Chapter 4

The next meeting I go to is across from the Franklin Park Mall.

It’s not called the Franklin Park Mall.  While I was away from home, a large corporation came into town and bought it out and changed the name.

Westfield Shopping Center.

It’s a chain of malls.

I know this because there is one in Sarasota, Florida.

I think maybe they were afraid people would overlook it because it contained the word park.  No one goes to the park anymore. 

Nobody I know at least.

When I moved into an apartment with Her, my parents gave us a puppy.  She would take him to the park.  She always asked me to go, but I had never wanted to.  One week before I left Her, I went to the park with Her and Albus.

I sat on the bench and watched other, much older people, play with their dogs. 

I sat on a bench and watched Her play with our dog. 

She was wearing a green hooded sweatshirt and a pair of jeans.  She also had a pink scarf wrapped twice around her neck.  I watched Her for almost five minutes.

It was at around five minutes that I noticed She didn’t have her purse.

Her purse was in the car.

I told Her that I was going to run and grab us two coffees and be back in ten minutes.

Two hours later, it was dark and I had left Her sitting on that bench with Albus at the park.

I was passed out in the front seat of the car, which was parked at Westfield Shopping Center.

Her purse was still lying in the back.

A small flame was suddenly thrust into my face. 

Someone had noticed the cigarette hanging from my mouth as I stared across the street at a mall.

Thanks.

He smiled and walked into the set of the doors.

This meeting was smaller than the last.  There were around 12 people, and all them were young. 

They prey.

They read from their papers.

Does anyone have an issue that they would like to discuss?

They talk about their steps. 

They talk about what their life was.

They talk about how they made it better. 

I don’t listen. 

A young man shares something about a dream he had in which he was using. 

Mine was worse than his. I can tell.  He has been smiling almost the whole meeting.

This is childsplay.

I’m Chad.

Hi, Chad. I jump at the sound of my own name.

I look at the dreamer.

How long have you been sober?

9 months.

I looked past him out the window at the Westfield Shopping Center.

Are you fuckers telling me that I have to come to these rooms for more than 9 months in order to stop having those kinds of dreams?

They laugh. 

I don’t.

Does anyone want to field that fucking question?  Or should I ask one of you specifically.

A bearded man smiles at me.

That really pissed me off.

How long did it take you to lose control?

I don’t want to answer him.

Silence.

Do you have some serious problems in your life right now?

I looked past him out the window at the Westfield Shopping Center.

Did you start coming to these fucking meetings while you were on a winning streak?

He still had a smile on his face.

And I was still really pissed off.

Well what I would tell you is that all you need to do is stay sober tonight.

My hands are trembling with rage.

I am done talking.

The meeting ends, I stand up and leave as they hold hands and pray.

I open the door to walk outside.  A kid in his late twenties is standing outside.

Hi, my name is Brett.

Hi.

We shake hands.

Here’s my number, call me tomorrow. I’ll get you started.

I know he isn’t interested in my response because he leaves before I can say anything.

This asshole is dreaming if he thinks I am going to call him.

But I did.