It wouldn’t kill me to spend an
hour commiserating with the drunks. It would at least be something to do.
The
meeting was in a side room at a small Lutheran church downtown, a few blocks
from SDPD headquarters. Only cops knew about it, and hence only cops attended.
A.A. was open to anyone, but there were certain private groups for people who
couldn’t afford to have their identities made public in case someone got too chatty.
Airline pilots were one example. Cops were another. If you got pulled over for
drunk driving and recognized the officer who was arresting you from your
meeting, you could bet that was going to come up in court.
I
reached the church a few minutes late. The chairs had already been put in a
circle and Miranda Callies, a cop I knew from the gang unit, was asking the
group if anyone had anything pressing they wanted to discuss. She looked
surprised to see me, and my appearance raised a few eyebrows. I wasn’t sure if
that was because I hadn’t been here in a while, or whether the marks on my face
were raising questions. It could easily have been both.
I poured
coffee into a Styrofoam cup and sat down. Most of the cops here I knew. Jason
London from Narcotics pointed at his face and mouthed a question as he looked
at mine. Yeah, the stitches were going to be a thing. I should have known.
Paul
Wilkins wasn’t in the room, which surprised me. He was a retired cop who had
been the training officer for Sarah Winters and enough other cops that everyone
knew him. A.A. didn’t have leaders in any traditional sense, but he generally
ran things. I couldn’t remember him ever missing a meeting.
“Well,”
Miranda said after I’d taken a seat. “Maybe we should start by asking if anyone
has any anniversaries for special days they’re celebrating today.” She looked
at me pointedly.
At first
I wasn’t sure what she meant. Then it occurred to me. She had a calendar,
didn’t she? “I’m Nevada,” I said. “I’m an alcoholic.”
“Hi,
Nevada,” everyone said. It was the standard A.A. call-and-response. I’d heard
it a hundred times before. There was something almost comforting about the
routine.
“I guess
I really haven’t been here in a while,” I said. “I...I guess I got a year a
while back. I just haven’t been in to tell you guys about it yet.”
Everyone
clapped. “Did you get a coin?” Miranda asked.
“No,” I
said. She went over to a cabinet and took out a plastic box that looked like it
had been meant to carry fishing lures. It held the various coins people
received for varying lengths of sobriety. There was one for 24 hours, then
coins for one through eleven months, and then they went up by year. I’d seen
them for as many as 22 years and I was sure they made them for longer amounts
of time, but I couldn’t imagine those got handed out very often.
Miranda fished
a coin out and put the box back in the cabinet. She walked over to me. “Well,
stand up,” she said.
I stood.
Miranda hugged me. I wasn’t a hugger. I patted her on the back twice and waited
for her to let me go. Once she did she handed me the coin. “I wasn’t sure you’d
make it,” she said quietly.
“Yeah,”
I said. “Me neither.” I looked at the coin. A year. I had a little more time
than that, but this was close enough. I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do
with it. Put it in a picture frame? Keep it in my pocket? Probably I’d do
neither of those things.
Miranda
headed back for her chair. “Speech!” Jason London called.
“Nah,” I
said. I sat down. “Not today. I’m just going to listen.”
“At
least tell us what happened to your face,” Jason said.
“Later.”
The
meeting proceeded the way they usually did. Some people spoke when it was their
turn. Some people passed. A.A. was kind of like group therapy, I supposed. I’d
never actually been to group therapy, but I couldn’t imagine it went any
differently than this.
We
closed with the Serenity Prayer and then most of
hour commiserating with the drunks. It would at least be something to do.
The
meeting was in a side room at a small Lutheran church downtown, a few blocks
from SDPD headquarters. Only cops knew about it, and hence only cops attended.
A.A. was open to anyone, but there were certain private groups for people who
couldn’t afford to have their identities made public in case someone got too chatty.
Airline pilots were one example. Cops were another. If you got pulled over for
drunk driving and recognized the officer who was arresting you from your
meeting, you could bet that was going to come up in court.
I
reached the church a few minutes late. The chairs had already been put in a
circle and Miranda Callies, a cop I knew from the gang unit, was asking the
group if anyone had anything pressing they wanted to discuss. She looked
surprised to see me, and my appearance raised a few eyebrows. I wasn’t sure if
that was because I hadn’t been here in a while, or whether the marks on my face
were raising questions. It could easily have been both.
I poured
coffee into a Styrofoam cup and sat down. Most of the cops here I knew. Jason
London from Narcotics pointed at his face and mouthed a question as he looked
at mine. Yeah, the stitches were going to be a thing. I should have known.
Paul
Wilkins wasn’t in the room, which surprised me. He was a retired cop who had
been the training officer for Sarah Winters and enough other cops that everyone
knew him. A.A. didn’t have leaders in any traditional sense, but he generally
ran things. I couldn’t remember him ever missing a meeting.
“Well,”
Miranda said after I’d taken a seat. “Maybe we should start by asking if anyone
has any anniversaries for special days they’re celebrating today.” She looked
at me pointedly.
At first
I wasn’t sure what she meant. Then it occurred to me. She had a calendar,
didn’t she? “I’m Nevada,” I said. “I’m an alcoholic.”
“Hi,
Nevada,” everyone said. It was the standard A.A. call-and-response. I’d heard
it a hundred times before. There was something almost comforting about the
routine.
“I guess
I really haven’t been here in a while,” I said. “I...I guess I got a year a
while back. I just haven’t been in to tell you guys about it yet.”
Everyone
clapped. “Did you get a coin?” Miranda asked.
“No,” I
said. She went over to a cabinet and took out a plastic box that looked like it
had been meant to carry fishing lures. It held the various coins people
received for varying lengths of sobriety. There was one for 24 hours, then
coins for one through eleven months, and then they went up by year. I’d seen
them for as many as 22 years and I was sure they made them for longer amounts
of time, but I couldn’t imagine those got handed out very often.
Miranda fished
a coin out and put the box back in the cabinet. She walked over to me. “Well,
stand up,” she said.
I stood.
Miranda hugged me. I wasn’t a hugger. I patted her on the back twice and waited
for her to let me go. Once she did she handed me the coin. “I wasn’t sure you’d
make it,” she said quietly.
“Yeah,”
I said. “Me neither.” I looked at the coin. A year. I had a little more time
than that, but this was close enough. I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do
with it. Put it in a picture frame? Keep it in my pocket? Probably I’d do
neither of those things.
Miranda
headed back for her chair. “Speech!” Jason London called.
“Nah,” I
said. I sat down. “Not today. I’m just going to listen.”
“At
least tell us what happened to your face,” Jason said.
“Later.”
The
meeting proceeded the way they usually did. Some people spoke when it was their
turn. Some people passed. A.A. was kind of like group therapy, I supposed. I’d
never actually been to group therapy, but I couldn’t imagine it went any
differently than this.
We
closed with the Serenity Prayer and then most of
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