I read my short story called Sharing Words tonight at the open mic. The story is about my writers' group and opens with one of the members throwing up behind a tree during our first-ever outdoor meeting. The other two rip him apart when he gets back to the campfire, asking why he needs to drink so much, especially with people he knows so well. He claims he's happiest when he's drunk, but they know him better than that. Doesn't matter, he isn't going to change. He will continue to drink and get drunk and there's nothing they can do about it.
The story went over very well. I knew a couple of the regulars at the open mic are non-drinking alcoholics. I overheard them talking one night, so I assumed I would get a couple laughs. I did. In fact, I received several compliments after the show. I felt pretty good as I left the stage and one of my least favorite performers was on after me, so I went to the bathroom. I mulled around afterward, not wanting to sit down and distract everyone, then I remembered Tom said some of Murray's drawings were in the back room for sale. I went in and looked at them. They were small and mounted high on the wall, but good, worth craning my neck. I followed them down the long wall and turned and followed them back the opposite wall. I was almost to the corner when I noticed a giant cabinet -- indicating the drawings must have held my attention. There were books in racks on top of the cabinet.
I began to chuckle to myself. The books had titles like: Come to Believe, Pass It On, and Living Sober. I had been there dozens of times, even poked my head into the back room once or twice, and I had no idea it was an AA meeting place. What a night to find out. It was like I was performing an intervention on myself. And like so many interventions, nothing happened. I was at a bar half an hour later.
No comments:
Post a Comment