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seventy-one f

A Meeting

R icki’s AA meeting was scheduled at four o’clock at the Presbyterian church not far from Dream Girls. Only a handful of cars sat in the parking lot. I’d been hoping for a huge crowd so I could observe unnoticed.

I was also nervous about seeing Ricki. Would she welcome me or shun me in favor of her new sober friends? And what if Ricki didn’t show? How would I explain myself? Could I find the courage to stand up and admit I was an alcoholic?

As it got closer to showtime, more cars appeared. I stared at the people entering the building: teens and seniors, men and women, rich and poor. Other than a few who appeared to have been beaten up by life, I’d never suspect any of them to be alcoholics.

I opened my car door and slowly walked to the entrance. I hung back, hoping to find the courage to take the next step.

I can’t do it. I turned around and bumped into Ricki.

“Ava!” Ricki’s hug was the warmest, most sincere hug I’d ever received.

I knew at that moment I was exactly where I needed to be.

“C’mon in, honey. The meeting’s gonna start.” Ricki took my hand and led me inside. Before we got seated, she said, “You saved my life. Maybe I can do the same for you.”

I saved someone’s life! I’d made a difference not only in Ricki’s life but the life of her mom and daughter—and who knows how many others. Until that moment, I assumed I’d destroyed everything and everyone I touched.

I turned my attention to the speaker, who was celebrating one year of sobriety. He spoke of his personal journey and invited others to share their experiences. Some had hit bottom; others were encouraged by friends or family to attend a meeting before they further damaged their lives. Each story was different, yet all had the same theme: They wanted to stop drinking and knew they couldn’t do it alone.

Hello, my name is Ava, and I’m an alcoholic. I whispered the phrase to myself, hoping I’d find the courage to publicly admit my addiction.

All faces looked at me when it was my turn to introduce myself. I saw kind, supportive eyes and friendly smiles. God, give me courage to admit my frailty.

“Hello, my name is Ava, and I’m an alcoholic.”

It’s hard to explain the miracle that followed my admission. I felt God’s presence in the room and in me. Looking back, it was as though God had removed my obsession to get high.

I learned the concept of staying sober today—not tomorrow, not next week, not ten years from now. The Twelve Steps were mentioned with emphasis on the first step: Admit we are powerless over alcohol . . . that our lives had become unmanageable.

One day at a time. Would I struggle with addiction every day until I died? Life seemed so much easier without a plan, without daily goals.

Some members left immediately after the formal meeting, while others, including Ricki and me, stayed for coffee. Ricki introduced me to her sponsor and a few of her new friends. Everyone was warm and welcoming. No questions were asked, no answers expected. When the lights flickered, indicating the end of our time, I didn’t want to leave.

Ricki didn’t pressure me to attend another meeting and didn’t invite me for coffee or to her apartment. I understood our friendship, at least for the present, would be confined to meetings.

We hugged before getting into our cars.

“Take care of yourself,” she said. “You know where I’ll be.”

“Thank you, Ricki. Great seeing you.”

A sense of calm followed me home. Knowing I was powerless wasn’t a new concept, but until that day—June 1, 1986—I’d tried everything I could think of to regain my power. Self-help books were Band-Aids. I’d been numb to reality and my feelings. I didn’t know how to live a sober life. But if Ricki, the biggest party girl I knew, could do it, so could I.

Alcoholics Anonymous has saved hundreds of thousands of lives since its inception in 1935. They create an atmosphere of camaraderie and sharing, with respect for individual privacy. They believe in turning your will and life over to a higher power—not necessarily the Christian God, but your own personal concept of God.

With God’s help, and the help of AA, I was ready to give sobriety a try.

I made myself a salad when I got home and searched through the mess in my freezer for something to microwave for dinner. Two bottles of chilled vodka waited for me to take the first drink of the evening. I poured the liquid down the sink with no regrets and no congratulations.

One step at a time.

Even though I drank mostly vodka, tequila, and wine, I had a fully stocked liquor cabinet for friends. One by one I emptied the bottles in the sink.

I poured a chilled glass of seltzer with lime to accompany my nuked burrito and enjoyed the clear-headed after-effects of my meal. I grabbed a few cookies and tuned into 60 Minutes .

My phone rang midway through the show. I jumped to answer but decided to let it go to my answering machine. Diana’s stoned voice called for me to join her and the gang for another lost evening.

I deleted the message and went back to TV.

After 60 Minutes , I went for a walk. The air was clear and warm; the setting sun cast golden rays above the neighboring golf course. I knew better than to declare sobriety, but something had shifted in my soul. A nagging voice in the back of my mind told me I was only fooling myself, but a stronger voice told me I’d found my home.

Back in my apartment, I piled my dance costumes on the bed. Some had cost as much as $200. Each was a work of art, a hand-stitched masterpiece. I could sell them to other dancers or give them to my friends, but that would mean I’d have to enter a bar or risk being sucked into another all-night party. One by one, I dropped them into a garbage bag. Before I walked to the dumpster, I thought about emptying my kitchen garbage into the bag to ensure I wouldn’t do a dumpster dive and retrieve them in the morning. But an inner voice told me that wouldn’t be necessary.

A fleeting sense of nostalgia passed through my heart as I tossed the bag, but it was soon replaced with a sense of lightness and freedom.