eyes expecting a response.
“What?” Sam asked.
“For the first time in my life I knew what pain and sadness truly felt like. I thought all my drinking life that pain and sadness were all I ever knew, but you know something?” Ruth’s laugh was harsh. “I was wrong. God, was I wrong! I didn’t start to feel those emotions until I stopped drinking. When I was an alcoholic I was numb. I drank because I wanted to be numb. I can look back on it now, all these years later, and realize as an alcoholic, I never felt a thing. It all came to me after I stopped drinking.”
Ruth went on. “Do you understand why the first woman Robin had originally asked to be her sponsor said no?”
Sam didn’t answer.
“She had years and years of sobriety and that’s why Robin asked her,” Ruth said. “But for some recovering alcoholics, Sam, they can’t do it for anyone except themselves. There are those who can sponsor others. But it’s never easy for any recovering alcoholic myself included. I’ve been sober for almost thirty years yet there are still days when I feel like it’s my first day out of treatment.”
Ruth paused a moment to let Sam digest her words. “Hell, I was going to AA for two years, before I stopped introducing myself as a visitor. Recovery is never easy. I used to tell Robin when you’re a pickle, you can never go back to being a cucumber.”
Their eyes met. Ruth’s green eyes were playful. “I told her often I’m a big kosher pickle!” Ruth said. She nodded her head slightly and scratched at a stain on her jeans. She kept her attention on her pants and, when she spoke, directed her comments toward them. “Yes, when I got sober, then I began to live. Before that I was dead.”
“Robin admired your courage,” Sam said.
“The realization,” Ruth began slowly and evenly, “is that when someone realizes they’re an alcoholic it comes to them in subtle, slow ways, Sam. It has to be that little, still voice inside their head that says, ‘wait a goddamn minute, there’s something wrong with this picture and I’m in it.’”
Ruth waited a moment before continuing. She wanted Sam to completely absorb her words.
“When a person begins to realize they have a problem with alcohol then they can begin to address it. Until then, all the conversations in the world won’t change a thing.”
The two women sat in silence for a long time, their backs resting comfortably against their chairs. It wasn’t until a car muffler backfired on the street below that they stirred. Sam became aware of the constant rush of traffic outside the window.
“You said you wanted to talk after the meeting,” Ruth said. “I’m sure this wasn’t what you had in mind.”
Sam shook her head. “Everybody’s been trying to brow beat me into believing that Robin’s death was a suicide.”
“What do you think happened?” Ruth asked.
“She was murdered,” Sam said quickly, with an air of authority in her voice.
Sam looked at Ruth, but her face was empty of emotion.
“I came because I thought maybe you could help,” Sam said.
“If I can, honey, you know I will. I’d do anything for that girl.”
“Did Robin say anything to you lately that would make you think she was in trouble? I know she was here at least a few times a week. The last day we were together, we waited until the afternoon to go Christmas shopping because she said she wanted to make a noon meeting.”
“What day was that?” Ruth asked.
“The twenty-third.”
“Robin wasn’t here that day,” Ruth said quickly.
“What?” Sam couldn’t help showing her surprise. “Robin said she was coming. She called from her cell phone after the meeting to say she was on her way.”
“Robin didn’t make the meeting, Sam. She may have called, but not from here.”
“Are you sure?” Sam asked and felt a surge of anxiety begin to build within her.
“Of course I am.” Ruth paused briefly. “In fact, I can’t recall the last time Robin’s
“What?” Sam asked.
“For the first time in my life I knew what pain and sadness truly felt like. I thought all my drinking life that pain and sadness were all I ever knew, but you know something?” Ruth’s laugh was harsh. “I was wrong. God, was I wrong! I didn’t start to feel those emotions until I stopped drinking. When I was an alcoholic I was numb. I drank because I wanted to be numb. I can look back on it now, all these years later, and realize as an alcoholic, I never felt a thing. It all came to me after I stopped drinking.”
Ruth went on. “Do you understand why the first woman Robin had originally asked to be her sponsor said no?”
Sam didn’t answer.
“She had years and years of sobriety and that’s why Robin asked her,” Ruth said. “But for some recovering alcoholics, Sam, they can’t do it for anyone except themselves. There are those who can sponsor others. But it’s never easy for any recovering alcoholic myself included. I’ve been sober for almost thirty years yet there are still days when I feel like it’s my first day out of treatment.”
Ruth paused a moment to let Sam digest her words. “Hell, I was going to AA for two years, before I stopped introducing myself as a visitor. Recovery is never easy. I used to tell Robin when you’re a pickle, you can never go back to being a cucumber.”
Their eyes met. Ruth’s green eyes were playful. “I told her often I’m a big kosher pickle!” Ruth said. She nodded her head slightly and scratched at a stain on her jeans. She kept her attention on her pants and, when she spoke, directed her comments toward them. “Yes, when I got sober, then I began to live. Before that I was dead.”
“Robin admired your courage,” Sam said.
“The realization,” Ruth began slowly and evenly, “is that when someone realizes they’re an alcoholic it comes to them in subtle, slow ways, Sam. It has to be that little, still voice inside their head that says, ‘wait a goddamn minute, there’s something wrong with this picture and I’m in it.’”
Ruth waited a moment before continuing. She wanted Sam to completely absorb her words.
“When a person begins to realize they have a problem with alcohol then they can begin to address it. Until then, all the conversations in the world won’t change a thing.”
The two women sat in silence for a long time, their backs resting comfortably against their chairs. It wasn’t until a car muffler backfired on the street below that they stirred. Sam became aware of the constant rush of traffic outside the window.
“You said you wanted to talk after the meeting,” Ruth said. “I’m sure this wasn’t what you had in mind.”
Sam shook her head. “Everybody’s been trying to brow beat me into believing that Robin’s death was a suicide.”
“What do you think happened?” Ruth asked.
“She was murdered,” Sam said quickly, with an air of authority in her voice.
Sam looked at Ruth, but her face was empty of emotion.
“I came because I thought maybe you could help,” Sam said.
“If I can, honey, you know I will. I’d do anything for that girl.”
“Did Robin say anything to you lately that would make you think she was in trouble? I know she was here at least a few times a week. The last day we were together, we waited until the afternoon to go Christmas shopping because she said she wanted to make a noon meeting.”
“What day was that?” Ruth asked.
“The twenty-third.”
“Robin wasn’t here that day,” Ruth said quickly.
“What?” Sam couldn’t help showing her surprise. “Robin said she was coming. She called from her cell phone after the meeting to say she was on her way.”
“Robin didn’t make the meeting, Sam. She may have called, but not from here.”
“Are you sure?” Sam asked and felt a surge of anxiety begin to build within her.
“Of course I am.” Ruth paused briefly. “In fact, I can’t recall the last time Robin’s
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