Serious Addicts Only

Posted on: January 21, 2010
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Serious Addicts Only
By Timothy A. Boling


“Hi, I’m Nick and I’m an addict.”


“Welcome, Nick!” the group said in unison.


I took a deep breath and began. “This’s my first time attending Narcotics Anonymous, and I’m not real sure what to say.”


I looked around the table. There were twelve of us, myself and my wife Laurie included. Each person at the table took turns talking about how drugs took control of their lives, and how they recovered from hitting rock-bottom. Now it was my turn.


“I’ve been clean for three hours and,” I glanced at my watch, “seven minutes. I can’t say drugs ruined my life. If anything, I guess drugs made it better. I don’t think I’ve ever done anything extreme to get drugs…well, there was that house I burned down and those four dope dealers I killed just to get a suitcase full of Jane, but…I was doing alot of good people a favor!”


I looked at the group. Jaws were slightly dropped now; other than that, their stoic and somber faces hadn’t changed. I continued.


“I’m not real sure how much of what I was done was contributed to drugs. I mean, I blew up a casino and hijacked a Lear jet, but I specifically remember being sober when I did that. Anyway, my wife Laurie and I want to try a clean life and see if it’s any better.”


I knew anything said at the meeting stays at the meeting, so I didn’t hold back. I looked at the faces around the table again. All jaws were dropped. An elderly lady at the end of the table looked furious.


“Oh now I’ve heard everything!” she said as she grabbed her purse and stood to leave.


The leader of the group intervened. “Gladys, please. They’re newcomers. We give everyone a chance here.”


“Screw you, chuck! Blowing up casinos and hijacking planes? We’re suppose to believe this crap? Not me!” she yelled and left the room.


Chuck turned back to me. “Forgive her, Nick, we don’t all share her opinion. Laurie, would you like to share a message of recover with the group?”


I looked up at a reluctant Laurie, sitting across the table. Her arms were folded, and she had a scorned look on her face. I prompted her by tapping her leg under the table with my foot. She kicked me and gave me the finger. I returned the gesture and waited.


“FINE!!” she yelled, causing the remaining nine people to jump in their seats. She took a deep breath and rolled her eyes. “I’m Laurie and I’m not an addict. I’ve been clean for all of twenty minutes because I hid behind our car and smoked a fatty in the parking lot before Nick and I came in. Faithful, devoted husband here is making me quit against my will, because I’m four months pregnant and he says it’s bad for me. Pfff. So is squeezing a watermelon out a hole the size of a lemon. I’ve tried the sober life long enough. Screw this…”


Laurie stood, grabbed a Lady Jane from her purse and left.


I looked back at the group. They seemed to be pitying me.


“Nick,” Chuck said, “what was your drug of choice?


“Well…it was Jane. My sweet Lady Jane.”


“No, I understand, but what did it eventually drive you to?”


I was confused. “Uhm, it drove me to guns, explosives and getting my wife pregnant.”


“No Nick, see, this Jane as you call it…it’s a gateway drug. It usually leads you to stronger things. What did Jane ultimately lead you to, Nick?”


“Well…after a while I started rolling them bigger,” I said with a grin. I really had no idea what this idiot was driving at.


“That’s it?” Chuck asked, his voice growing louder. “No coke, crack or heroine? Just Jane??”


I was really starting to feel uncomfortable. “I uhhh…I drink beer too.”


“You call yourself an addict?!” another lady yelled as she jumped up from the table. “I use to sell my oldest daughter into prostitution for eight balls! Now that’s an addiction!”


I slinked into my chair. I wanted to leave, but I couldn’t move. A man jumped up from the table.


“I use to rob little old ladies coming out of the drug store to support my habit! And you call yourself one of us??”


Now it was Chuck’s turn. “I sold my house for heroine! I’ve been living in a VW Bus in my parents’ driveway ever since! Get outta here, Nick! Come back when you get a REAL addiction!”


Outside, I found Laurie sitting on the hood of the car, smoking a fatty. Her eyes grew wide when she saw me running toward her.

“Start the car! NOW!” I yelled, jumping into the passenger seat.
Laurie started the car and hit the gas as nine angry people burst from the building. We were barely out of the parking lot when nine N.A. handbooks bounced off our hood.
“What did you say to them, Nick??” she asked.
“I just said I was an addict!”
“I told you this was a bad idea…”


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