Author: David Ferland

JJ in the 21st Century: They Descend to a Meeting

/ David Ferland / 4 Comments

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They entered the side door of St. Timothy’s, where stairs went up to the nave and down to the basement.  They descended.

“Am I supposed to stay,” Lila asked.

“You’re not leaving, either way,” JJ said.

People were milling, talking, hugging, clapping each other on the shoulder, remembering names, welcoming newcomers.  It all made JJ queasy.  The hale, hearty and healthy men.  The determined, cheerful, and dignified women.  It was horrible.  There were some sullen folk on the periphery and that’s where JJ intended to set up shop.  A huge jolly guy stepped up to them, blocking the way to the back.  “Welcome to the Plug in the Jug Group,” he said.  “I’m Big Red.”

“Jason,” JJ murmured and allowed his hand to be devoured by Big Red’s big calloused paw.  “This is Lila.”

“Terrific,” Big Red said.  “There’s some seats right down front.”

“I think we’ll stay back here.”

Big Red nodded.  “Keep that escape route open, then.  OK.  But, if I was you.  I’d sit down front to hear better.”  Then he winked at Lila and moved on to the next pigeon.

“We’re going down front,” Lila said.

“Lila, people will see us!”

“Let me get this straight, you’ll stagger to the bank, through the lobby with a shopping bag for your cash.  Then scurry out, making a scene.  But you’re afraid to be seen by some strangers trying to get sober?”

“Pretty much.”  The fact was, he had been down this path before.  Sitting near the exit didn’t only provide a physical escape route.  It also reduced the number of people who actually observed his intention to get better.  It left an opening, a gap in his commitment, just in case the program actually started to take hold.  He was afraid it might really work.

“Let’s go,” she said and took his hand.  It was all a blur to JJ as a white noise pressure rose in his head.  They sat in the front row, knees practically against the podium.  The meeting started and the chairperson said, “This is an open meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous.  All are welcome.  Is there anybody new or visiting who would like to identify themselves by first name only?”

JJ felt the old crossroads feeling.  He had been here and many other places before and had not allowed himself to make the hard turn home.  “No fuckin way,” he thought.  “No fuckin…”

“JJ, put your hand up,” Lila whispered.

“No fuckin way,” JJ said.

It was quiet as the chairperson surveyed the room for a moment.  “OK.  Then let’s…”

“My name’s Big Red and I’m an alcoholic.”

The chorus: “Hi Big Red.”  And there were some murmurs.

“Now don’t everyone get their panties all twisted up.  I didn’t drink or nothing.  And I usually don’t do this.  But, I just wanted to welcome the two newcomers down in the front row.”

JJ fought back nausea and panic.  They were now all aware of his presence amongst them.  The chairperson leaned forward over the podium.  “You don’t have to say anything,” she whispered.  “Red can be difficult sometimes.”

But Lila, his one-woman support network, his opinionated and star-crossed lover said in a clear, unembarrassed voice, “My name’s Lila and I’m visiting the group.”

The chorus:  “Hi Lila!”

And, just like that, there was no way out.  “I’m Jason and I’m an alcoholic,” he said.

They thundered, “Hi Jason!”  And then they clapped because he was so obviously hollow and raw and, freely or not, he had crossed some hurdle they all recognized as imperative to getting this thing.  They clapped, then stopped, and the meeting went on.

JJ in the 21st Century: Lila, Determined

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Lila knocked on the door but no one came.  She banged, listened, and could barely hear a mechanical hum or whine coming from inside so she just opened the door and went into the farmhouse kitchen.  A panic or dread, a sudden fear, rose up from her gut and she remembered a recent dream about something like this.  In the dream, she passed through a door and someone was dead on the floor of a kitchen.

She found him in the upstairs bathroom drying money with a hair dryer.  There were 100s spread out on the bath mat and JJ was drying them, sweeping the hair dryer back and forth.  There was a soggy heap of 100s still in the tub.  JJ was crouching in a pair of gym shorts and his pale back was to the door so Lila could just watch and take it all in.

“What are you doing?”

JJ turned off the hairdryer and looked at her.  “Drying money,” he said.  “I started to take a shower but forgot about the money bath.”

“Money bath?”

“Yeah, that’s why I went to the bank.  I didn’t have enough to fill the tub.”

“Are you drinking?”

“I was,” he said.  “I’m not now.”

“When?”

“Earlier, but not now.  Listen, I’m ready to stop.  I have to stop.”

“What are you going to do about it?”

“You’re going to drive me to AA.”

“Where’s your car?”

“There was an incident.  Listen, thanks for coming but you gotta bring me tonight, before I change my mind.”

There was something almost childlike in his earnest delivery.  Like, “The tooth fairy won’t come if you don’t put it under the pillow.”  He seemed detached from what he was saying, but serious, like he didn’t want to talk about the gaunt and crazy shell of a man in the same room.  He just needed to go.  And she was his ride.

“I can do this,” she thought and hope rose in her.  “Keep your expectations low,” she thought, recalling her Al-anon friend, Maria.  “Like Death Valley low.”

“OK,” she said.  “How long ‘til the meeting?”

“Two hours,” he said.  “Help me dry this money.”

She took a deep breath.  “Leave the money, JJ.  Get dressed and we’re going.  We’ll get something to eat and then we’re going to the meeting.  I’m going downstairs now.  Clean up and then we’re going.”

JJ stared and took his own deep breath as she clomped down the stairs, on a mission.  “This won’t be easy,” he said and scooped up the soggy 100s in the tub, put them in the sink, and started the shower again.

Left Behind, For the Best

/ David Ferland / 4 Comments

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Do you know the feeling of some artist being intimately yours?  And then they are everywhere and they are everybody’s and it’s not so special anymore?  Did you ever love a writer or musician, obscure and fresh, who then becomes popular and remote?  I’m thinking of the band, Wilco, right now.  I was onboard from the breakup of Uncle Tupelo in 1996 and I’ve watched and listened to Wilco grow in popularity with pride and dread.  Were the hipsters always there?  Was I blinded by love?  Now our relationship is strained and we are apart.  They have moved on into the world of aficionados and curators.  I occasionally hear Wilco songs at CVS on the pleasant-retail-experience channel, (“Spending Trance”, channel # 266).  The gulf between us is permanent and un-crossable.  I still go to shows but there are no smoke-filled rooms and no pushing to the front anymore.  There are theaters and seats and artsy people at well-organized festivals.  Not my thing.  So I watch and listen from a distance, still in love, but realistic about the future.  Of course I wish them the best, all the success and prosperity I would wish for any old lover.  Meaning I won’t lose any sleep if they fell back to the herd a little.

Here’s a cheesy 90’s video.

Hey! Share a band or writer who has sadly moved on beyond your grasp.  Do it, whydontcha.

JJ in the 21st Century: Lila Eats the Whole Pint

/ David Ferland / 3 Comments

Why was she always trying to fix him?  It was a compulsion, like knowing there was a pint of ice cream in the fridge.  Not healthy, but it’s there, so it must be eaten.  It ALL must be eaten.  The itch must be scratched.  The drunk must be saved.  Or not, apparently.

Lila walked her first friend from Al-Anon to the door.  Maria was strong, grounded, but moved like a soldier with an old wound, careful that it shouldn’t reopen, crouching against a wind that might whip up at any time.  Lila watched Maria get in the car with awe and pity.  Maria had borne a lot, actual beatings at the hands of some drunken ingrate.  Yet she loved this shithead and was herself addicted to trying to make him happy.  “Codependent” was the word she used.  Lila had heard the term, of course, but never quite got it.  But, now she did.  Basically, she had a stake in JJ’s drinking, too.  She cast herself in the savior role.  And, God help him if he managed to get well without her help.

Lila had shared at an Al-anon meeting called “Change”.  As in, “The Change Group of Al-Anon.  You are welcome to stay and change”.  She shared, “And he just sabotages everything.  He starts something beautiful and just fucks it all up.”

“Language, please,” the Chairwoman said.

“Sorry.  But, he just messes everything up and doesn’t give a sh…doesn’t give a crap about what I put into it.  He wins all this money and starts this farm project and I…”

“Is it the guy who won the lottery,” someone asked from the back.

“Please,” said the Chairwoman. “No cross-talk.”

Lila continued, “And then we’re almost together again.  Happy.  It was love again.  He came to mom’s funeral, mostly sober.  He was trying, in his way.  Then he just retreats to that stupid farm.”

“JJ,” someone whispers clearly.  “Lottery,” someone whispers.  Then, “I can fix him.  Give me a chance.”  Tentative giggling all around.

“Please,” the Chairwoman said.

Before Lila could dart away after the meeting, Maria put an arm around her shoulders and drew her back in.  “Not so fast,” she said.  “We don’t bite.”

The next day, Maria came over and told her story to Lila.  It was harrowing and violent, the guy now in jail for eighteen months.  “But, when I think of him, I start planning how I’ll clean the house and what I’ll cook when he gets home.”

After Maria left, Lila’s phone rang.  Caller Id: JJ.  “Detach with love,” she said to herself.  Loving detachment was the Al-anon way, the boiled down method to deal with a drunk who will take everything and leave your soul baffled, bankrupt, and battered.  “Detach with love,” she repeated out loud, but answered anyway.

“Only you can save me from me,” he said.  “I walked to the bank and back.  My feet are so cold.”

“Where are you?”

“The farm.”

“I’ll be there in 15 minutes.”

I Will Not Be Caged

/ David Ferland / 1 Comment

The bank guy said, “Sir, we may not have all those bills, and even if we do, you’ll have to fill out a form for the federal…”

“That doesn’t concern me, Mr. Bummel.”

“It’s Hummels, sir.  And I would advise…”

“I’m not looking for advice Mr. Bummel.  I’m looking for my cash.”  JJ corrected his posture, pushing himself up from slouch for emphasis.  He felt this leather bank chair was pulling him under, sucking him in.  “My cash,” he said.

“Sir, I’ll need to talk to the manager.  But, I need to ask.  It’s uncomfortable but, are you intoxicated, sir?”  Hummels looked at him, steady and professional, which JJ kind of respected through the fog of his binge.

“Mr. Hummels, sir, that’s neither here or there.  I just need my cash.”  Hummels considered, looking at the specimen across his desk.  A clock was ticking in the office, a small glassed-in space right off the main lobby.  JJ thought of a reptile cage in a zoo, though no one was looking in.  The reptiles usually just sit there anyway, dignified and bored, until feeding time.  “Komodo dragon,” he thought and snickered a little.

“How much did you say, sir?”

“Well that’s where I need your help a little.  How much cash will fill a bath tub?”  A pause.  “It can be a mixture of demona…demomma…denominations.”

“You’re putting this cash in a bath tub?”

He drew himself up again, fighting the slouch, dignified.  “I intend to bathe in my money, yes.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but may I ask why?”

“You may ask,” JJ said and paused.  “I want to feel it all around me.  Beyond that, we’ll see.”

“Are you going to put water in the tub?”

“You must think I’m an idiot!  I don’t want to ruin my money!”

“Sir, keep your voice down, please.  I’ll see what we can do.”

JJ watched Hummels walk to the bank guard near the entrance.  They shared a word and a glanced back at the glass office, then Hummels headed to the larger office in the corner.  Something told him it was time to leave.  The air was going out of the balloon, the idea bulb above his head dimming.  This bank, this sucking leather chair, was killing momentum.  He stood and listed toward the lobby, but the exit seemed far away.  Komodo dragon, trapped in the reptile house, its enclosure door suddenly left open by a careless zookeeper.  You read about escaped zoo animals sometimes, on the internet.  It was now or never.

The bank guard watched him walk out, took a step, but then let him pass through the lobby.  “Tell Bummels to forget it,” JJ said as he passed the guard.  “I will not be caged.”

“Yes, sir,” the guard said.  JJ went out into the cold and headed across the parking lot.  He was on foot, which was a good thing, considering.  Glancing back, he saw the guard watching him from inside the door.  The stifling bank behind, JJ headed toward home without his cash, transformed from caged reptile to some poor antlered beast, still captive in the zoo, but with room to roam within its habitat.  Liquor store first, then back home.