Falling in Love (22 page)

Unsure of how to operate most of the equipment, I hopped on a stationary bicycle and pumped my legs until they felt like jelly. I had purchased a small hand counter and as I pedaled away toward nowhere, I whispered to myself, “I will show love for myself by becoming the person I’ve always wanted to be.” Click. “I will show love for myself by becoming the person I’ve always wanted to be.” Click.

I soon trained myself to be able to say the line in just under four seconds so I could get most of the thousand in during an hour workout. The remainder I whispered and clicked going to and from work, in elevators and on subways. Occasionally, people glanced at me like I was crazy but, hey, it was New York. Nobody cared. Besides, it wasn’t that far from the truth. I didn’t really think saying this ridiculous line would actually help me but I figured it couldn’t do a hell of a lot of harm either. Besides, it gave me something to do rather than think about my prodigious problems.

However, after several sleepless nights of withdrawal, I wasn’t sure I could handle sobriety either. Life with no sex and no booze didn’t seem all that much better than life with too much booze and too much sex. But at least I didn’t get up every day hung over and hating myself. But my life was dreary. I wondered if I needed that rollercoaster rush. Maybe acting out would kill me but recovery might make me die of boredom.

To keep from being cooped up in my apartment and to free myself of Doris Day movies, I went to a quiet neighborhood bar where the barmaid would let me sit in a back booth alone and drink diet Pepsis and read books. Not wanting anything too spicy, I started with Victorian Literature. The light was so bad that I was afraid I might go blind but I felt safe and comfortable there. I read
Silas Marner
and loved it so much that the next day I enrolled in a Victorian Literature course at Hunter College. Maybe between the gym, college and working overtime, I could fill my life with so much busyness that I might not constantly think about sex and booze and my dreadfully dull life.

To indulge Elaine, I tried to really work the Steps in earnest, but always dreaded reaching number nine, having to make amends. But one night, I took a couple of breaths and gave it a try. I started slowly by phoning two old Indiana boyfriends, Roger and John, neither successfully. Roger’s new live-in girlfriend answered my call and was not pleased to hear from me. When I tried to explain that I was calling to apologize for my past behavior, she quickly said that she would have Roger call me back and then hung up without asking for my number.

Like Paul, I had also been engaged to John for one night. When I explained about the Steps and Making Amends, he also quickly hung up. I suspected that I was just a bad memory and that he would prefer amnesia.

When I started to dial Paul’s number, my hand began shaking and my mind started racing. Forget amends. The moment he answered I knew I would beg him to give me one more chance!
Paul, I have been sober for twelve whole days!
All those endless seconds and countless minutes struggling with this disease. Wasn’t that enough? He’d have to take me back, right? Who was I kidding? The moment he said one nice thing to me, I’d self-destruct. I couldn’t handle a relationship, especially with someone I still desperately loved! Desperate love? Me? Always. Forever. Especially with someone as nice as Paul. Do him a favor, Sherry. Apologize and hang up.

But I couldn’t call. I paced around the room repeating to myself, desperate love. It had filled my whole life. Only it wasn’t love. Just desperate. Except maybe with Paul. Maybe that was love. As much as I was afraid to admit it, I knew it really could be true. That for once in my life, I had truly found love, and then destroyed it like everything else.

Forget Paul! He will never take me back. That he might was just a fantasy. But maybe it could help my growth to just say to him that I was sorry, and to not grovel for more hopeless chances. I kept reminding myself that absolutely everything else in my life had ended in failure and the Steps, however slowly, seemed to be working. I knew I had to keep working them. I had to make the call!

I put his number on speed dial so I would only have to press one button. With the speakerphone on, so my shaking hand wouldn’t drop the phone, I pressed the button and my whole body surged with hot flashes. Wasn’t it little early for those? Then some computerized woman’s voice said that the number had been disconnected but gave a forwarding number. He had moved into his house, probably with some lovely lady with whom he was now discussing baby names.

I went through the whole drama again, speed dial, hot flashing nerves, only to get his machine. When I heard Paul’s voice, my body went into shock and I hung up.

I sat for fifteen minutes, staring at the phone and trying to regain some composure. Then I tried again and finally managed to stammer, “It’s Sherry. I want to apologize for any pain I caused you. My life was out of control when I knew you. I’m in a twelve step program now and I am trying to stay sober. You are a nice guy.” I nearly choked as I added, “I hope you meet someone you deserve. Bye.”

Afterward, I hated myself for leaving a message. I should have waited and talked to him. Something might have come of it. And why didn’t I leave my number? Because I knew that whatever happened it would end in agony for both of us. So I tried to forget about Paul which, of course, was the last thing I could ever do.

I needed two days to recover from calling Paul before I could stare at the last name on my list: Aunt Dottie. Part of me felt guilty for not calling her to tell her I was okay but the other part loathed her for telling that psychologist after my car accident that I would come to some bad end. She must have loved church the next Sunday, telling all the other old maids about my car crash. Aunt Dottie always loved to disparage me any way she could and always ending with her worst possible epithet, “she’ll turn out just like her mother.”

While I dreaded calling her, I despised the thought of talking to Ernie. For as long as I lived, I never wanted to talk to him or ever see him again. Every day, I wanted to kill him more and more, not less and less. I would gladly spend the rest of my life in prison just knowing he was dead! I wasn’t sure if hearing his voice might tip me over the edge but I didn’t want to find out.

I waited another day and decided that if Ernie answered, I would just hang up. I dialed the number.

“Hello?” Aunt Dottie’s thin voice came over the line.

I coughed. “Aunt Dottie? It’s Sherry.”

A long pause. “Yes?” I knew what she was thinking. Once again sorrowful Sherry had screwed up and wanted to return home.

“I’m sorry for not calling sooner but I’ve been busy. I wanted to let you know where I was.”

“Where are you?” she asked, probably certain that I was at the bus station, meager bag in hand.

“New York City.”

“New York?” Her voice was almost a shrill. “I suppose you want bus fare.”

“No,” I said. I realized that for all the times I had run away from Rosebud, I’d never called her until I wanted to come back. Until now.

“Do you want my phone number?”

“All right,” she answered as if it were the last thing she wanted. “I have to get a pen and paper.” I knew she kept both beside the phone but maybe my name on her church message pad would contaminate it. I heard her walking away.

“Who is it?” I faintly heard Uncle Ernie ask and I tightened, afraid he might pick up the phone.

“Sherry.”

“Is she in the hospital?”

“I don’t know.”

“Tell her about the hospital calling us.”

Aunt Dottie came back to the phone. I gave her my number which she dutifully wrote down. Then she was silent, clearly uninterested in pursuing any further conversation.

“I also wanted to tell you,” I said nervously. “I’m in this twelve-step program and I’m calling to make amends for all of the wrongs, I’ve done to you.”

“What?” Clearly, she did not understand. “What do you mean? Are you talking about all the times that you humiliated us?

“Sort of. That’s why I called, to apologize, and to try and explain—”

“—Oh, God, same old Sherry. Here comes some cockamamie explanation.”

“No, Aunt Dottie,” I tried again, my anxious voice rising to become high-pitched. “Look, I—”

“—Give me the phone,” I heard Uncle Ernie demand.

“Ernie wants to talk to you. Maybe he can make some sense of this.”

“No!” I panicked. I slammed down the phone, shaking. I sat there for a moment, breathing hard. Then the phone rang and I jumped.

The answering machine came on, and I heard, “Hi. This is Sherry. Please leave a message.”

“Sherry, it’s Uncle Ernie. Pick up. I know you’re there.” I cringed, backing away from the phone. “Sherry! Stop this nonsense and pick up the stupid phone!”

I couldn’t move, either toward or away from the phone. I began hyperventilating.

“Sherry! Pickup the damn phone!”

Suddenly, I grabbed the answering machine and hurdled it against the wall, ripping out the cord.

The machine whirred from some exploding tape inside and plaster puffed from the wall. Then there was silence except for my short breaths and my pounding heart.

The next night, I could barely listen to the people sharing in group. I sat alone lost in my thoughts and my anger. All the work I had done to try to get past my old life, all that pain, now seemed worthless. Just hearing Uncle Ernie’s voice was enough to set me back to being a child again, alone and scared, of him, of myself, of everyone. And I was enraged that he still had that control over me, that he always would.

I was fed up with my life and in the coffee shop after group I clenched my cup and began seething at Elaine. “I’m always angry. You call this recovery? Maybe denial is natural and this is bullshit! Ever think of that?”

Elaine didn’t look up as she deposited half of the sugar jar into her coffee. “You have to get through the anger to get to the compassion.”

“When?”

Elaine looked up at me. “As long as it takes.”

That answer wasn’t good enough. “One hour at a time! Every second being afraid of a slip? I need a better reason to live.”

“You want a reason?” Elaine retorted. “You said you wanted to be a mother? Then make sure you stop the chain of abuse. That you’re healthy enough to love and nurture your kids, so they don’t end up as addicts.”

“Kids! Who am I kidding? I’m never going to be well enough to have a relationship, let alone kids.”

“Sherry, you’re trying to do it with will power. You have to turn your life over to God. ‘Let go, Let God.’”

“Oh Fuck that!” I slammed down my cup, rattling the saucer and splashing coffee on the table. I glared at Elaine. “When I was a kid, I prayed to God to make Ernie stop molesting me. And when he didn’t stop, I prayed to God to make him die. Then I prayed to God to make me die. But God didn’t listen to one Goddamn prayer and I’m not making that same Goddamn mistake again!”

I jumped up and stalked out of the diner. Elaine called after me but I wasn’t stopping. I had had it and I knew exactly where I was headed. To a bar!

Outside, Elaine called, “Sherry, come right back here!”

I didn’t miss a step. “No way. I’m going to get laid!”

“No, you’re not!”

I whipped around. “Says who? You’re not my mother!”

“No, I’m not. But I’m not going to leave you, either. I’m going to stay right here, no matter how hard you try to drive me away.”

I glowered at her. Then I burst into tears. That was the nicest thing that anyone had ever said to me. Elaine came up and hugged me.

I clutched her for long minutes and then I admitted, “I used to love praying, God the father. Because it meant I had a father.”

After our S&M night, Jack hadn’t returned to group for a long time. I didn’t know if he had found another group or was just avoiding me or if he had just slipped out of sight. I didn’t care. I had my own problems and he wasn’t one of them. After he began showing up again, I stayed far away from him. A couple of times, he seemed to be approaching me but I made sure it didn’t happen. I didn’t think that he could ever get me to act out with him again but walking away seemed like a safer path.

Then one night during a break, I was having a cigarette on the church steps. I saw a pair of expensive shoes walk up and got nervous. I looked up. Jack was standing before me.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“So am I.”

I crushed out the cigarette and got up to walk away. He extended a slip of paper toward me. “She’s in La Jolla. Third husband, two kids.”

I stared at the paper for a long time. Back inside the meeting, I didn’t listen to one sharing word. What if I called her? After fifteen years. What would she say? Would she be happy? Sad? Angry? Probably all of the above, and more.

I noticed Claire sitting in her usual spot. Peter no longer came and she looked very alone. She glanced at me and our eyes met. She smiled. I looked away.

After the meeting, as the usual people hugged each other, I handed Elaine the slip of paper. “She’s still in California. I have half-brothers, or sisters. Will you call her with me?”

Elaine shook her head. “I couldn’t take that right now.” Hal was still spending his weekends in ‘Buffalo.’