On Thursday night (5/8), I went to a meeting with my roommate H. Given my limited license that does not allow me to legally drive to unapproved AA meetings, we walked over to the bus stop, cigarettes betwixt fingers, and took the bus a few blocks over and then transfered for a straight shot up Nicollet. I didn't realize that one could reach Minneapolis from Richfield/Bloomington without taking the interstate and putting up with all that commotion. Then again, the only time I drove to Minneapolis was to get drunk or get naked, often both and at the same time, in Downtown where I worked as a stripper through the summer and fall of 2007.
The meeting was starting at 7:30. It was about 7:00 when H and I got there, so we popped into a Bobby & Steve's where she got two sugar-free Rockstars, and I loaded up on three Her energy drinks and some microwaveable stir-fry. After eating, drinking, and smoking like sober gluttons (I speak for myself), we headed across Nicollet to the meeting.
The Big Book meeting we attended was small but with a nice mix of men. It wasn't until that moment that I realized how much I had missed the fellowship of men, not for any lascivious reason, mind you, but for the type of personality that seems common in men, that sort of thinking and reasoning that's more cerebral than emotional. I was impressed with the discussion of the meeting. That night, we were eight people (four college-aged, two middle-aged, two senior) that were on a quest to understand our feelings about a Higher Power. Christians, spiritualists, and atheists were gathered together discussing God without attacking one another, without condemnation. It was the free-flow exchange of ideas and feelings. It was the way people were intended, in my estimation, to communicate properly - with intelligence, with eloquence, with respect for one another.
H and I were energized and decided to stay for a second helping at 8:30, a discussion meeting. While out smoking, I met my friend Lisa from outpatient treatment. It was so good to see a familiar person and one about whom I was genuinely concerned. Seeing her there with her smile and cheerfulness set my mind at ease, just knowing that she was doing well and still determined to work her program.
We went up for the meeting (running late) and caught the last bit of the AA birthdays. Then a man spoke on his feelings about AA, the hope there and the camaraderie amongst people who, regardless of background and the other things we insist on using to define us, can still relate to one another on core levels. I am not unique. Breaking up into small groups, I knew that was a topic upon which I wanted to touch, if only because it's a statement I struggle to accept despite knowing it to be true.
It was in small group that this kid looked at my Her energy drink and asked what would happen if a guy drank it. He was a twenty-something with a laid-back gangsta lean and a self-assured, almost cocky attitude with the hint of a quick wit. Immediately, I began to make my judgments, thinking him to be one of the court-ordered, cocaine-and-alcohol type who never quite got over his laissez-faire college days. I replied with an awkward smile and response that it would make him grow breasts. He said, "Great, then I would never leave my house."
As we went around the group to respond to what had been said in the initial topic, I found out the guy's name is D. He talked about his faith in God and time in jail, the struggles of his past life. When the discussion came to me, I piggybacked off of what he'd said, talking about how I felt having a Higher Power was such an important aspect of working a program and that I had floundered and then failed to stay sober until I had a spiritual experience and surrendered my life to God. Remembering what had stuck out to me in the main topic, I spoke about how I still have to continually remind myself that I am not unique, a difficult thing to do since the label I've been given in life has so often been that of "unique individual." I gave an example that my own treatment counselor could identify with my experience as an exotic dancer, and in that commonality, she was able to tell me that stripping had little to do with money and everything to do with being an addict, a factual point that I had so long wanted to ignore (and the reason that no matter how much I may find myself glamorizing aspects of adult entertainment that I enjoyed (being well-compensated just for being attractive and interesting in conversation), I can't go back to that kind of work). A woman in the group then said that she admires my wisdom and my honesty in being able to admit to the group that I was a dancer, something she didn't think she'd be able to do.
After the meeting, I was smoking outside and saying my goodbyes, telling Lisa that H and I had to be catching the bus back to Sober Housing in Richfield. Lisa left, and D approached us, asking if we wanted a ride. We accepted, and I sat shotgun at H's insistence, though I'd already made up my mind that the front passenger seat was mine.
On the way back, D played Lupe Fiasco and talked more about his troubled past with meth and heroin addiction and drug dealing. The three of us engaged in conversation about the program (like letting me know that it's okay that I'm not experiencing cravings to use like a lot of other people in early recovery) and our own lives - our ages and where we work. We exchanged numbers, and D dropped us off.
Inside our apartment, H was quickly on the offensive to warn me about "thirteenth-steppers" - people who use the program to get dates. I thought she was jumping to extreme conclusions too quickly, but then I received similar responses from my sober friends the next day after I told them that D had called me and asked me out for coffee on Saturday night. Was I to believe that men in recovery are not to be trusted? Were they saying that any man interested in me must be after my goodies? Did I give off a "slut vibe" that had my friends convinced that any solo meeting with a member of the opposite sex will end in my fake orgasm?
D and I spoke on Saturday while I was with my friends between treatment group and family group, and he said that he'd like to make Juicy Lucys (hamburgers stuffed with cheese) for us at his place. I agreed to it, told my friends what was going on, and they were immediately disagreeing with the situation, saying that our first one-on-one meeting should be in a public place.
I wasn't sure what to think. Was I being too naive while my friends looked out for my safety, or was jealousy and projection of their own disappointments with men compelling their words of warning? We are new to the program, and all we really have to go on are our past experiences from our drunken days and the belief that we are to abstain from new romantic relationships during the first year of sobriety (a belief which was never presented to me by counselors but, rather, by the movie 28 Days... though no counselor ever discouraged or debunked this practice when I discussed it).
We went to family group, and then I went along with one of my friends to get together with her family for celebrating Mothers' Day. On the way there, I reluctantly called D to tell him that I thought we should meet in a public place just because I was looking out for my safety. D said that was okay and that we could go to 58 for the Juicy Lucys. I could hear some kind of dejected emotion in his voice, and we decided that I would pick him up from work and we'd drive to the tavern.
Thinking about my limited license that prevented me from driving to anywhere except for two predetermined AA meetings, treatment, and work, I decided that D should drive my car once I picked him up. I met him outside his work, and we agreed that was the best. As we started to leave, he apologized for giving me the wrong idea about his intentions. He wasn't asking me to get together with the intention of hooking up; he just wanted to get to know me better because he thought I was cool. I informed him that I wasn't so presumptuous as to think that he was trying to date me or whatever; it was my friends who were concerned. As we continued to talk and lay out boundaries, we returned to our previous plan - pick up groceries and make dinner at his place. I felt comfortable in knowing what to expect.
After the grocery store (which was a fun experience in itself: seeking out the bakery for fresh buns, picking out dessert and deciding that we should bake a cake), we drove to his place... in the hood. I asked him if he felt safe living there, and he said that there's dope and dope people no matter where you live, but the area always had cops around, so there wasn't much reason to be alarmed. We went up to his apartment - the top floor of a house - and I was surprised to see how nice it was.
In the kitchen, I got to work on mixing up the cake while D thawed the hamburger. We were having so much fun - joking and laughing. We discovered our mutual love of mayo and bacon and fried up some strips. The basketball playoffs were on TV, and we checked in from time to time between food prep. The second serving of bacon was forgotten as we worked on the Juicy Lucys (filled with bleu cheese), and it turned into a congealed mass of black, which we named the Bacon Patty. I took out my cake and popped in the fries, completing forgetting that if I had cooked them on a skillet with some oil, they would have turned out better.
At last, the food was done. D turned off the TV, and we set up in the dining room - the place for special occasions. I said Grace (fumbling horribly through it... "Lord, we thank you for our blessings today, and this day, and the next day... and all days"... reminding me of Ben Stiller in Meet the Parents), and we talked about therapy and trauma as we devoured our succulent (that was his Word of the Day) burgers. When we were done, we cleared the table and sat down on the leather couches in the living room to watch The Brave One.
Somehow, we got onto the subject of writing at the beginning of the movie, and I told him about my fan fiction and original works. He told me that he's a poet, spoken word artist, and rapper. I wanted to roll my eyes, expecting to hear some lame shit, but he happens to be a skilled lyricist. After sharing some of his work, we settled back into the couch. At first, we held hands, and I was surprised that he was suddenly wanting to be more affectionate with me. Hand-holding led to cuddling, and despite not expecting there to now be deeper feelings (or, more appropriately, the physical expression of stronger feelings), I felt extremely comfortable. We'd had a great time together and got along very well. At one point, we both laid down together on the couch, but I started to get too sleepy, so I sat up, and we continued to sit with his arm around me and my head rested against him.
We had talked about previous relationships, including my marriage. We even talked about farting (such a good conversation to have, and the sooner, the better). There was a natural and intense level of comfort. And then we kissed.
It was important to me at that point that I establish a boundary, and I did, saying that the line was drawn there. He agreed, and we returned to cuddling.
As the movie neared the end, I was really tired and had to be home by 1:00 AM. We decided to stop the movie, and he was going to drive me and my car back to my place and take a cab home to South Minneapolis. On the way to Sober Housing, we talked about where we were at then and laid down some ground rules for the future. He said that the order of importance of things is God, Recovery, and Life, and he doesn't want to interfere with my recovery, so if I ever feel that we're moving too fast or I'm uncomfortable, I need to let him know.
He spotted a taxi at a gas station and pulled over to ask the cabbie if he wanted a fare. The cab said yes and agreed to follow us to my place so he could drive D. He asked me if we could kiss again, and I eagerly said yes. Again, the level of comfort was easy and natural.
He parked my car at my place, and we got out, embracing each other and kissing again. Separating, we agreed to talk later about next Sunday and the possibility of going to church together and then to a dressed-up convention for his work.
Was it a date? Was it the beginning of a relationship? I don't know, and I don't think I need to know. What's important is that I feel good and comfortable. I don't feel embarrassed about any of my actions or statements, and I don't feel anxious about the future. For once, I'm taking things slowly and One Day At a Time.
I really do like D, but I'm putting my recovery first and staying in the Here and Now.
Posted in
- Neur0 Vanity's blog
- 162 reads
Post new comment