“Let’s begin this evening with a moment of silence followed by the serenity prayer. “ Some close their eyes and other just sit staring into space, lost in their thoughts. “God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.” It smells musty in this room, like old tea bags, and dusty books. The metal, folding, chairs make noise everytime I shift my position. I try not to move too much, they might notice and try to talk to me. “If there are any newcomers here tonight to their first, second, or third meeting please stand up and introduce yourself by first name only. We are not doing this to embarrass you, only to get to know you better.” Bullshit. Why am I even here, I don’t have a problem. I can stop whenever I want, I just chose not too. About seven people stand, the first to speak is right behind me. He is young, nervous, and dressed in a blue jacket and Nikes. “Hi my name is Josh and I’m an alcoholic.” They answer in unison, “Welcome Josh” followed by a round of applause. “My name is Nayeli, and this is my first meeting.” a shy girl my age speaks up from across the room. I don’t recognize her. After everyone that is standing introduces themselves, the young man at the podium in the front of the room speaks again. He seems to know what he’s doing, like he’s been here for a while. I think I heard someone call him the secretary. “Okay, now is there anyone here in their first thirty days of sobriety?” I don’t stand. Four people rise, but I think there are more, too nervous to admit it. They look ashamed and weak. But when they introduce themselves, the applause sounds a little louder. I hear someone whisper, “keep coming back.” Why would you want to do that? This place is just a bunch of screw-ups who have nowhere else to complain about their troubles.
I don’t even know why I showed up here in the first place. I don’t want to be an alcoholic, I just want to be normal. Just because I don’t always remember the night before doesn’t mean I’m an alcoholic, I just know how to party. Everyone at school does it, and their parents don’t make them go to AA meetings. Drinking made everything easier for me. I didn’t have to listen to my mom yell at me, or let what other people said affect me. Each burning gulp I forced down my throat made all my worries and pain go away. If I wanted to stop I could, I just choose not to. I don’t fit in here, and I’m not one of these people. The secretary calls up a young man. He is seated in the front row, and I don’t recognize him until now. He stands up with his mug of tea and walks to the podium. There are only about thirty people in the room, but he looks nervous. “Hi my name is Eric, and I’m an alcoholic.” “Hey Eric!” They shout back. He starts at the beginning and for the next thirty minutes Eric talks about his entire life dealing with alcoholism. He talks about how he started at fifteen and thought everything was alright. He says he went to the occasional party and smoked weed throughout high school. He got okay grades and was even on the lacrosse team. Eric never felt his drinking and drugs were a problem. But when it came to go to college, he decided otherwise out of fear it would interfere with his drinking and partying. As time goes on he becomes less nervous. He cracks the occasional joke, but the laughter isn’t coming from his punch line, it’s coming from an entirely different place. They laugh because they share the distinct commonality in his story to their own. When he shares about remembering how fun it was to get loaded before practice, I see a young boy, no older than sixteen a few seats down smile and nod. The people here don’t laugh because they think its funny, they laugh because they share the same memories and know what it’s like to struggle. They know what it’s like to feel confused, hopeless, and embarrassed because they too have all stood when newcomers were called, and they too had to raise their hand and introduce themselves when they had relapsed just a few days before. Eric finishes, and the secretary announces a smoke break. Everyone files out of the room into the courtyard and soon the air is filled with the thick smell of cigarettes.
I can’t even remember the first time I came to an AA meeting. It must have been before I could even speak. My dad tells me I used to lay in my stroller in the back of the old building while he rocked me to sleep. I grew up in the rooms. I knew the serenity prayer before I was five, and there was always a big book on the coffee table.
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