Page 4 of In Every Lifetime
Fai
Six Months Later
"Would you stop twitching?" Goldie muttered as she sat beside me, her long black hair pulled into a ponytail, her equally dark eyes glancing over at me. "You're driving me crazy."
I rolled my eyes but did my best to oblige, though I knew the shaking of my leg would restart shortly. I couldn't stop it when I was nervous; it helped quiet my racing mind. People assumed that because I was quieter around strangers, I was calm in mind and soul. In truth, I was a cascade of emotions and thoughts, a hurricane crashing through my own head at all times.
Goldie sighed, but instead of complaining, she took my hand in hers and held it steadily. She had been my rock over the lastsix months, ever since I had shown up on her doorstep asking for help.
After the divorce, when I came to that crossroads, I had taken the route no one expected. I don't think anyone saw it coming, especially not Goldie. Her eyes went wide and her jaw dropped when she opened the door and found me standing there, drunk as a skunk and soaked through from the rain. She didn't voice her shock, though. Instead, she pulled me inside, gave me a hug, and promptly searched for a local AA meeting, a new sponsor, and a therapist.
In the depths of my addiction, I had driven away everyone important in my life except Goldie. To this day, I didn't know why she had stuck around. I hadn't deserved it. Maybe it was because, out of all the pain I had caused, she had suffered the least. She bore the fewest scars from my addiction.
Before I had shown up on her doorstep, she had never let me past the wall of steel she kept around her soul. It had been that way since we met, when she was only fifteen, though I hadn't known that at the time. It wasn't just me she kept at a distance, but everyone we worked with. Now she was my closest friend and one of the only reasons I was still around, still alive. Somehow, hitting rock bottom had been the one thing strong enough to slip past her walls.
"Fai?" My name was called to the front of the room. I jumped in my seat, though I had been expecting it.
My heart pounded as I stood slowly, the metal chair squeaking against the hardwood floor beneath me, echoing in the quiet room. I made my way up the aisle as expectant faces turned toward me. The church basement was fuller of hope than I had thought possible for an AA meeting.
It was the same meeting I had been attending nearly every day since Goldie drove me to that first session. Today, some faceswere familiar, some were new, and some were ones I hadn't seen in a while. We were all fighting a very lonely battle together.
Daniel, the meeting chair, smiled as I approached the podium and gestured for me to take his place. He was a kind man who reminded me of Sarah's father in both looks and demeanor—empathetic and warm, but willing to call you on your shit when you deserved it. It was why I had eventually asked him to be my sponsor. He wasn't scared to hold me accountable when I needed it, but he also wanted to celebrate the wins, no matter how small they seemed.
"Thanks, man," I mumbled as I stepped up to the podium. I braced my hands on either side, using it to steady my trembling. "Umm," I said into the microphone, then made eye contact with Goldie, who motioned at my hood with wide eyes. I pulled it off, as instructed, and cleared my throat.
"My name is Fai, and I'm an alcoholic," I began. "I've been an alcoholic for as long as I can remember, though I didn't realize it until my wife…ex-wife… pointed it out. I've spent most of my adult life fighting this addiction, battling to be sober, to be what I thought was normal." I smiled, a humorless smile, one wrought from a lifetime of believing there was a normal to achieve. "Anyway, I'm getting off topic. Daniel here," I motioned to him with my chin, "asked me to speak today because, well, I'm six months sober." The room applauded softly, everyone understanding the weight of what I had accomplished, but also understanding how much farther I still had to go. "Now, I've been six months sober before. Multiple times. But this one is different. This is the first time I've reached six months after hitting rock bottom, after losing everything."
I took a deep, steadying breath and tried to organize my thoughts. The silence was broken only by rain against the old windows and the hum of the heater running in the background. The early spring air was still too cool for most.
"I don't really know why Daniel asked me to speak. Most of you know I'm not much of a talker," I said, earning a few soft laughs. "I guess I just want to say, I'm proud of myself, but I'm also angry that I let myself end up back here, fighting for months of sobriety instead of years. Hell, most of the time, if I'm being honest, I feel like I'm fighting for days. But thank you all for being here, whether this is the first time you've heard from me or the hundredth. Here's to many more sober days."
Soft applause sounded through the room as I turned to leave, but Daniel stopped me.
"Congratulations, Fai. I'm proud of you." His voice was warm, his smile genuine.
I shrugged and stuffed my hands in my pockets, which made Daniel laugh before he wrapped both arms around me. It was an awkward hug—I was half a foot taller than him at six-two—but I appreciated the gesture.
"Thanks, man," I mumbled as he let go and held out his hand.
I thought he was going for a strange fist bump until he opened his palm, revealing a blue coin. I picked it up, running my thumb over the engraved ridges. It felt like my hundredth six-months-sober chip, but I was determined to make it my last.
I nodded my thanks and turned to retake my seat as the meeting continued. I paused when I thought I caught a flash of blonde hair through the small window in the door, but I refocused on Goldie, who was smiling wide, her eyes wet with unshed tears.
I sat down beside her as she nudged my arm with her shoulder. "How does it feel?"
I huffed a laugh and pulled my hood back on. “Like deja vu.”
The rest of the meeting flew by, the nerves of having to speak now gone. I didn't mind standing up in front of everyone, but it brought up feelings from my old meetings, the ones I used torun. I couldn't go back, not now, not ever. Those meetings were filled with the regrets of my past and ghosts I didn't want to face.
These meetings were easier. There was safety in anonymity. The people here only knew this version of me, not the version I'd had to leave behind in order to recover. There were some things you couldn't get back, including who you used to be.
Before I knew it, the meeting was over. We said goodbye to the other attendees, and Goldie and I made our way home, where she promptly insisted I host a party to celebrate my sobriety.
"Come on, Fai, this is huge. We have to do something. We can't just hide in the apartment like we do every day," she said again, standing over the stove, cooking who knows what.
I adored her, but God, was she a horrendous cook. She had tried to make me countless dishes in the six months since she had all but kidnapped me. Yes, I had come willingly, but she had refused to let me leave on multiple occasions during that first month. If I had to be taken hostage, her home was a rather comforting place to land. It was a renovated firehouse from the 1800s, functioning as one very large studio apartment.
The two of us had very little privacy, but it had been crucial during my early days of sobriety, when I had tried desperately to sneak a drink in.
