I’m the lowly kid hanging out in the guppy class. Annoyance hits me as the first thing I notice is a circle of maybe a dozen chairs and not that many people in the room.
As I take a step back, Knox places a hand on my shoulder and pushes me forward. If I won’t willingly go out of my comfort zone, my sponsor will physically drag me—got it.
As always, everyone knows Knox. Sort of how I am at school. The difference between us though is that my act at school is a show. Between nods, handshakes, and hugs, Knox greets each person warmly, as if he knows them. If he doesn’t know them, he at least shows that he cares they exist.
I trail behind him, hands in my pockets like a lost puppy, and I’d give just about anything to be invisible. The place looks like a children’s Sunday school class, complete with a deluge of Fisher-Price play sets. I wonder, if like the toy I had as a kid, that barn door would moo if I opened it.
Knox eventually takes a seat, pats the one beside him and I begrudgingly take it. A mix of men and women claim the remaining seats and I count them out—there’s ten of them and the two of us. Except for Knox, everyone is staring at me, all wondering who I am and I don’t know that answer.
I cross my arms and pull my feet underneath my folding chair. A woman with shoulder-length gray hair—the type that makes her look wise versus ancient—starts the meeting. She’s in a black, tight turtleneck I would feel strangled in.
Like other meetings Knox and I have attended, we begin by reciting the twelve steps, but when they say something about alcohol, I silently add jumping off cliffs.
“Hi, everyone, I’m Denise,” the lady with the black turtleneck says.
“Hi, Denise,” we all reply in unison.
“My husband has been an alcoholic for ten years, and I’ve been attending these meetings and working on being an enabler for the past five years.”
My head snaps up so fast I’m surprised it doesn’t fall off. We’re at the wrong meeting. This is an Al-Anon meeting. Not an AA meeting. My heart pumps nervously, and I start to sweat. Like I’m expecting lightning to strike me in response to our mistake.
As my butt starts to lift from the chair, Knox reaches over and shoves me back down. A quick glare over at him and he gives me a nonchalant shake of his head. With how easygoing this guy is, I can never imagine him as an alcoholic, but he says he was and I can only wish to have a fraction of the peace this guy carries in his little finger.
“We have three visitors today,” Denise continues. “One is Dr. Martin.” She gestures toward the aging black man in a gray suit. “As most of you know, he is a family therapist who specializes in addiction. He joins us every so often to help us work through some issues. I believe most of us know Knox.”
“Hi, I’m Knox,” he says regardless of her introduction. “I’m an alcoholic, and I’ve been sober for five years.”
They welcome him, most of them clapping as if his sobriety is a celebration for them. He gives a little wave of appreciation and they smile in return.
Denise lays her happy gaze on me, and I shift uncomfortably. “Hi, I’m Sawyer.” Because that’s as far as I’ve gotten in any meeting we’ve gone to. The people in my main meeting, the one where I first met Knox, know my problems through private conversations I’ve had with them, and they have welcomed me with open arms, but I’ve yet to stand up and talk. No one forces me to. They’re all patient, but with each meeting that passes, I feel the pressure to stand up and say something.
Like now.
“And I’ve never been to an Al-Anon meeting before.”
Knox gives me a side-eye and I hate how everyone in the circle is staying silent, giving me space to talk … or not talk. If I stay quiet, they’ll let me, and move the meeting along, but considering these are people who have to deal with people like me who have an addiction, I feel like I need to give them something. “I have an addiction issue, and I’m trying to overcome it.”
“Welcome, Sawyer,” Denise says, and everyone else greets me warmly as well. “Knox called and asked if the two of you could come