laugh was small. “I don’t normally tell my story anymore, ’cause I’ve told it so damned often already, but that day when I saw that little girl, she was a little girl, you might as well say, what was she? All of twenty?”
She nodded. “Twenty-two.”
Ruth went on. “I knew somehow that if I could reach her, I could help her. So I told my story and Robin seemed to hang onto every word.”
“This wasn’t the first place Robin tried when she started attending AA meetings.”
“I know,” Ruth said.
“Her first experience was devastating,” Sam said.
“Yes, I know,” Ruth returned. She hesitated a moment and then said, “What about you?”
Sam felt a prickle of anger start to build at the base of her spine. Her eyes narrowed a bit. She drew a long, patient breath. “Robin never understood. She never had to go through the things I had to when she was growing up. I made sure of it.”
“She cared about what happened to you,” Ruth said and her eyes softened.
“I know she did, but I don’t have the problems with alcohol that Robin did.”
“Alcoholics are always in denial, Sam. Some drunks just recognize it earlier than others. Your sister did. When you minister to someone, what do you tell them?” Ruth asked.
Sam shrugged her shoulders impatiently, feeling her anger climbing. But she said nothing.
“You can’t tell another alcoholic about their drinking problem, they don’t want to hear or talk about it. It’s easy to see someone else’s problems. But not your own.”
“I’m not an alcoholic,” Sam snapped, avoiding Ruth’s stare. She kept her gaze fixed on the twelve steps.
“No, Sam you’re right, you’re not an alcoholic, you’re a functional alcoholic,” Ruth said in a collected, calm tone. “And a damn good one. You’re lucky in a sense, I suppose. It’s your only way of getting through each day of your life. But one day it’s gonna catch up with you and you won’t be able to outrun it.”
Sam snorted. “What made you such an expert about me?”
“Your sister,” Ruth said quickly, evenly. “We’ve spent hours talking about you. Robin cared for you very, very much, Samantha. I knew what she wanted from you for her birthday. I knew I could count on seeing you here at least once a year.”
Ruth offered a final comment. Her rough voice was soft when she spoke. “I was in your shoes for years, Sam. Me have a problem with alcohol?” Ruth said and touched the tips of her fingers to her chest. “Not a chance in hell. Then one morning I woke up and felt terrible. I knew there wasn’t anything wrong with me, but it felt like I was going to die.” Ruth was quiet as she considered what to say next. “There wasn’t a single event that made me realize it was time to stop drinking. I don’t know why. Maybe I was just sick and tired of being sick and tired of being drunk all the time,” she said.
Ruth looked at Sam and, for a moment, she had captured her attention and continued.
“I knew the alcohol was killing me. If you don’t think I was an alcoholic, let me tell you. I’d get up in the morning and have the shakes so bad I could hardly get out of bed let alone stand up. The first thing I’d do is pour a glass of whatever I had in the house, and drink it through a straw. Then it hit me just like that,” Ruth said and clapped her hands together hard.
Familiar stirrings began to rumble in Sam’s chest. She knew the rapid effect drinking through a straw had on her, too. She formed a mental image of herself rummaging through her kitchen drawers searching for a straw. The image forced a deep sigh and she could feel her face turning red.
“I’d be at the bar by ten in the morning, get a double and drink that through a straw until for sure I couldn’t stand,” Ruth went on. “But I knew something had to change. I couldn’t go on that way much longer. So I got sober. Took me awhile, but I finally got sober. And you know something?”
Ruth looked at Sam, her
She nodded. “Twenty-two.”
Ruth went on. “I knew somehow that if I could reach her, I could help her. So I told my story and Robin seemed to hang onto every word.”
“This wasn’t the first place Robin tried when she started attending AA meetings.”
“I know,” Ruth said.
“Her first experience was devastating,” Sam said.
“Yes, I know,” Ruth returned. She hesitated a moment and then said, “What about you?”
Sam felt a prickle of anger start to build at the base of her spine. Her eyes narrowed a bit. She drew a long, patient breath. “Robin never understood. She never had to go through the things I had to when she was growing up. I made sure of it.”
“She cared about what happened to you,” Ruth said and her eyes softened.
“I know she did, but I don’t have the problems with alcohol that Robin did.”
“Alcoholics are always in denial, Sam. Some drunks just recognize it earlier than others. Your sister did. When you minister to someone, what do you tell them?” Ruth asked.
Sam shrugged her shoulders impatiently, feeling her anger climbing. But she said nothing.
“You can’t tell another alcoholic about their drinking problem, they don’t want to hear or talk about it. It’s easy to see someone else’s problems. But not your own.”
“I’m not an alcoholic,” Sam snapped, avoiding Ruth’s stare. She kept her gaze fixed on the twelve steps.
“No, Sam you’re right, you’re not an alcoholic, you’re a functional alcoholic,” Ruth said in a collected, calm tone. “And a damn good one. You’re lucky in a sense, I suppose. It’s your only way of getting through each day of your life. But one day it’s gonna catch up with you and you won’t be able to outrun it.”
Sam snorted. “What made you such an expert about me?”
“Your sister,” Ruth said quickly, evenly. “We’ve spent hours talking about you. Robin cared for you very, very much, Samantha. I knew what she wanted from you for her birthday. I knew I could count on seeing you here at least once a year.”
Ruth offered a final comment. Her rough voice was soft when she spoke. “I was in your shoes for years, Sam. Me have a problem with alcohol?” Ruth said and touched the tips of her fingers to her chest. “Not a chance in hell. Then one morning I woke up and felt terrible. I knew there wasn’t anything wrong with me, but it felt like I was going to die.” Ruth was quiet as she considered what to say next. “There wasn’t a single event that made me realize it was time to stop drinking. I don’t know why. Maybe I was just sick and tired of being sick and tired of being drunk all the time,” she said.
Ruth looked at Sam and, for a moment, she had captured her attention and continued.
“I knew the alcohol was killing me. If you don’t think I was an alcoholic, let me tell you. I’d get up in the morning and have the shakes so bad I could hardly get out of bed let alone stand up. The first thing I’d do is pour a glass of whatever I had in the house, and drink it through a straw. Then it hit me just like that,” Ruth said and clapped her hands together hard.
Familiar stirrings began to rumble in Sam’s chest. She knew the rapid effect drinking through a straw had on her, too. She formed a mental image of herself rummaging through her kitchen drawers searching for a straw. The image forced a deep sigh and she could feel her face turning red.
“I’d be at the bar by ten in the morning, get a double and drink that through a straw until for sure I couldn’t stand,” Ruth went on. “But I knew something had to change. I couldn’t go on that way much longer. So I got sober. Took me awhile, but I finally got sober. And you know something?”
Ruth looked at Sam, her
Similar Books
