looked in his light blue polo that she had matched with him. He wore stretch pants because they were the easiest for bathroom visits, but they were clean and new, so the look wasn't completely abnormal. Sometimes, just every so often, she looked at him and wondered what life would have been like if he hadn't been born the way he was, but then she pushed those kinds of thoughts to the side. Kenny had a purpose, even if it wasn't the conventional type, but dwelling on what-ifs wouldn't do anyone any good.
She wished she had time to check in on him. The thought brought another idea to her, and she snapped her fingers. "Got it."
Grabbing what she needed and her thermos of coffee, she headed down to the basement two minutes late. The old muted blue stairs creaked under her weight. Who knew how old they were? The chatter died down when she entered the basement, and the scent of coffee hung in the air. The walls were painted mismatched colors from leftover paint someone had donated. There were two dry-erase boards and a few rooms off the open area. The low tiled ceiling was just half a foot from the top of her head.
"How are we doing, gentlemen?" She greeted them. She took the chair usually reserved for counselors or guests. The men were all sitting in the closest thing that resembled a circle for the square space with a pole halfway in the middle. Behind the group was the coffee station, an old drip coffee maker, and dozens of different kinds of coffee mugs that Mabel's church donated to them. Each guy was responsible for his cup, which he would use the whole time he was there. It was The Church's secret from the rest of campus. No other buildings had coffee outside of one cup at breakfast, but the guys at The Church would pitch in for a large can of coffee, powdered creamer, and sugar.
"Hey, Ms. K, it's been a minute. "
She nodded, putting her thermos next to her on the floor. "It has. Sorry about that, guys. It's been a little busy around here. Can I get one of you to cut this paper for me?" She held up some scrap printer paper that Wilson printed wrong. They used everything they could, so there was always a stack of usable scrap paper near the printer.
"I can," a guy in a red shirt who was one of Wilson's clients stood up.
"Just cut a bunch to be like this big," she motioned with her hands after handing the paper and scissors over. "Enough to write a sentence on. Here, everyone, take a pen and pass."
"What are we going to do today?" Robin, an older man with thick locs, asked. He was one of her clients, a man who had a few repeat visits to Turtle Grove. He was good for the group. He always seemed to be able to think a little deeper than most. She loved their one-on-one sessions. He challenged her sometimes as much as she did him. He just never seemed to get sobriety to stick for long.
"A vulnerability exercise. So, it looks like we've got some new people with us. My name is Kerrie Matthews, for those who don't know. I—oh, uh, before I forget, who's Tucker?"
"That's me," a guy who looked like he was about to collapse answered. His eyes were almost closed in a wince.
"You alright?" she asked with concern.
"I've got the worst fucking headache," he answered, running his hands over his face and pulling the hood of his hoodie low.
"Withdrawal?"
He shrugged, then nodded. "Maybe. I tapered off a few days ago, but the headache keeps coming and going."
"Well, your counselor, Wilson, wants to see you upstairs to finish your intake. Tell him about it, and he'll send you to medical for some Tylenol."
He nodded and slid to the edge of his seat. "Do I go now?"
"Yeah, upstairs, first door on the left." She watched him go upstairs and glanced at her list from the morning meeting. "Just a couple of things before we get started. The ladies from the cosmetology school will be here Thursday afternoon. I have a clipboard by my door if you want to get a haircut. You have to sign up before lunch on Wednesday. They'll want an estimate of how many. It's free, but feel free to tip if you have a dollar or two. It's okay if you don't, though."
"Do they shave beards? I want this thing gone, but taking one of those cheap razors to it isn't going to work," Burt interjected, rubbing his long beard. He had been jailed for six months before electing to take the judge's offer to reduce his sentence if he would agree to go to rehab. In the two weeks he had been there, he had started to brighten up some. It was fun to watch the darkness in his eyes shift to light.
Kerrie nodded. "Nothing fancy. They'll shave it all off. Same with haircuts. Nothing elaborate, but they'll trim you up or buzz it. Also, please don't hit on them. I know it's been a while since some of y'all have seen a pretty lady, but don't be that guy."
Laughs sounded around the room. The atmosphere in the basement room was melting into a relaxed, attention-drawn state. It always took a few minutes to bring them around and settle. Especially since she hadn't run morning group recently. The newbies would need to feel her out.
The red-shirt guy, whose name badge read Cade, finished and handed her back the paper and scissors.
She thanked him and handed the slips of paper back to him, motioning around the circle. "Here, take one and pass. So today, we're going to do an exercise that's a little hard for some. Truthfully, this one hit me because of something in my personal life last night. It reminded me of how scary life can be when confronted with fear. I'm not one of those counselors who hangs back and doesn't give as much as I ask you to give. What I'm going to ask you to do is write down your current greatest fear. What scares you? What makes the hairs stand on the back of your neck? What's that one thing you may try not to think of because it just terrifies the shit out of you? Write it down on the paper, but don't put your name on it. Fold it, and I'm going to come around with this bowl," she held up an old Tupperware bowl, "toss it in; I'll shake it up, then we'll pass it around again. Each person will take one. You'll read it and say if you can relate to it, and then if anyone else wants to chime in, they can. You don't have to say it's yours. You can be anonymous."
She was met with a few uncertain glances, two glares, and one wide-eyed frown.
"Are you doing it with us?" Evan asked. He was due to graduate the program in a week. He had had a rough start but mellowed out once he got the feel for the place.
"Yep, I wouldn't ask you to do something I wouldn't do." She jotted down her fear of losing her brother and folded it, tossing it in the bowl. She gave them a few more minutes before collecting them. "Who wants to go first?"
No one spoke for a moment, and then Evan raised his hand. He was Upper Sparrow's adviser. Each house had a client who was the person to start evening meetings, deliver any news needed, and serve as a go-to for new clients and staff. It gave the men a sense of responsibility and confidence. The men selected were normally the ones the members of their group respected. Because Sparrow had both an upper and lower addition, there were two advisers. "I'll go first."
The bowl was passed over to him. He stuck a tattooed hand in, gave it a few swirls, and then plucked one out. His closely shaved head wrinkled as he read it, then turned to look at Kerrie. "I just read it out loud?"
"Yep," she answered with a nod.
Clearing his throat, his southern twanged drawl rang out into the circle. "My biggest fear is going back to jail."
No one spoke for several seconds, and Kerrie allowed it to draw out, knowing someone would break it. Finally, Cade nodded. "I get that. I've been a few times, and each time, it gets longer. Every time I think that this is my last time, I'm not going back but damned if I don't. Hearing my mom crying when I call her to tell her where I am. It sucks."
"What sucks even more is when they stop crying," Ernest, a gray-haired man with a lumpy build, chimed in from the corner.
"Or when they stop answering at all. That scared the hell out of me. I thought maybe it was just a fluke, you know? Like something had kept my ol' lady from answering, but then she just never picked up. Found out later she'd packed up the kids and left the state to go stay with her nosy ass mother. I still can't believe she left like that. I ain't seen my kids in a year," William, one of her clients who was in his late forties, answered honestly. He blinked back a few tears.
"How many times had you gone in before she had enough?"
He rubbed his head, his other hand holding a coffee mug, and blew out a breath, staring unfocused into the distance. "Honestly, I have no idea. Too many, I'm sure. I can't even blame her."
Kerrie nodded, looking back over at Evan. "Evan, how about you? Can you relate?"
Evan chewed his bottom lip as he looked at the slip of paper again, then nodded. "Yeah, I've only been twice, but it was awful. I didn't like not having control over myself, you know? All I felt like was a number. I can see why that would be someone's biggest fear. It can definitely be scary."
"Definitely," confirmed Kerrie before motioning at the bowl. "Who's next?"
The guy beside Evan took the bowl and pulled out a slip but looked at Kerrie before reading it. He was new and hadn't heard much about her yet. "Have you been to jail?"
Kerrie let out a deep laugh and looked over at Robin, who was grinning and shaking his head. They had shared some of their experiences the day before in their weekly one-on-one session. Smiling, she nodded. "Nineteen times from age 15 to 23. I was such a frequent flyer that by the end of it, even the ladies in medical knew my birthday and full name by heart."
"What was your DOC?"
"My drug of choice was whiskey, but I'd take anything I could get. I was mean when I was drunk. I'd fight just about anyone, which was some of those jail visits. Read what's on your slip."
He unfolded the small piece of paper. "I fear dying alone."
"Oh," a chorus of voices let out. That one always made its way into the exercise. It was usually written down more than once. It was one that most seemed to relate to, and those who said they couldn't were usually in denial or too proud to admit it. No one wanted to be alone. Not really. To have someone who thought of you or would care if something happened to you was a natural want. Humans craved each other. Some more than others, but they still needed each other. Kerrie had been so scared last night when Kenny fell. She couldn't shake the image of him, a glass figurine shattering into a million pieces. So many pieces she couldn't glue him back together. She couldn't imagine life without him. How could she move on? How could she live without her twin? Her best friend. A literal companion since birth. The thought made her chest ache. It was like a vice around her heart. A vice that would squeeze until her heart became a pulpy, bloody mess.
Kerrie left the basement after group, feeling like a weight had left her shoulders. She was just as rejuvenated as the guys. There was something about sitting in a group of people, people who understood your own struggles, and hearing them echo your fears as their own. Letting yourself open up to hear what others say and know they also felt similar to you. Being validated by someone who didn't know you was different than people who did. There was no risk of them telling you what you wanted to hear. No worries that they would bring it back up later, because with strangers, once you left, you were unlikely to see them again. You were simply and wholly connected by a common struggle, and that was raw camaraderie.
It was also nice to do something counselor-related. She used to love hosting groups; she loved getting in the trenches of recovery with them. But there hadn't been much time for that lately, and no matter what Kerrie did, she seemed to inch further into the bog that was slowly suffocating her.