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Not anymore though. I will do whatever it takes to stay sober, not only for myself, but for the people I love too.
My grandpa was right. Sobrietyisa journey, except to get to the final destination, I needed to suffer through a month-long turbulent plane ride with no landing strip in sight.
That’s what rehab felt like. But unlike the last time, I gave it a hundred percent becauseIdeserved my all. I wanted to get better for myself and the future I will have once I do.
When I land in Chicago, I head straight to the AA meeting Leo recommended because I don’t have time to waste. All the chairs are positioned in a circle, exposing us to one another. I take one of the last open seats, leaving the one beside me empty.
The chairperson begins, and one by one everyone introduces themselves. It’s an intimate group made up of high-profile lawyers, executives, and professionals. I recognize a few from crossing paths at events, but no one comments on it. Because in this room, we are all the same.
Recovering alcoholics.
I’ve been through this process twice already, so I know exactly what to say when everyone turns to me.
I rise and take a deep breath. “Hi, my name is Callahan, although I prefer to go by Cal, and I’m an alcoholic.”
“Hi, Cal,” different tones and voices reply.
I ignore the urge to clench my fists. “Today is the first official day where I choose to be sober.” Rehab might have helped me start off on the right foot, but not having access to alcohol isn’t the same as choosing to be sober. At least not to me.
I want to be tempted by alcohol and resist.
I want to experience pain and overcome without a single drop of vodka.
I want to prove to myself that I can make it in the world as a sober man rather than one driven by the need to drown my emotions and insecurities with a temporary fix.
People clap like I just won the Stanley Cup.
A few more individuals introduce themselves. While one man is sharing how he is officially one-year sober, the door behind me opens. Everyone turns toward the sound.
The one person I never thought I would see at one of these meetings walks in, shaking an umbrella in one hand while juggling a briefcase in his other.
My father’s eyes connect with mine. He doesn’t look the least bit surprised to see me here, but me on the other hand?
I’m floored.
“Look who finally decided to show up,” the chairperson calls out.
I think he introduced himself as Jeff? Jim? I don’t remember much except that his job is to defend the worst criminals in all of Chicago.
No wonder the asshole drank.
“Sorry I’m late.”
Sorry I’m late?My father doesn’t apologize for shit.
Because he is faking it.
Since fate couldn’t be any more of a bitch lately, he takes the only empty seat available—right next to me. I’m grateful that I look more like my mother because I’d hate for people to connect the two of us as anything more than strangers.
After all, that’s all we will ever be.
The group turns to look over at my father, and he stands with a sigh. “Hi, my name is Seth, and I’m an alcoholic. I’ve been sober for 640 days.”
What. The. Fuck.
I must have said the words aloud because everyone turns toward me with a range of expressions. My father’s soulless gaze lands on me, making my skin crawl.
“Have something to say?” His low tone is a warning similar to that of a rattlesnake.
