Chapter 14 #2
Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t mad about it, just not what I expected. After years of these types of meetings, a garden social was not the norm.
After we finished up, Patsy waved us over to the pineapple fountain, where I saw a little table with a pile of plastic sunglasses on it. “Everyone take a pair of glasses, please.”
“Somethin’s wrong with mine,” Jackée mumbled from beside me. “They’re greasy.”
“Mine too,” I agreed quietly, not wanting to complain too loudly.
“They’re supposed to be, honey. Just trust me.” Patsy nodded her head.
“They smell good. Sweet,” Chris Evans spoke up.
“I used coconut oil.” Patsy clapped. “Okay, y’all stay right here and I’m going to move over to the gate.”
“Why?” asked Pearl.
“We’re going to play Red Light, Green Light. When I say green light you start moving toward me. When I say red light you stop. If you don’t stop immediately, you have to go back to the fountain and start over. First one to give me a high-five wins.”
I put on my smeared glasses and could barely make out the hand I held up before me.
Patsy yelled, “Green light!”
Blindly, I took off and bumped into someone almost instantly. By the time we righted each other, Patsy yelled, “Red light.” Then in quick succession, “Green light.”
Like zombies on a warm Lowcountry night, arms stretched forward and gait a bit wobbly, we meandered across the garden.
Bruno whooped. “I won!”
We all ripped off the glasses and sure enough, he stood beside Patsy. I hadn’t made much progress away from the fountain. I’d never been all that good at these sorts of games.
“Okay,” Pearl started. “What’s our lesson for the night, Madame Yoda?”
Patsy smiled, fixing her caftan where it had slipped off her shoulder, probably from Bruno barreling into her. “Just like these greasy glasses, being impaired causes us to not see clearly.”
“Clearly,” Pearl said with much exaggeration.
“We’ve all come to this place because of struggles that impair us.
Tonight, it was me who gave you the smeared glasses and told you to find me.
That may be the same case with your circumstances.
Someone else may have been responsible for what led you to this point, but it is your responsibility to move on to a better place.
” She swiped Bruno’s glasses and snapped them in two.
“We must take charge of our choices. We choose to stay sober and vigilant.”
I swiped my thumb through the coconut oil, doing nothing but making a bigger mess on the lens.
“It’s difficult to do this on our own. If that weren’t the case, we certainly wouldn’t be standing in my yard, now would we?” Patsy gave us a studious nod. “But with the support of one another, we can and we will.”
With the lesson received, the small group wandered back to the table to collect their belongings and chat for a while. No one seemed in a hurry to leave.
“Don’t forget to take a loaf or two!” Chris Evans called out, producing a bountiful basket of wrapped bread. Everyone took at least two loaves but me. They apparently had people. I had no one.
I turned to leave only to find Patsy right behind me, holding a fancy floral gift bag. “Oh, hi. Uh . . . thank you for allowing me to attend tonight.”
“My pleasure, honey.” She held the bag out to me. “I’m sure you went through the twelve steps in rehab.”
“Yes.” I accepted the heavy bag and peered inside, finding two books, one slim and one quite thick.
“Good, good. Well, this is my favorite Bible study accompaniment for the twelve steps.”
“Oh, uh, thank you.”
Patsy shifted, draping an arm over my shoulder and engulfing me in her designer perfume. “Junie, I want you to understand that attending the Magnolia Nephalist Society meetings is optional, but if you’d like to become a member of our group there will be requirements.”
My shoulders stiffened under her embrace. “What are they?”
“If you want to attend our meetings, you must also attend church services every Sunday with me and the other members.”
“Oh.” My Grandma Olla never required me to attend church with her, but out of respect, I always did.
The two years I lived with Cy and his family, he made it clear that as long as I was under his roof, I would attend each and every service with him and his family.
I had nothing against church per se, just that my lifestyle didn’t really line up with the messages.
“Just think about it. If you’re at church Sunday, that will be our answer. No pressure.” Patsy smiled widely and I wondered how on earth her shiny apricot lipstick still stuck to her friendly lips.
“Okay.” I smiled, doubting any of my ninety-nine-cent cherry-flavored Chapstick remained on my own lips.
Everyone, with freshly baked sourdough bread in hand, said their goodbyes and parted ways for the night.
I buckled my seat belt before asking Gilbert, “Is that even considered an AA meeting?”
“Maybe not in the traditional sense, but all you really need to establish a group is a meeting place, literature about substance abuse, and a coffeepot.”
I snickered. “More like a punch bowl.”
“Nothing wrong with punch, especially on a hot humid night.”
“No doubt. That punch hit the spot.” I adjusted an air vent. “What does that nepha word mean?”
“Nephalist is a person who doesn’t drink alcohol.”
“Oh. Now it makes sense.”
“What did Patsy give you?”
I pulled the heavy Bible and workbook out of the gift bag. “Do you have this version of the twelve steps?”
Gilbert glanced over. “Yes. It’s one of my favorites.” He checked his mirrors, then pulled onto the narrow street.
I smoothed my hand over the glossy green cover. “I can’t believe Patsy said I couldn’t come back unless I went to church with her.”
Gilbert veered onto the Ravenel Bridge. “You know that’s not how she put it.”
“Yeah. But that’s the gist of it. In order to be a member, I must attend church on Sunday.”
The old man started wailing like a baby, putting on a show. “Poor Junie! She has to leave the house for an entire hour or two on Sunday. Poor, poor thing!” He picked back up on the faux crying, that waah, waah sound.
I playfully popped him in the arm. “Oh hush! I’ll go as long as it’s not some weird denomination that requires women to wear dresses down to their ankles and no makeup.” I added for good measure and sass, “And no animal sacrifices!”
“Hmm . . .” Gilbert cocked his head. “It’s the third Sunday, so you should be good.”
“You know going to church isn’t the be-all and end-all. Going didn’t keep me sober in the past. Heck, I’ve attended church smashed more times than I care to admit.”
“Better than not going.” He shrugged, as if it were no big deal, but I wasn’t fooled. Nothing about going to church intoxicated was okay. “Are you against church?”
“No.” I stared out the window, taking in the lights sparkling in the dark. “I just don’t think someone like me, an alcoholic, should be in church.”
“You ever heard of that verse from Matthew? The one that came straight from Jesus’ mouth?” Gilbert sent a sidelong glance my way.
“Which one?”
“Come to me, all of you who are weary and carry heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. I think addiction is a pretty darn heavy burden. Church is exactly where we should be. The support that comes from such a community is what we need to help us in our struggles.” Gilbert, knowing he’d said all he needed to say, turned up the radio slightly and hummed along the rest of the way to my house.
With my hand on the door handle, I said, “Thank you for getting me an invite to this group.”
“Oh wow. The kid has manners!” Gilbert laughed.
“Don’t get used to it!” I got out of the car and closed the door, pausing long enough to stick my tongue at him before walking away.
I sat at the kitchen island and riffled through the two books Patsy had given me, finding a handwritten note on some really fancy card stock with her initials embossed at the top.
Junie,
God has placed you in our little group for a reason. I want us both to commit to seeing what that reason is. I hope to see you Sunday.
Warmly,
Patsy
Rereading the note, feeling like someone actually cared, I knew I’d commit to the Magnolia Nephalist Society, as quirky as they might be.