Memories of Best Friends Past

I was at one of those meetings tonight where things just seem to fall into place.  There was hardly anyone there because of a memorial service for Jere, about whom I wrote a few weeks ago.  (I chose not to go; said goodbye already).  The two speakers failed to show as well, so the chair — a woman with about a year and a half — and another guy with about 4 years shared instead.  Naturally, since neither of them had a chance to think about it, their sharing was spontaneous and completely from the heart.  Really nice.

Both spoke of their early lives; of remembering how it felt to never know “the rules,” the isolation, the discovery of their new best friend, better living through chemistry.  I remembered along with them.

One of the interesting things that I recalled a few years ago came back to me.  When I was about 16, I came into possession of a half bottle of liquor — I think it may have been Johnnie Walker Red, based on what I recall of the appearance.  At the time, I didn’t drink at all.  I had probably had a total of maybe two beers in my life, and maybe a sip of altar wine as an altar boy (I’m not even sure of that).  I pretty-much figured I couldn’t get away with drinking it, and I sure didn’t want to bring it home with me, so I buried it out in an orange grove, where it stayed for several months.

I never drank it; ended up giving it to an older guy.  But I remember the good feeling it gave me to know it was there.  That I had a stash.  That I could drink it if I wanted to — the same warm feeling I got some years later whenever I’d contemplate a new, unopened bottle of booze, or whatever other collection of chemicals I might have managed to acquire.  That feeling of being secure with my best friend.

I don’t ever want to forget that feeling, because as long as I can bring it to mind, it’s one more reminder that I’m still an addict, and the stuff is still out there.

Waiting for me.

This entry was posted in alcoholism, recovery by Bill. Bookmark the permalink.

About Bill

Birder, cat-lover, pilot, poet. Former lounge lizard, pauper, pagan, lifeguard, chauffeur,cop and martial artist, turned pacifist addiction writer. Tries to be a good husband, father and brother, and makes a decent friend. Likes to take pictures. Stumbling down the Middle Path, one day at a time.

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