OH HOLY NIGHT, Part 1
The driveway was long and dusty and led to a large frame country house that stood between three large trees swaying in the winter wind, their leaves brittle and brown. The driveway was long and dusty and led to a large frame country house that stood between three large trees swaying in the winter wind, their leaves brittle and brown.
In front of the house was a large graveled space where six cars were parked. Inside the house, in the front room, was a couch and chair and some large ashtrays and a rack full of AA pamphlets and on one wall a large framed poster listing the Twelve Steps.
On the opposing wall was another poster with the Serenity Prayer, and on another wall hung a few framed mottoes ("Easy Does It," "Let Go and Let God," and so forth), and in the northwest corner of the room stood a small Christmas tree with a strand of blinking lights wrapped around it and a few little ornaments hanging from its dry limbs. There was also the faint smell of pine mixed with cigarettes and fresh-brewed coffee.
Behind the front room was a meeting room that had been created by removing the wall between what had formerly been the dining room and master bedroom. In the middle of this meeting room was a long table around which sat eight people on folding chairs, all smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee from Styrofoam cups and arguing.
No one today remembers what the argument was about, only that it started between an obese fiftyish woman with dyed-red hair and the fortyish insurance salesman with dark circles under his eyes who was chairing the meeting that day. It is also remembered that a few minutes into the argument there suddenly appeared (drawing irritated glares from those assembled) a young tattooed couple in their twenties.The driveway was long and dusty and led to a large frame country house that stood between three large trees swaying in the winter wind, their leaves brittle and brown.
In front of the house was a large graveled space where six cars were parked. Inside the house, in the front room, was a couch and chair and some large ashtrays and a rack full of AA pamphlets and on one wall a large framed poster listing the Twelve Steps.
On the opposing wall was a smaller poster with the Serenity Prayer, and on another wall a picture of Jesus praying in the Garden of Gethsemene, and in the northwest corner of the room stood a small Christmas tree with a strand of blinking lights wrapped around it and a few little ornaments hanging from its dry limbs. There was also the faint smell of pine mixed with cigarettes and fresh-brewed coffee.
Behind the front room was a meeting room that had been created by removing the wall between what had formerly been the dining room and master bedroom. In the middle of this meeting room was a long table around which sat eight people on folding chairs, all smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee from Styrofoam cups and arguing.
No one today remembers what the argument was about, only that it started between an obese fiftyish woman with dyed-red hair and the fortyish insurance salesman with dark circles under his eyes who was chairing the meeting that day. It is also remembered that a few minutes into the argument there suddenly appeared (drawing irritated glares from those assembled) a young tattooed couple in their twenties.
They were in their twenties, yet seemed older. That is, their faces and bodies were young but their skin had the dark weathered look of being too long on the streets, and the girl in particular though blonde and cute with the kittenish features of a centerfold also showed the early signs of alcoholic bloat and dissipation, and the eyes of both were dark and desperate.
They sat down at the meeting table, and when the opportunity arose (that is, when there was a lull in the ongoing argument), the young man spoke …
“We’re here,” he said, his voice cracking, “because we—”
“WHO ARE YOU? SAY YOUR NAME!” roared the others.
“I—I’m Jim … and I’m an alcoholic, and this is Heather.”
There were murmurs of approval, along with sideways glances of great disapproval of these tattooed young intruders in their midst.
The young man Jim went on: “We’re here because we need help. We’ve been trying … we pray together every morning and read the Big Book, every chapter, but—” his voice choked.
The meeting room now was silent. Jim went on: “But I can’t find a job. I’ve got a criminal record. I was busted for pot a long time ago, and a couple of years ago I forged some checks. And I’ve done other things. I know I was stupid. But I did my time and took vocational classes while I was in prison and tried to make something better of myself. I trained to be a plumber. But now that I'm out, I can't get a job because of my criminal record. No one will hire me. When they see I’ve got a record, they just throw my application in the trash, and now I find out that the state has made it impossible for people like me to get licensed—”
He choked again, stopped to pull himself together, then went on: “Just a few months ago we ended up on the street and the CPS took away our little boy. We were able to get a little money from family to get us back on our feet. We’re trying so hard. We’re trying to stay sober. I’m trying to find a job. We’re trying to get our little boy back. But the money’s run out and we can’t borrow any more. Heather’s got a job now. A cocktail waitress. Doesn’t pay enough—we’re behind on our rent—but her boss says she can make more money if she dances in his other club. A strip club ...”
The young tattooed man broke down crying, and the girl beside him—her face drawn and white—touched his hand. He blubbered that he didn't want her to dance naked just to keep them off the streets, he just wanted a job and his son back, and he wanted a reason not to drink, and asked anyone present could they please help.
And when he was finished, someone stood up and said a prayer for the couple and the meeting was adjourned.
(To be continued ...)The driveway was long and dusty and led to a large frame country house that stood between three large trees swaying in the winter wind, their leaves brittle and brown. The driveway was long and dusty and led to a large frame country house that stood between three large trees swaying in the winter wind, their leaves brittle and brown.
In front of the house was a large graveled space where six cars were parked. Inside the house, in the front room, was a couch and chair and some large ashtrays and a rack full of AA pamphlets and on one wall a large framed poster listing the Twelve Steps.
On the opposing wall was another poster with the Serenity Prayer, and on another wall hung a few framed mottoes ("Easy Does It," "Let Go and Let God," and so forth), and in the northwest corner of the room stood a small Christmas tree with a strand of blinking lights wrapped around it and a few little ornaments hanging from its dry limbs. There was also the faint smell of pine mixed with cigarettes and fresh-brewed coffee.
Behind the front room was a meeting room that had been created by removing the wall between what had formerly been the dining room and master bedroom. In the middle of this meeting room was a long table around which sat eight people on folding chairs, all smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee from Styrofoam cups and arguing.
No one today remembers what the argument was about, only that it started between an obese fiftyish woman with dyed-red hair and the fortyish insurance salesman with dark circles under his eyes who was chairing the meeting that day. It is also remembered that a few minutes into the argument there suddenly appeared (drawing irritated glares from those assembled) a young tattooed couple in their twenties.The driveway was long and dusty and led to a large frame country house that stood between three large trees swaying in the winter wind, their leaves brittle and brown.
In front of the house was a large graveled space where six cars were parked. Inside the house, in the front room, was a couch and chair and some large ashtrays and a rack full of AA pamphlets and on one wall a large framed poster listing the Twelve Steps.
On the opposing wall was a smaller poster with the Serenity Prayer, and on another wall a picture of Jesus praying in the Garden of Gethsemene, and in the northwest corner of the room stood a small Christmas tree with a strand of blinking lights wrapped around it and a few little ornaments hanging from its dry limbs. There was also the faint smell of pine mixed with cigarettes and fresh-brewed coffee.
Behind the front room was a meeting room that had been created by removing the wall between what had formerly been the dining room and master bedroom. In the middle of this meeting room was a long table around which sat eight people on folding chairs, all smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee from Styrofoam cups and arguing.
No one today remembers what the argument was about, only that it started between an obese fiftyish woman with dyed-red hair and the fortyish insurance salesman with dark circles under his eyes who was chairing the meeting that day. It is also remembered that a few minutes into the argument there suddenly appeared (drawing irritated glares from those assembled) a young tattooed couple in their twenties.
They were in their twenties, yet seemed older. That is, their faces and bodies were young but their skin had the dark weathered look of being too long on the streets, and the girl in particular though blonde and cute with the kittenish features of a centerfold also showed the early signs of alcoholic bloat and dissipation, and the eyes of both were dark and desperate.
They sat down at the meeting table, and when the opportunity arose (that is, when there was a lull in the ongoing argument), the young man spoke …
“We’re here,” he said, his voice cracking, “because we—”
“WHO ARE YOU? SAY YOUR NAME!” roared the others.
“I—I’m Jim … and I’m an alcoholic, and this is Heather.”
There were murmurs of approval, along with sideways glances of great disapproval of these tattooed young intruders in their midst.
The young man Jim went on: “We’re here because we need help. We’ve been trying … we pray together every morning and read the Big Book, every chapter, but—” his voice choked.
The meeting room now was silent. Jim went on: “But I can’t find a job. I’ve got a criminal record. I was busted for pot a long time ago, and a couple of years ago I forged some checks. And I’ve done other things. I know I was stupid. But I did my time and took vocational classes while I was in prison and tried to make something better of myself. I trained to be a plumber. But now that I'm out, I can't get a job because of my criminal record. No one will hire me. When they see I’ve got a record, they just throw my application in the trash, and now I find out that the state has made it impossible for people like me to get licensed—”
He choked again, stopped to pull himself together, then went on: “Just a few months ago we ended up on the street and the CPS took away our little boy. We were able to get a little money from family to get us back on our feet. We’re trying so hard. We’re trying to stay sober. I’m trying to find a job. We’re trying to get our little boy back. But the money’s run out and we can’t borrow any more. Heather’s got a job now. A cocktail waitress. Doesn’t pay enough—we’re behind on our rent—but her boss says she can make more money if she dances in his other club. A strip club ...”
The young tattooed man broke down crying, and the girl beside him—her face drawn and white—touched his hand. He blubbered that he didn't want her to dance naked just to keep them off the streets, he just wanted a job and his son back, and he wanted a reason not to drink, and asked anyone present could they please help.
And when he was finished, someone stood up and said a prayer for the couple and the meeting was adjourned.
In front of the house was a large graveled space where six cars were parked. Inside the house, in the front room, was a couch and chair and some large ashtrays and a rack full of AA pamphlets and on one wall a large framed poster listing the Twelve Steps.
On the opposing wall was another poster with the Serenity Prayer, and on another wall hung a few framed mottoes ("Easy Does It," "Let Go and Let God," and so forth), and in the northwest corner of the room stood a small Christmas tree with a strand of blinking lights wrapped around it and a few little ornaments hanging from its dry limbs. There was also the faint smell of pine mixed with cigarettes and fresh-brewed coffee.
Behind the front room was a meeting room that had been created by removing the wall between what had formerly been the dining room and master bedroom. In the middle of this meeting room was a long table around which sat eight people on folding chairs, all smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee from Styrofoam cups and arguing.
No one today remembers what the argument was about, only that it started between an obese fiftyish woman with dyed-red hair and the fortyish insurance salesman with dark circles under his eyes who was chairing the meeting that day. It is also remembered that a few minutes into the argument there suddenly appeared (drawing irritated glares from those assembled) a young tattooed couple in their twenties.The driveway was long and dusty and led to a large frame country house that stood between three large trees swaying in the winter wind, their leaves brittle and brown.
In front of the house was a large graveled space where six cars were parked. Inside the house, in the front room, was a couch and chair and some large ashtrays and a rack full of AA pamphlets and on one wall a large framed poster listing the Twelve Steps.
On the opposing wall was a smaller poster with the Serenity Prayer, and on another wall a picture of Jesus praying in the Garden of Gethsemene, and in the northwest corner of the room stood a small Christmas tree with a strand of blinking lights wrapped around it and a few little ornaments hanging from its dry limbs. There was also the faint smell of pine mixed with cigarettes and fresh-brewed coffee.
Behind the front room was a meeting room that had been created by removing the wall between what had formerly been the dining room and master bedroom. In the middle of this meeting room was a long table around which sat eight people on folding chairs, all smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee from Styrofoam cups and arguing.
No one today remembers what the argument was about, only that it started between an obese fiftyish woman with dyed-red hair and the fortyish insurance salesman with dark circles under his eyes who was chairing the meeting that day. It is also remembered that a few minutes into the argument there suddenly appeared (drawing irritated glares from those assembled) a young tattooed couple in their twenties.
They were in their twenties, yet seemed older. That is, their faces and bodies were young but their skin had the dark weathered look of being too long on the streets, and the girl in particular though blonde and cute with the kittenish features of a centerfold also showed the early signs of alcoholic bloat and dissipation, and the eyes of both were dark and desperate.
They sat down at the meeting table, and when the opportunity arose (that is, when there was a lull in the ongoing argument), the young man spoke …
“We’re here,” he said, his voice cracking, “because we—”
“WHO ARE YOU? SAY YOUR NAME!” roared the others.
“I—I’m Jim … and I’m an alcoholic, and this is Heather.”
There were murmurs of approval, along with sideways glances of great disapproval of these tattooed young intruders in their midst.
The young man Jim went on: “We’re here because we need help. We’ve been trying … we pray together every morning and read the Big Book, every chapter, but—” his voice choked.
The meeting room now was silent. Jim went on: “But I can’t find a job. I’ve got a criminal record. I was busted for pot a long time ago, and a couple of years ago I forged some checks. And I’ve done other things. I know I was stupid. But I did my time and took vocational classes while I was in prison and tried to make something better of myself. I trained to be a plumber. But now that I'm out, I can't get a job because of my criminal record. No one will hire me. When they see I’ve got a record, they just throw my application in the trash, and now I find out that the state has made it impossible for people like me to get licensed—”
He choked again, stopped to pull himself together, then went on: “Just a few months ago we ended up on the street and the CPS took away our little boy. We were able to get a little money from family to get us back on our feet. We’re trying so hard. We’re trying to stay sober. I’m trying to find a job. We’re trying to get our little boy back. But the money’s run out and we can’t borrow any more. Heather’s got a job now. A cocktail waitress. Doesn’t pay enough—we’re behind on our rent—but her boss says she can make more money if she dances in his other club. A strip club ...”
The young tattooed man broke down crying, and the girl beside him—her face drawn and white—touched his hand. He blubbered that he didn't want her to dance naked just to keep them off the streets, he just wanted a job and his son back, and he wanted a reason not to drink, and asked anyone present could they please help.
And when he was finished, someone stood up and said a prayer for the couple and the meeting was adjourned.
(To be continued ...)The driveway was long and dusty and led to a large frame country house that stood between three large trees swaying in the winter wind, their leaves brittle and brown. The driveway was long and dusty and led to a large frame country house that stood between three large trees swaying in the winter wind, their leaves brittle and brown.
In front of the house was a large graveled space where six cars were parked. Inside the house, in the front room, was a couch and chair and some large ashtrays and a rack full of AA pamphlets and on one wall a large framed poster listing the Twelve Steps.
On the opposing wall was another poster with the Serenity Prayer, and on another wall hung a few framed mottoes ("Easy Does It," "Let Go and Let God," and so forth), and in the northwest corner of the room stood a small Christmas tree with a strand of blinking lights wrapped around it and a few little ornaments hanging from its dry limbs. There was also the faint smell of pine mixed with cigarettes and fresh-brewed coffee.
Behind the front room was a meeting room that had been created by removing the wall between what had formerly been the dining room and master bedroom. In the middle of this meeting room was a long table around which sat eight people on folding chairs, all smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee from Styrofoam cups and arguing.
No one today remembers what the argument was about, only that it started between an obese fiftyish woman with dyed-red hair and the fortyish insurance salesman with dark circles under his eyes who was chairing the meeting that day. It is also remembered that a few minutes into the argument there suddenly appeared (drawing irritated glares from those assembled) a young tattooed couple in their twenties.The driveway was long and dusty and led to a large frame country house that stood between three large trees swaying in the winter wind, their leaves brittle and brown.
In front of the house was a large graveled space where six cars were parked. Inside the house, in the front room, was a couch and chair and some large ashtrays and a rack full of AA pamphlets and on one wall a large framed poster listing the Twelve Steps.
On the opposing wall was a smaller poster with the Serenity Prayer, and on another wall a picture of Jesus praying in the Garden of Gethsemene, and in the northwest corner of the room stood a small Christmas tree with a strand of blinking lights wrapped around it and a few little ornaments hanging from its dry limbs. There was also the faint smell of pine mixed with cigarettes and fresh-brewed coffee.
Behind the front room was a meeting room that had been created by removing the wall between what had formerly been the dining room and master bedroom. In the middle of this meeting room was a long table around which sat eight people on folding chairs, all smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee from Styrofoam cups and arguing.
No one today remembers what the argument was about, only that it started between an obese fiftyish woman with dyed-red hair and the fortyish insurance salesman with dark circles under his eyes who was chairing the meeting that day. It is also remembered that a few minutes into the argument there suddenly appeared (drawing irritated glares from those assembled) a young tattooed couple in their twenties.
They were in their twenties, yet seemed older. That is, their faces and bodies were young but their skin had the dark weathered look of being too long on the streets, and the girl in particular though blonde and cute with the kittenish features of a centerfold also showed the early signs of alcoholic bloat and dissipation, and the eyes of both were dark and desperate.
They sat down at the meeting table, and when the opportunity arose (that is, when there was a lull in the ongoing argument), the young man spoke …
“We’re here,” he said, his voice cracking, “because we—”
“WHO ARE YOU? SAY YOUR NAME!” roared the others.
“I—I’m Jim … and I’m an alcoholic, and this is Heather.”
There were murmurs of approval, along with sideways glances of great disapproval of these tattooed young intruders in their midst.
The young man Jim went on: “We’re here because we need help. We’ve been trying … we pray together every morning and read the Big Book, every chapter, but—” his voice choked.
The meeting room now was silent. Jim went on: “But I can’t find a job. I’ve got a criminal record. I was busted for pot a long time ago, and a couple of years ago I forged some checks. And I’ve done other things. I know I was stupid. But I did my time and took vocational classes while I was in prison and tried to make something better of myself. I trained to be a plumber. But now that I'm out, I can't get a job because of my criminal record. No one will hire me. When they see I’ve got a record, they just throw my application in the trash, and now I find out that the state has made it impossible for people like me to get licensed—”
He choked again, stopped to pull himself together, then went on: “Just a few months ago we ended up on the street and the CPS took away our little boy. We were able to get a little money from family to get us back on our feet. We’re trying so hard. We’re trying to stay sober. I’m trying to find a job. We’re trying to get our little boy back. But the money’s run out and we can’t borrow any more. Heather’s got a job now. A cocktail waitress. Doesn’t pay enough—we’re behind on our rent—but her boss says she can make more money if she dances in his other club. A strip club ...”
The young tattooed man broke down crying, and the girl beside him—her face drawn and white—touched his hand. He blubbered that he didn't want her to dance naked just to keep them off the streets, he just wanted a job and his son back, and he wanted a reason not to drink, and asked anyone present could they please help.
And when he was finished, someone stood up and said a prayer for the couple and the meeting was adjourned.
posted by Mack White at 1:57 AM
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