• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

He stares.

Do you have an answer?

I laugh.

No.

Hopefully at some point you will.

We’ll see.

He sighs and shakes his head, looks at the papers on his desk.

I want to start getting into the meat of your Program.

All right.

He pulls out what looks like a children’s coloring book and he hands it to me.

We’ll start with this.

I look at the book

What’s this?

It’s a First Step workbook.

I laugh.

It’s a fucking coloring book.

It’s simple, yes, but we think the simplest approach is the best.

You want me to do a coloring book?

Yes.

I laugh.

You got a box of Crayolas I can borrow?

There’s some on the Unit.

I hope nobody took the Razzle Dazzle Rose.

What’s that?

My favorite crayon color. They have it in the sixty-four box.

You through?

You tired of me?

I’m tired of your jokes.

You don’t think they’re funny?

No.

I’ll stop for a while.

Good.

When’s my deadline?

Two days.

Got it.

There’s also a Goal Board hanging on the Upper Level. I want you to put your name on it and put down a life goal that you have and hope to achieve through sobriety.

Okay.

You have any ideas?

New set of teeth every year.

Not funny.

Become President of the United Sates.

You’ll be lucky to vote with your record.

Make mine the prettiest First Step coloring book ever?

You through?

You tired of me?

Put down a goal. Don’t make a joke out of it.

I’ll do my best.

I also think a change of scenery might be good for you, so this afternoon, I’m going to switch your Room assignment.

To where?

To a two-man Room. Warren and John are leaving later today, and I think it would be better to fill that Room with newer Arrivals.

I’d like that.

I’ll make the switch and tell you the Room number later.

Cool.

You seem better, and you seem to be making headway, but you need to take what we’re doing in here a bit more seriously. We ask for progress, not perfection. Just do your best.

I’ll try.

Come find me when you finish the book. I’d like to go over it with you.

Okay.

I stand and I leave and I walk back to the Unit. I look for John and Warren and I don’t see them so I go to my Room and I walk in. John is standing by his window and Warren is packing. I sit down on my bed.

Hi.

Warren speaks.

Hi.

John stares out the window.

I hear you’re leaving today.

Warren speaks.

Yes I am.

You excited?

Yes, but I’m also nervous. I’ve been a Drinker all my life, and it’s gonna be tough not having a nice, strong scotch at the end of each day. Or maybe six nice scotches.

You’re better without it.

You’re certainly right about that.

I stand, walk over to him. He stops packing.

Good luck, Warren.

I offer my hand. He takes it.

Thanks, James.

We shake. Strong and firm. I speak.

I’ve really appreciated how cool you’ve been to me.

It’s been a pleasure, James, and I’d do it again.

We let go and I walk over to John’s area. John’s bags are packed and they’re sitting on his bed. He’s still standing by the window, staring out at gray nothing.

John.

He turns around. There are tears on his face.

Hi, James.

What’s wrong?

I’m scared.

Come here.

He steps over. I point to the bed.

Sit.

He sits down on his bed, looks like a fragile little Boy. I sit next to him.

Why are you scared, John?

Because I know I’m not better.

Why do you think that?

Because I know it in my heart.

Then why don’t you stay until you feel like you’re better?

Because I know it won’t do any good.

Why do you think that?

Because I’ll never be any better. I’ll never be any more normal and I’ll never make the pain go away. Never ever ever.

You can’t think like that, John.

You do.

I’m trying not to anymore.

How?

I don’t know how. I’m just trying.

He looks at me, looks down at the bed, and he bursts out crying.

I feel safe here. Nobody can do anything to me and I can’t do anything to myself.

He looks up at me. A fragile little Boy.

Once I leave here, I know I’m going to do something stupid and I know I’m going to end up back in Jail and I know what’s going to happen to me there and I don’t