Page 79 of Blue

We approached a small group hanging around a table of cookies. Paper cups were stacked next to a steel coffee urn, and there were smaller cups for the water dispenser.

One of the girls laughed, and the boys from outside had joined them.

“Ansel, I talked to Kate last night. She’s coming to the afternoon meeting,” a girl said. She sported a short pixie haircut, dimple piercings in her cheeks, and flowering vines tattooed on her neck.

“Kiss, this is Janie.”

“I’m Georgia,” the girl next to her said. “That’s Brad and Ryatt.” They were the guys from outside.

“Excuse me,” Ansel said, and went to intercept an older woman at the door.

“That’s Tina,” Janie said. “She manages to piss off Ansel at least once a week. Sobriety has a slightly different definition to her. She’s not using as long as there isn’t a pipe between her lips.”

“Is this your first meeting?” Ryatt asked.

“Is it that obvious?”

“Everyone is nervous on their first meeting.” Georgia plucked a cookie from the table.

“Be prepared,” Janie said. “Ansel always asks newcomers if they want to share.”

“Share what?” I didn’t want to speak at all. I’d rather sit in the back of the room and observe.

“You don’t have to say anything personal.” Janie stepped closer to me. “You can just say your name and tell them you’re an addict.” This small group of four closed in around me. “We’re all addicts, Kiss. We know how scary it is to get clean.”

“I haven’t used in over a week.”

Janie smiled. “Six and a half months.”

“Seventeen days,” Ryatt said and laughed. “Court ordered.”

Brad slugged him. “Shut the fuck up.”

Ryatt feigned injury. “You aren’t the one pissing in a cup at your PO’s office. I swear, he has me coming in so he can check out my dick.”

“Ignore them,” Georgia said and grabbed two more cookies.

Ansel stepped to the front of the room and welcomed us to the meeting. “Remember, no phones for the next hour.”

I pulled mine from my pocket and turned it off.

There weren’t really rows or semi-circles for the chairs littering the room. More like organized clusters, and they all faced the same direction.

I migrated with Janie to a cluster. A basket was passed around the room as Ansel talked about the upcoming speaker at the afternoon session and the agenda for this morning.

The basket came to me. Bills, mostly one-dollar bills, and coins filled the basket. I didn’t have any money.

Janie must have noticed the panic on my face. “Only when you can.” She dropped a hundred-dollar bill into the basket and passed it on.

After the business of the meeting was over, Ansel called on people to share. Some spoke about how shitty their life was. One guy had just lost his job, and another was going through a divorce because his wife was still using.

Ansel called on a woman sitting a few chairs from me. Before she’d uttered the first word, tears streamed down her face. She had six months sober and had relapsed last week. Her kids had been placed in foster care.

“Fuck.” Ryatt leaned forward, dropped his head, and his knee jostled.

Georgia placed her hand on his back, silently offering comfort for whatever he was feeling from the woman’s story.

Janie leaned in and whispered in my ear. “Ryatt was in foster care until he aged out. When he shares, he talks about what it was like. Right now, he’s hurting for those kids. Not all foster situations are good.”

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