THE AFTERNOON SPED by. I dealt with my patients with the deep attention that they deserved, but I was continually distracted by the two other activities I promised myself I would do today—find a psychologist and attend my first AA meeting.
As soon as my last patient left my office, I got up from behind my desk and went into the waiting room to say good night to Amanda.
“How does my day look tomorrow?” I began.
“Light,” she answered.
“Only three clients.”
“What time is the first one?”
“Eleven o’clock,” she said.
“What does tonight look like for you and John?” I asked.
“Just a quiet night at home with the kids. Dinner, homework, watch some TV, relax—nothing special.”
“Why don’t you take an extra hour and a half for yourself and come in at 9:30 or so. The answering service can handle our calls for ninety extra minutes one day.”
“Thank you, Doctor. I’ve been wanting to do some business inside the Banking Center for a few days. That extra time will be perfect for me.”
“Have a good night, Amanda. I’ll see you when I get in.”
“You too, Dr. McKenzie.”
I was already thinking about sleeping in a bit tomorrow morning, anticipating an emotional night, hanging out after the AA meeting, making some new friends and getting to bed much later than I normally did. I figured there would be nothing wrong with showing up here at 10:00 or 10:30.
As soon as I said good night to Amanda, I returned to my office, closed the door, sat back down at my desk, and pulled a local phone book from a drawer. In the next few minutes I would choose a psychologist. Even though I was thinking that this decision would be a pretty big one, I didn’t have any problem at all using the phone book. Throughout the years I had used the phone book to call all kinds of businesses—doctors, restaurants, car repair places, seamstresses, florists. If I didn’t get along with my psychologist, I could just switch to another one. I’d switched doctors, never gone back to bad restaurants or overcharging car repair shops. After all, I just wanted to bounce some ideas off whomever I chose about my devil dreams and the Two-Knock Ghost. I wasn’t going there to expect the guy to save my immortal soul, I, more than anything, wanted a sounding board. Lastly, I concluded that the AA meetings would help me deal with that. I wasn’t thinking at all about asking the psychologist to help me in that area.
I started at the beginning—Angelo Alvarez, Anthony Artez, Michael Ather, Connie Augmon, Daniel Awtry, Robert Ayers. Then there it was, Antonio Banderas, the name of the movie star. I chuckled rather hard and immediately wondered what it would be like to be “psyched” by the action star. Secondly, and almost immediately, I wondered what this guy looked like. My eye kept scanning down the list, now not paying as much attention as I had on the first seven names, and for the next two minutes, as my eyes scanned the list of psychologists, my mind kept wondering what Antonio Banderas looked like and whether he was a good psychologist. I chuckled again and thought, why not? This might be interesting and maybe even a little fun. At least when I told the guy why I chose him. Then I chuckled again when I wondered how many women had picked him because of his name, and whether they had been pleased or disappointed with his looks when they met him.
Serious business or not, this was the guy I was going with. I would throw my emotional sticks out of the can into his office and pick them up one by one, with his help. I made a plan to call him tomorrow morning from my condo before I went into work. I felt better still. I was getting things accomplished.
I wrote Antonio’s name, address and phone number on a piece of notebook paper and placed it in my briefcase where I could find it easily. I looked at my watch, not quite 5:30. Plenty of time to drive the eighteen or so miles to the AA meeting, get a bite to eat, and still make it to the beginning of the meeting by 7:30.
I laughed at myself repeatedly as I drove north toward a restaurant and my new AA site, wondering about Antonio Banderas, what he looked like, and what kind of person he was.
I decided to keep it simple and make a pit stop at McDonald’s on Missouri. I ordered a filet of fish, a strawberry shake, a cup of water, and a large order of fries. As I sat in the restaurant, dipping my first fries into ketchup, I felt my first twinge of nervousness at what I was about to do in an hour or so. I had never bared my soul before to anyone, not even Christine. Tonight I would lay myself bare to a room full of people, mostly strangers. I might have one ally there if Toby showed up tonight. But then I thought that I might be more embarrassed to reveal my inner most feelings before him than a hundred or more strangers.
My next decision was to make sure I got to the meeting by 7:10, 7:15 at the latest. I would find a good seat, put my head down, not look at who was coming in, and contemplate how I would tell my story. The twinges of nervousness transformed into a family of butterflies fluttering haphazardly in my stomach. My meal tasted wonderful in my mouth, but that was not enough to offset the distress I was experiencing in my belly.
I arrived at the Serenity Club at 7:07. There were at least a dozen cars ahead of mine, but the lot east of the building was more than half empty so I parked there and walked into the building at exactly 7:10. I said hello to a few people who were sitting on the steps outside and a couple more who were milling about in the lobby. I smiled at them perfunctorily and headed for a comfortable seat. My head was up for the initial hellos, the smiles and the chair finding, but as soon as I was situated, I put my head down and started thinking. I found myself within moments trying to calm my suddenly restive soul. But I kept my head down even through the filling of the auditorium. I kept my head down and listened. Every footstep, each movement of chair over floor, multiple conversations with myriad words flying about the room was intensified. The magnified sounds were distracting me as were the people who were seating themselves all around me. I remained with my head down. Someone who didn’t know me might see my position and think that I was depressed. I wasn’t depressed in this moment. I was scared like a little kid scared. I felt like a third grader in a new school and in a moment I would have to introduce myself and tell some of my story to the class.
The moderator quieted the din in the room as he welcomed the people who were attending. He especially welcomed the newcomers and anyone who was feeling in crisis stating unequivocally that they had come to the right place.
Within two minutes after the moderator had begun with, “Hello, everyone. I’m Sam and I’m an alcoholic and your moderator for the evening,” the first alcoholic began sharing his story. My head remained down as I listened, paying careful attention to how he did it. I remember thinking that the way he shared his story was nothing grand. It was merely a simple telling of his personal current woes and his struggles with staying sober. Whatever he said, it seemed genuine and from the heart.
By the time the first alcoholic was finished, I was not even remotely ready to speak. It took over an hour and four more alcoholics to speak before I had the courage to share my rather tame story in comparison to the first five people I had listened to tonight. My head had been down the entire time the previous speakers had shared their tales. Now, I was ready and felt comfortably prepared. This time, when the moderator asked if there was anyone else who wanted to speak, I raised my head and said, “I do.”
I looked at no other face in the room but the moderator. “My name is Turf and I’m an alcoholic.” The words came hard and I shocked myself by the last split-second decision to use the name Turf. Even Christine had not called me Turf for the last few years. It was as if Turf had died those years ago without fanfare, without a mention. But here I was, a paunchy middle-aged psychologist and I had just unexpectedly resurrected my long lost, beloved alter ego before the most important speech of my life.
In the few seconds which seemed like hours, before I spoke again, I felt all of my preparations fly to an unknown and inaccessible realm. Fear gripped me during the two or three deep breaths I took before my next words. I could not help but contemplate in that brief moment why I would do such a thing when I didn’t even feel like Turf anymore. But even as I was pondering what I would say next, I was surprised when over a hundred people said, “Hi, Turf,” almost in unison. I had just enough time in the next breath or two to plan my next strategy as I nodded my head once to acknowledge the gregarious welcome. I would tell my story starting with the present and going back to the beginning. It wouldn’t be difficult. I wasn’t delivering the Gettysburg Address. It was simply my story, I knew it well, just tell it.
“I haven’t had a drink in two days and I want one badly now. This is the first time in over twenty years that I have gone two days without a drink. I’m living on my own right now because my wonderful wife of over thirty years asked me to leave our home and our marriage until I got my act together. I left out of respect for her, not because I believed I was an alcoholic. I actually thought I was a great husband and father. Then, a couple of nights ago, I took some work from my office into the R Bar in Treasure Island and in the next couple of hours had three or four rum and Cokes. On my way home I almost hit a female bicyclist in Madeira Beach. It wasn’t my fault. She darted from a real dark spot on the opposite side of the street to get in the North bound lane so she could turn right at 140th. Why she chose that instant to make that move I’ll never know, but she did. When my car almost hit her, she panicked and jumped off the bike. I sprang out of the car and ran over to see if she was okay. She said she was and even apologized that she almost caused an accident. As soon as she rode off, I felt real fear when I asked myself the question: What would have happened if I had hit her and a policeman had been called to the scene? Or what if a policeman had just happened to be cruising Gulf Boulevard and saw that I narrowly missed her? He would have stopped for sure to see if the girl was okay, primarily, and to check on me secondarily. The cop would have come close to me and smelled alcohol on my breath. He would have given me a sobriety test, maybe a breathalyzer. I don’t know if I would have passed those tests, but if I hadn’t, my whole life could have changed that night for the worse. I could have been arrested, taken to jail, been forced to go to PCAS for alcohol evaluation, lost my driver’s license, got a DUI, my professional life would have been placed in jeopardy, my wallet would be severely pinched, and on and on. I realized that night how lucky I was that none of those things had actually happened to me. But sadly, I realized I was an alcoholic. I had become the kind of person I despised the most. I’ll tell you why.
“This started the day after my twenty-fourth birthday. My parents and both sets of my grandparents and my wife’s parents had come to my wife’s and my apartment in Chicago to celebrate my birthday. We all had so much fun. Early the next morning a call from the hospital informed me that my parents and my dad’s parents had been killed by a drunk driver on the Outer Drive. They had taken a longer route home because they wanted to see the snow on frozen Lake Michigan under a beautiful gigantic full moon. I cannot tell you how much I hated the jerk that killed my family. I was sick with anguish, feeling a type of pain I thought was impossible to endure.”
“I had only drank one time before that. I was in college and it was Christmas break. I had a friendship date that night with a girl from Northwestern. On my way out of the dorm, a lonely acquaintance of mine invited me to have a drink with him. I’d never drank before. I was an athlete. I had a code I prided myself on. No alcohol or drugs. Period. Ever! But I felt sorry for this guy and broke my code.
“In the next twenty minutes, I drank eighteen ounces of Coke and twelve ounces of rum. I was drunk by the time I was a block from the school. I acted like a complete fool during my date and even asked the girl to marry me. Apparently she said yes. But that’s another story.
“The point is that night I was feeling no pain and years later when my parents died, the emotional pain I was feeling because of it, felt like it was killing me. That’s when I started to drink rum and Coke as a comfort drink—not every day or even every few days, but every time I drank it I felt my sorrows dissipate. Rum and Coke became my ally, my friend. Gradually when my friend wasn’t around, I missed him. Eventually I made sure he was always with me. As the years passed, I’m guessing that I drank more and more. And if that’s true, I didn’t even realize it because the increased drinking happened so gradually. But my wife noticed it. She talked with me about it a few times, but as much as I loved her, I blew it off. The rum and Coke wasn’t going anywhere.
“Then finally one day she asked me to leave. I looked into her kind but determined Irish eyes and knew she meant business. Even though I complied with her wishes within a few weeks, I couldn’t understand why she asked me to leave. I thought I was being wonderful to her. I thought I’d been a good dad. I thought she admired me. She told me I could come back home once I conquered the alcohol and got my act together, but when I first left—because I didn’t think I was remotely an alcoholic—I wondered if I’d ever get back home.”
For a brief moment I paused. I pondered something, thinking that I had just relayed to a room full of strangers that I was an alcoholic. But for some reason I will never know, I could not tell them yet that I was having dreams of the devil and I was too embarrassed to share anything about the Two-Knock Ghost. I continued.
“When I got home the night of the girl on the bike incident, I was literally shaking. I had gone from complete denial to full admission that I was an alcoholic with the slamming of my brakes. That night I threw my bottle of rum down the drain of the kitchen sink. I haven’t had a drink in two days, but I’m going crazy for one now. I don’t know if I’ll be able to make it through to the other side because I feel as if I’ve banished my closest friend to the other side of the universe and I miss him terribly. That’s the story to this point. Thank you all for listening.”
There was no applause like there had been a few weeks earlier for Toby. Only the moderator said, “Thank you for sharing, Turf.” Hearing someone who barely knew me call me Turf was very strange indeed. In the first place, no one I knew had called me Turf in years and a relative stranger had never called me Turf. Turf had been dead for a long time. Tonight he had been suddenly reborn. I wasn’t sure why I’d introduced myself that way but thought that maybe Turf represented a more innocent, youthful, healthier me. Perhaps I wanted to recapture those aspects of myself that were me when I was Turf. I thought that Turf could help me battle this disease, that I’d moments ago admitted to the public I had. It would be the youthful heroic Turf against the sallow skinned paunchy Dr. McKenzie in a battle for both of their lives.
A couple of minutes into my sharing with my fellow alcoholics, my nervousness had evaporated and I began looking into the faces of the people in attendance. The relatively equal spattering of men and women of all ages from teenage to eighties seemed genuinely interested in what I was saying. Because of that, most of my story was delivered without fear. But when I was finished, the tiredness of the day merged with the exhaustion of battling the urge to drink for the last couple of days. Those collided with the tiredness of having to move away from Christine and live on my lonely own the last few months. I felt like I could put my head down again, close my eyes and fall asleep right there. But I did not. I wanted to go right home and get in bed. I didn’t want to seem rude or selfish, so I listened to the next speaker in her entirety then lifted myself to leave. I had chosen a back row of chairs, so my departure was innocuous.
I thought I was home free. But in the lobby, Toby Magnessun bounded up to me seemingly out of nowhere. He had the energy of a little nine-year-old boy happy to see his favorite uncle. Still, he restrained himself to almost a whisper obviously to protect my anonymity when he addressed me. “Dr. McKenzie, it is so wonderful to see you here.”
“I don’t know how wonderful it is, but it’s better than being where I was a few nights ago.”
“I was touched by your story.”
“Thank you,” I said humbly.
“I know you’re probably tired after a long day, but I would really like to show you something. It’s only a couple of minutes away, and I guarantee that at first look you will be absolutely fascinated.”
“What is it?” I asked curiously.
“Can it be a surprise?” the exuberant nine-year-old kid asked.
“Sure,” I said, my curiosity growing.
We walked outside.
“Where are you parked?” Toby asked me, sounding more like the adult he really was.
“I’m in the main lot. I got here pretty early,” I said as we walked down the stairs.
“Me too, on both counts.”
He maintained his high energy.
“Why don’t you follow me?”
“Okay.”
“It’s only a moment up the road.”
“Okay,” I said, my anticipation suddenly sprouting.
He got into his 2001 black Lexus and I followed him in my far less luxurious 1998 red Buick Electra. He turned left from the parking lot and headed toward the beach up Turner. We both stopped at the light at Fort Harrison, though he could have made it if he had sped up just a tad when the light was yellow. He had not. My anticipation grew as we passed through the light. My wondering grew quickly as we entered a residential neighborhood. What was it he could possibly want to show me? He hadn’t said he was taking me to a friend’s house. And it was really too late to be stopping somewhere unannounced.
We turned left onto a tiny street off Turner, but before we turned, I noticed that the ocean was visible a couple of blocks away. We drove behind an old church and made a right on the first street past the church. There were “No Parking” signs on the right side of the street and I was right behind Toby when he parked on the left side of the street facing the wrong way. I didn’t think we’d have any problems. It was an absolutely quiet neighborhood and there wasn’t a car in sight. My eyes were trained on Toby as he got out of his Lexus. He pointed behind him slightly to his left with his left hand.
“There it is,” he said. I raised my eyes from my fix on him and looked slightly to my right to where Toby was pointing. Across the street was the most amazing tree I had ever seen. At first perception it was stunning, an old live oak with a trunk that had to be sixteen feet around with dozens of muscled branches that looked as if they wanted to take over the world. The enormous limbs had grown to the south completely over the street, sidewalk and both between and above the electric wires that hung a couple of feet south of the sidewalk across the street. The branches didn’t stop there. They continued growing another fifteen feet until they hung over the red brick house fifty feet past the wires to the west, there were at least five enormous branches that soared half the way over the roof of the house next door. Several branches jutted from the back of the oak, comprising a canopy over the high roof of the house where the tree lived, but it wasn’t yet finished manifesting itself. It had also grown to the east. Its gigantic branches traversing the street and beyond. In front of the tree was a limb that for some unexplainable reason had bent down toward the earth from a height of twenty feet, reached the grass, then bent itself again and continued on the ground for another thirty feet. Then for some reason beyond my grasp, curled itself upward once again, as if reaching for the sky and grew into a leafy green height of eleven feet. Everywhere I looked my head was eventually raised to the heavens as I marveled at the growth of the spectacular entity before me.
Slowly and with awe Toby and I had approached the behemoth oak. Toby chose to be silent out of respect for the reverence of my first impressions. Over and over I looked at the remarkable aspects of the tree until, finally, I broke the silence.
“It’s fantastic,” I said. “How did you ever find this?”
“My sponsor took me here one day in the middle of the afternoon. I had the day off, and I was attending a twelve o’clock meeting. He told me that his sponsor had shown him the tree many years before and told me that it was inspiring. My sponsor told me that anytime I was depressed, I should come to this tree and view its strength and majesty, its will, not only to live, but to thrive, then ponder the infinite creativity of God and I would always feel better. In the last few weeks I’ve come here five or six times and I always feel better as soon as I see the tree.”
“I feel better too,” I said.
“It’s being in the presence of God’s handiwork, Dr. McKenzie.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” I responded.
I could hardly break my scanning of the wondrous life force before me, but it was late and I was tired. I could have looked at the tree longer, but I knew where it was now. I would definitely come back and peer at it and ponder God’s creativity again. I would show the tree to Christine, but only after I put the rum and Coke behind me. I would show it to each of my kids too, when they came to visit. It was that special.
“Pretty cool huh, Doc!”
“Pretty cool. Thank you.”
“Doc,” he had only this moment started calling me that as if his gift of showing me the tree allowed him the increased familiarity. I not only didn’t mind it, I liked it. He continued.
“I know it’s late but I want to tell you that they have beginner’s meetings there that you may want to attend. They will really help you get started, and they’ll introduce you to the Big Book and help you get into your first steps.
He was so excited to be able to contribute more to me. At that moment, I considered him a friend, but I didn’t tell him.
“I can call your office and leave some info with Amanda if that’s okay with you.”
“That would be great, Toby.”
I reached out my hand to shake his. He reached out his. And our handshake was that of two friends—unspoken, but understood.
I turned and started walking toward the car. Toby was walking beside me. Suddenly, a thought came into my mind and I blurted it out instantly.
“Toby, do you remember hearing about Mary Bauer?”
“Refresh me.”
“She was the woman who was assaulted in that gas station robbery on Ninth Avenue and Sixteenth Street South a few months back.”
“I do remember now that you mention it.”
“Do you know what the state of the investigation is?”
“I’ve only heard that investigators are working on the case, but they’re not making much headway.”
“Could you do me a personal favor and look into it for me?”
“Sure, Doctor. Can you tell me why?”
“I can’t, Toby, but it would mean a great deal to me.”
“I have a couple of snitches on the south side that I can query. And one day, Patrick and I could drive to Lake Maggore and shake things up a bit.”
“Thanks, Officer,” I said, showing him the respect he deserved in advance of his helping me. “Maybe you could tell me if you have any news about it at our next session.”
“I’ll try my best, Dr. McKenzie.”
I felt that another handshake was in order, especially since I instinctively knew that Toby would not only go out of his way for me, but put himself in danger, especially amidst the throng at Lake Maggore.
“Thank you, Toby.”
The second handshake felt the same as the first, like true friendship was developing. I hoped it would someday. It was beginning to feel like we were two guys who had some key things in common.
I got in my Electra, drove back to Turner, then headed south on Fort Harrison. Toby was right ahead of me, until he turned left on East Bay on his way home to Alicia and his kids. I was tired, but happy because I felt like I had completed a day of personal accomplishments. My stomach was upset and I was looking forward to getting home and having a rum and Coke before bed. As soon as I formed that thought my entire body began quivering. Whereas moments before I had felt gain in my relationship with Toby, I now felt unbearable loss from my alcohol friend of decades. I forced myself to eradicate that thought and replaced it with the hopeful thoughts of a desperately needed good night’s sleep and calling Antonio Banderas before work tomorrow morning.
That night I dreamed I was living in an enormous house, a billionaire’s house. Each room was larger than Christine’s and my entire house on Snell Island. The ceiling was a good thirty feet higher than our family abode, which was two stories. In the dream it was time for bed. I walked into my bedroom, a symphony of cream-colored bed, sheets, carpet, dressers, TV, clock, and walls. It was beautiful. I felt comfortable and safe. There was no notebook with papers from work, no pencils, nothing extraneous in the room. I was dressed in cream colored silk pajamas with matching cream slippers and I was feeling no fear as I crawled between the top and the bottom sheets. I watched myself fall asleep. The dream me was finally at peace. There was no motion in the room, only a sleeping man amidst a sea of cream. Suddenly, the devil appeared forty-five feet above the sleeping Dr. McKenzie. He was pinned against the ceiling spread eagle ready to pounce at any moment. He looked almost exactly like the horrible sculpture creature from past dreams that merely hovered tauntingly, but not attacking.
But tonight he added a different dimension to his game. He started hissing like the snake he was and that sound awakened my sleeping self. As soon as I opened my dream eyes, I saw him.
He had his preattack face on, and I was terrified. He was so remarkably out of place, his red body and evil contrast to the heavenly cream of the rest of the room. He increased his hissing until it became so loud that I covered my ears with my hands. I knew he would pounce in a moment and tonight I wanted to fight him. I’d had a good day. I felt better about myself. I knew I would at least get a couple of good licks in.
Suddenly the hissing ceased and the devil hurdled himself down toward the bed. As he boldly descended, the live oak I’d seen only hours before appeared and filled the room. As the devil approached me, the oak’s pliant branches moved to block his approach. He changed his direction, trying to get to me from another angle. But he could not. Because the enormous flexible oak bent quickly to stop his assault. Numerous times the evil being tried to find an opening in the branches, but he could not. The limber tree, with a seeming will to protect me, was too swift for him. When it looked like he was becoming tired and frustrated, he paused as if to regroup and restrategize. It was then I heard the sounds. Knock, knock. For the first time since the Two-Knock Ghost had begun its poelike tapping at my front door, I did not feel frightened by its sounds. I had expected it. Feeling extremely protected by the tree, the dream Dr. McKenzie thought, maybe I should invite the ghost in. This would be the perfect time for it to show itself, whether it was one malevolent spirit or many. I thought however many entities you might be, you could take your chances with the tree. Good luck.
But nothing emerged. The Two-Knock Ghost had merely made its presence known. Again, it revealed nothing but the annoying reminder that it still existed.
The devil tried to come at me a few more times, but every time the live oak’s branches dissuaded his attacks.
Finally the devil announced the end of his attempts to assault me with a bloodcurdling scream that almost jolted the sleeping me to consciousness. Then he passed backward through the ceiling as he had in previous dreams and the tree stood watchfully in the room after the devil retreated. Dream Dr. McKenzie thanked God and the tree for the protection of this night. Then he pulled the covers to his chin, relished the beauty of the cream room a final time, and then stared at the guardian tree until he fell peacefully and safely asleep for the rest of the night.