Paul had been at the rehabilitation center for a couple of days. His insurance company had insisted he leave the hospital. Paul hadn’t wanted to stay in Charlottesville, so a medical shuttle had driven him down to Farmville and transferred him into the one rehab in the little town. He was one of the youngest patients there.
Paul couldn’t do daytime TV and there were just enough drugs in his system to make reading difficult. So he lay in the room, which was filled with morning light. The door was open but his visitor knocked anyway, and Paul called out to come in. When he saw who it was, he smiled. “Ah,” he said, “Lillian. Come to see how low I’ve fallen and rub my nose in it.”
Lillian gave a small laugh and shook her head. She turned and put a fruit basket on the counter by the sink. She hung onto a cloth bag.
“I’m sorry,” said Paul after a moment, trying to find his more charming self. “That was unfair. You’re just my first real visitor, other than a perfunctory rant from the dean, and I’ve been feeling very sorry for myself. Both my wives have run off and left me to my demons.” Then he gathered himself together a bit more. “Please. Sit down. I do appreciate someone to talk to.”
The room had no chair but Lillian found one in the hallway by the door and brought it in. She sat down a ways from Paul and put the books on her lap. After a moment, she spoke. “Paul, this isn’t a casual visit. I’ve spoken to Marnie and she’s asked me to try again to help you get sober. So this is what we call a 12th-step call. I’ve brought you some AA literature and a Big Book. I hope you’ll read them, that you’ll see that there’s a way out of all this, this pattern of drinking and self-destruction.”
She paused, and he could feel the smile leave his face. “I won’t pretend I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He looked past her out the window as he spoke. “And I won’t pretend that I don’t have a problem. Sometimes I drink too much and do stupid things. Like getting married a week after I got divorced. I admit that was really stupid. And I shouldn’t have driven that afternoon. The weather was bad and the roads were slick and I hadn’t had much sleep. I’m really grateful I didn’t seriously hurt anybody but myself.” He pulled his gaze back in and met her eyes. “But I’m not a drunk. I’m not an alcoholic. I just drink too much sometimes. Look, I haven’t had a drink in a week, not since the accident. I’m off all the pain medication except at night to sleep. I can handle this.”
“Paul,” she said quietly. “I’m not here to label you or convert you. But I would like to tell you my story. Would you be willing to listen?”
Paul shrugged. “Sure, Lillian. I’ve got nothing but time.”
So Lillian began to talk. She talked of casual drinking with friends in the dorm at college, of the first time she blacked out at a party. “Those blackouts frightened me, and I stopped drinking for a while. Then I thought I could handle it again and I did some controlled drinking, only I didn’t know that was the name for it. I’d set a limit of drinks for the evening and stick to it. Sometimes I’d go months without drinking at all. I was convinced I wasn’t an alcoholic.”
Paul only half-listened. This was the same kind of stuff he’d heard at the treatment center. He couldn’t see how this had anything to do with him.
“Then I met Bob and I fell in love. Bob liked to drink—he was quite the wine connoisseur and we’d travel on the weekends to wineries; we even took a wine-tasting vacation in France. Bob never seemed to feel the effects the next day but I did. I was getting sick in the mornings—headaches, nausea. I threw up a lot. I began to drink at breakfast—vodka in orange juice—just to keep the nausea under control.”
Paul felt her eyes on him. He wondered what kind of response she was looking for.
She went on. “Bob never said anything and I dissembled a lot of the time, pretending to be okay. But whenever I was alone, I drank more and more, and I couldn’t pretend to myself any longer that I didn’t have a problem. Then I did the unthinkable.” Lillian blushed with shame at the memory. “I made a fool of myself at a party given by one of Bob’s colleagues. One of the guests had brought along his college-age son. I found the boy—he couldn’t have been more than 19—very, very attractive. Bob and I had been on the outs for a while and I don’t know, maybe I wanted to get back at him. I began to fade in and out of a blackout. I remember flirting with the boy, sitting practically on top of him on the sofa—I can see my hand on his thigh. And I remember pulling him into the bathroom and trying to kiss him.”
She shook her head and looked Paul in the eye. “I don’t know what happened after that. The next thing I knew it was late morning and I was home in bed. I don’t know how I got home. I don’t know if I had sex with that boy. I just don’t know. Bob was furious with me and he didn’t speak to me for a week. After that, well, we went our separate ways.”
She sighed. “I gave up drinking after that. I was miserable without it for a while and then I got better and thought the problem was behind me. When I met Phil, I started drinking again to be sociable. He wasn’t much of a drinker, but he liked a good bottle of wine now and again over dinner with friends and since I thought it wasn’t a problem for me anymore, I began to have a glass or two with him. This lasted about two months. Then I found myself drinking before dinner and after the guests left and then I was hung-over and drinking in the morning and I was hooked all over again.”
Paul felt something familiar move through his body at her words. He found himself nodding almost in spite of himself.
“I got the DUI one morning as I was driving to school to teach. It was pretty awful; the police phoned Phil. The university found out. I was sent to Employee Assistance. They told me I’d have to go to rehab to keep my job. I had to get sober or I would lose everything. I said yes without thinking much about it. To be honest, I was relieved. I had been pretending so hard that I was okay, that it was a relief to let it all out.”
Lillian paused. “It’s been six years now, and I am grateful for each day without a drink.” Suddenly self-conscious, she laughed. “I guess this is the place where it starts to get corny and sentimental. Don’t let that put you off. Sobriety is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
She looked Paul in the eye for a long moment before he looked away.
Finally Paul spoke. “Lillian, I don’t…”
She interrupted him quickly. “Paul, I meant what I said. I’m not here to convert you or label you. I’m only here to present a possibility. I encourage you to read the Big Book—I’ve brought you a copy. Start with the stories in the back. They may show you something that is helpful. I’ll leave you my number. Call me if I can help in any way.” She gathered up her purse and then took the two books from the bag and put them on his nightstand. “The program saved my life,” she said. “It can save yours.”
He said nothing to that, just nodded and watched her leave. He didn’t want to tell her how familiar her story had sounded or, worse yet, how much it had made him want a drink.