“Oh God, I’m sorry.” My face flushed with embarrassment.
“It’s been years now. She passed long before I got clean. I was so fucking high I didn’t make it to her funeral.”
“Again, I’m very sorry.”
“It’s hard choosing to be clean every day.”
“The alternative is worse. I didn’t like who I was when I was high.”
“Shit, I did. I was funny mostly because I didn’t take shit seriously.” Pete took a sip from a paper cup.
“How long have you been clean?”
“Nine years. I’ve been choosing myself for nine years.”
“Congratulations, that’s great.”
“I tried and failed so many times I stopped counting. But my mom’s death was a wake-up call. Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t immediately check myself into rehab. That took months but the seed was planted.”
“I went to rehab after an overdose.” Leaning forward in my chair I asked, “Is the group good about discretion?”
“I can’t speak for everyone who walks through that door. But the groups I host take that shit seriously. We’re all just addicts in here.”
“Do you think I could get a list of the groups you host?”
“Sure.” Pete rose with a groan, his knees popping. After rummaging through a backpack in the corner, he returned arm outstretched with a flyer. “Everything you need to know is on there. Do you have a sponsor?”
“Not in Vegas no.”
“I’ll pitch in until we can find you a more permanent solution.” With that we exchanged phone numbers. I liked my sponsor in Missouri; in truth I was kind of attached to him. The people that hold you up and support you when you’re at your lowest leave an impression. Jimmy didn’t have to go so hard for me. But he never missed a call. Listened when I wanted to use. And provided a safe space when everything around me felt hostile and unfamiliar.
“Thanks.” I didn’t budge from my chair.
“Do you need something else?”
“Uhm.” I looked to the front of the room with the picture of Jesus staring back at me with a benevolent smile. “Is it okay if I just sit here for a little bit longer?”
“No problem at all.” Pete sat back down taking a sip of coffee.
I didn’t really have anything I wanted to say. I just wanted to be in this space for as long as possible. And Pete had gained my trust. Being from Philly, I was a good judge of character. I could point out the users, the bullies, and the people it was best to avoid if you want to continue breathing. Pete appeared to be a straight shooter, and he would never piss on my head and tell me it was raining. And if I rang him in the middle of the night telling him I was thinking of calling a dealer he would listen, allowing me to vent before offering alternatives.
For his part, Pete just sat in the chair across from me. He could have left or scrolled his phone, but he just sat staring out the window humming. And that small gesture meant the world to me.
Movingto Vegas and joining the Ramblers felt like the first day at a new school. All of my safeguards were gone as I tried to navigate this new city. You had people who were trying to test me, people who wanted something from me, and people who seemed cool but one could never tell if there were ulterior motives. When my teammate, Dante Caldwell, suggested we hangout I reluctantly accepted his offer. I had zero friends in this town and Nori insisted I couldn’t sit up in my hotel room like Brandy forever.
Dante was twenty-eight and we had similar interests. That was a lie, all I knew about this man was he was the loudest one in practice, and that was saying a lot with the cast of characters on this team. When he approached me on the second day of training, he seemed cool enough. Dante was always on ten which could be a little annoying, but I considered that a plus. He’dalways advance the conversation even if my responses were “uh-huh” or “Wow, that’s crazy.” It took the pressure off me. I was in Vegas with no home and zero friends. It was time to test the waters in my new city and see what it was hitting for. And if I had to stare at the creepy Victorian woman on my hotel wall for one more night, I might start to crack.
Dante planned our whole evening. First, we hit up a lounge for pregame drinks, I had seltzer water with a wedge of lime. Afterwards, we made it to Enclave, which Dante claimed was the place to be on a Saturday night in Vegas. And from the looks of it he wasn’t lying. Enclave was packed with scantily clad women and men in wife beaters. The music was my speed, some Hip-Hop like XYZ Baby and Future, fused with Dru Hill, Aaliyah, and Jodeci. Everyone was in a good mood, which boosted mine. Dante secured a VIP booth, so the bottle girls were making the rounds. When I told our waitress I wanted a Shirley Temple she looked at me like I was lame. Alcohol was never my drug of choice, always opting for stronger substances. Pete would probably be disappointed if he saw my current situation. Surrounded by people who were all intoxicated in some form or fashion.
But when you were in your twenties going out and getting wasted was what you did. Twenty-somethings were not interested in sober game nights or picnics. If you got invited anywhere, there was a pregame at someone’s apartment. Most of the time you were already feeling the liquor working through your system and you hadn’t even left the house. Then you’d hit up the bar or club and it was shots, then drinks, followed by more shots. And if you were in your twenties with a little bit of money there was no limit to the shit you could get into.
“This is what life is about,” Dante said, pouring something into his cup. “Do you know in college I got zero play?”
“Really?”
“Yeah, I wasn’t a starter, and I wasn’t as swole as I am now. But shit, cut to the present and these bitches are practically fighting each other for my attention. And I always say, ladies why fight when you can share.”
I chuckled.
