(no subject)
Who: David Fisher (Papa Bear) and NPCs Crosby Sherwood and Norman
What: Another Alcoholics Anonymous meeting
When: Wednesday, 04.23.08 @ 6:30AM
Where: The conference room of the Holiday Inn Express in Brooklyn
Rating/Status: PG-13 for language and thought-violence/Finished
Note: See here and here for past references.
Everyone was so fucking predictable. David would, of course, include himself in this statement.
Drinking was fun, wasn't it? Fun, it seemed, could be found in any number of things whether it was knocking back a few cold ones and getting behind the wheel of a car, or going out of your way to travel to some distant country just for the sheer pleasure of drinking the natives under the table. Drinking had started out fun for David as he waltzed his way through adolescence in a state of ethanolic merriment, convinced that what he was doing was right. But, after college, the enjoyment David got out of drinking was replaced with a bitter comfort that had wrapped its way around his heart in a last ditch effort to forget.
"Dave, man?"
Then, around a month ago there was the wedding of the century. Egg hunts, novelty cakes and enough booze to jump start Vegas coupled with the fact that things had almost fallen through due to the usual disasters that accompanied Tale functions.
Observation, it seemed, had done a lot for David during this lifetime. At the wedding he had seen that twit of a guy Elisa had been with, disinterest had soon changed to disgust as he watched the guy waste perfectly good liquor by pouring it down his throat and complaining about Elisa’s lack of fidelity. Obviously, the guy was some lovesick puppy waiting with dopey-eyed adoration each afternoon for her to come home. If he had any understanding of the woman, he would've known that the word fidelity was NOT in her vocabulary and thus she didn't live to be exclusive, not many people out there did. Take David for example, or better yet, his old man: mom wanted him all to herself for 49 years. At 27 years of marriage, David remembered her shaking with anger those late nights when his old man would come in, his clothes smelling like a French whorehouse.
"...Dave?"
In all honesty, the more David observed the world around him and yes, even himself, the angrier he got.
"Dave, man?"
Legs crossed, David had been picking at the invisible lint on a leg of his black slacks for the last half hour, head bowed. Startling out of his thoughts and into the present, David jerked his head up and focused on the aging Crosby Sherwood, who was looking at him from over the tops of his glasses.
"What?" David squinted, confused.
"I asked how you felt." Crosby repeated, undeterred by David's lack of enthusiasm to The Cause.
The fabricated smile on David's face twitched lightly as he met the man's gaze. "Never felt better, thanks."
A slow grin later and Crosby remained skeptical about David's sincerity. "Yeah man, that's great. Why? What's been happening?"
After the phone call from his father David's willingness to participate in the AA meetings had taken a violent nosedive. What was interpreted by the rest of the group was that one day unexpectedly, he had decided to take two steps backward instead of forward.
Here they were, uniting with a common goal of bettering themselves, finding comfort in numbers. A group of recovering alcoholics situated in a hotel conference room where around them were least a hundred rooms with one mini-refrigerator a piece, meaning thousands of travel sized scotch bottles, and this guy wanted to talk about how he felt? Temptation always called: in the glove compartment of his car, the cabinet in his kitchen, social functions, the break room at the office, leaving David certain that at least half the people in this room were hitting the cabinets, social functions and break rooms after each and every meeting.
Head having bowed again, David lapsed back into focusing once more on the only interesting thing here. Lightly brushing the leg of his slacks, David rejoined the group once more at the insistence of his newly appointed sponsor.
"What?" He snapped.
"Why, man. What's been going on? Good news in court?"
Murmuring broke through and consumed the group as Crosby mentioned perhaps the one thing David had been marginally open about so far. They knew about Martin and Aileen, though nothing incredibly specific.
"Court," David repeated the word. "Court's been good. The judge apparently likes recovering alcoholics who try to straighten their acts out and be good dads."
Ignoring David's sarcasm, Crosby focused on his words instead. "So this is about your kid and not about yourself? How does that make you feel?"
Now, finally having David's full attention, he turned his cold pale blue eyes in Crosby's direction, hackles raised. "Meaning?"
"Whoa man, chill. I'm just saying that you're obviously like totally doing this whole AA thing for your kid, man. Hate to break it to you, but missing two weeks of meetings, man, that's like totally counterproductive." Not getting a response out of David, Crosby turned to a young kid somewhere in his twenties sporting a blue mohawk, eyeliner and a tongue stud, who was at that moment raising his hand. "Norman, you got something to add, man?"
When Norman spoke up, his voice held prominent speech impediment that was most likely the product of abundant stupidity. "That's coo' that he wanths to get cleen fo' hiss kid, mahbee he can get ssome ext'a loving f'om hisss old la-"
"Not to interrupt your scintillating diagnosis," David began, the room's attention focusing on him. "But I think I finally understand my purpose here."
All eyes focused on Crosby, the man steepling his fingers in front of his face. "Dave that's so awesome. Go on, man. Let it out."
"You people are harshing my mellow." David stated clearly, using Neil's statement and accentuating it with a simpering smile. "All you do is pretend to want to help when in reality you're about the biggest group of freaks I've ever seen." A half laugh later and David's voice rose in anger. "And believe me, I've seen freaks. I've been a PART of a freak show for over twenty years now and let me tell you, they're TAME to the wastes in this fucking room."
Standing up, David latched onto his folding chair and walked across the room to Crosby, his sponsor's eyes practically bugging out of his head, mouth open in shock. "I think my purpose here, Crosby, dude... Is to beat you to a fucking bloody smear. So, let me reiterate." the chair in his hands was lifted with surprising ease and came down, the metal connecting with Crosby's head as David brought it back and then down again with each word. "YOU'RE. HARSHING. MY. FUCKING. MELLOW!"
"Dave, man?"
Jerking up from a slouched position, David shifted against his chair, blinking for a few moments before turning his attention to Crosby. "I'm sorry... What was the question?"
Crosby smiled, though his tone contained a certain quota of irritation. "I asked if the reason for coming here was just for your kid, man. Then asked how you felt."
David gave the man a reluctant smile bordering on overplay, tone quick to match it. Honestly, how was asking how he felt every five minutes going to help? "No, of course not." A pause. "Good. I feel good. You?"