Walking on Broken Glass - Christa Allan [86]
I guess God understood that because he left us the Bible instead of voice mail.
“You do understand Carl's expecting you to sleep in the same bed? He's also expecting you to have sex because he thinks, on some level, that you’ve been ‘cured.’ What's your plan?”
“I thought that's why I was here. That you’d give me a plan,” I said. My last session with Ron, and it was as emotionally exhausting as the first one.
Ron flipped pages in my file. “I’m not the one who's going home to Carl. You are. You can’t have it both ways. Recovery means gaining a sense of who you are. How you define yourself. Almost four weeks ago, you were asked, ‘Who are you?’ I want you to hear what you said: ‘My name's Leah. Let's see. Who am I? I’m Carl's wife, I’m a teacher, I’m a sister, I’m a daughter and a daughter-in-law. I guess now I have to add alcoholic to the list.’ Less than thirty days ago, you couldn’t define yourself independent of any of your roles. You were whoever, whatever everyone needed you to be.”
“I know. I know.” I combed my hair back with my fingers. Closed my eyes. Tried to recapture that Leah for an instant. Stirrings of her like the scent of a candle just extinguished.
“I can’t be independent and not be responsible for my own decisions. It was so much easier when I could be.”
“Sure, so easy you ended up here to find that out,” Ron smiled and closed my file. “So, back to the question. What are you going to do?”
“The opposite of what old Leah would have done?”
“You’re stalling. Pretend I’m Carl, and I’m leading you into our bedroom, telling you how much I’ve missed you, how lonesome I’ve been for you in my bed, how I want to make love to you—”
“Stop. Stop. No. I can’t. I won’t. Not yet.”
“That's good. Don’t compromise yourself. If you forget everything else, remember that. Don’t compromise yourself.”
36
Leaving the staff was as difficult as watching some of my favorite students graduate. They march in, tassels swinging on their mortarboards, gowns swishing, and faces like fiery diamonds. In the instant they passed me, it was as if a balloon holding all my memories of them popped, and my heart exploded with hope. A hope that I’d given them the tools they needed, but knowing only they can be the carpenters. I prayed they fashioned a life from their dreams and desires.
The morning I left Brookforest every hug was a prayer. Theresa, Doug, Benny, Vince, Annie, Trudie, and I were a motley collection of people. A tradition, before leaving, was to pass around your Big Book, the AA Bible, so everyone could write a message. I’d read them in my room while I waited for Carl.
From Benny and Vince who, of course, wrote a combined message: To our fav homegirl: We wish you could have been our teacher. But it's all good. Keep it real. And always remember, who's the champions. WE are the champions! (we hope we spelled it write!) Props … from ya boys.
From Doug: Leah, I know I wasn’t too nice to you at first. I believe you now. That you really are an alcoholic. No. Make that WERE an alcoholic. I probably won’t see you anywhere. But good luck. Big Dog Doug
From Theresa: Dear Roomie: Boo-yah! I’m glad I got to know ya ’cuz your not the stuck-up chick I thought you was. Don’t be like me. Don’t come back. Don’t sell you’re jewelry. If you see a fine woman at a meeting, probably me!!!!!! Remember, God made you a NEW CREATION. Amen to that, sister girl. I’m gonna miss you. I hope I get out of here B4 they get me a new roomie. Stay SOBER. Love. Theresa p.s. I know your an English teacher, I don’t write too good, so don’t grade this note!!
From Annie: Dear Leah: We didn’t talk much, but that's all me because I mostly hide in my books. I really enjoyed your sense of humor and that you tried to be nice to everyone. I wish we had a chance to know one another better. Keep saying the Serenity Prayer and collecting chips at meetings. God bless you in