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Chapter Two

Step Two: Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity

Part of living with Reva meant that every Sunday you woke up at an inhumane time, got dressed, and hauled ass to make it to church on time. Reva attended Pleasant Chapel Church, a little starter Baptist church housed in an old K-Mart building. Some people might say that the fact that there wasn’t stained glass and nice wooden pews made it less than a church; Reva would just laugh at them and tell them that it doesn’t matter where you worship God as long as you do.

Way back when, during my first go-round with this whole “recovery” business, I had completely separated myself from any type of religion. When you can’t tell the difference between right and wrong, it’s pretty hard to ask for forgiveness.

I’m happy to report that I knew the difference between right and wrong. That’s why Step One was such a breeze. The first time I spent months getting past Step One.

I guess mom was right when she told me I was stubborn.

The thing I laugh about with Step Two is the thought that a belief in God is going to make you sane. I know for a fact that serial killers have turned to God in prison. Does that make them sane? I don’t think so. Even so, I did think God was pretty important and so did Reva. That meant we were going to spend the morning at worship.

In the three days I had been staying with Reva, I had gone to Wal-Mart and Target twice. I had a small collection of clothes, including the required dress shirt and tie.

We sat on folding chairs as the preacher paced around the front of the room with a wireless microphone, delivering this week’s sermon. It wasn’t that the topic of conversation wasn’t interesting, but I felt myself nodding off to sleep several times. Each time there was a sharp jab to my side.

“Alex,” Reva hissed in her warning tone.

I tossed my head back up and snapped to attention.

Even though I can’t really comprehend the image of a man looking down from the cloud watching my every move, it doesn’t mean I don’t believe in God. It’s just that I’ve been in the clouds, and never once have I seen golden gates or pearly gates or whatever type of gates there’s supposed to be.

I appreciated the solidarity of the congregation. Practically half of the members were part of the church choir. I admired the long red and white robes and closed my eyes and let the music flow through me. I felt myself relax for the first time in months. At one point I looked over at Reva and smiled. She gave me an encouraging nod and lifted her hands in the air.

After church we headed back to Reva’s place. I stood at the small sink peeling potatoes.

“Choo’s awful quiet,” Reva said as she put some chicken into the oven.

I sighed. “I was just thinking…”

“Bout what?”

I turned and leaned against the cold metal.

“Do you believe addiction is genetic?”

Reva wiped her hands on a dish towel and sank into a chair.

“That’s what all the doctors say, isn’t it?” she asked.

“I’m not asking what they say; I’m asking what you think,” I said.

“Yes, I do,” Reva answered.

I turned back to the sink. I began to peel more vigorously.

“Course addicts can be de best parents. Life experiences and all t’at. Even though I screwed up, that doesn’t mean choo will.”

“If I screw up now just taking care of myself, what am I going to do with two kids?”

Reva whistled. “Oh twins?”

I turned to see her grinning.

“Dis world ain’t ready for that.”

I cracked a small smile.

“You’re telling me.”

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Step 3 - Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood God

“Hey, it’s me.”

“How’s it going?”

“I’m not lying dead in the street ,so I guess just peachy.”

“That’s not funny, man.”

I ran my sneaker along an ant pile. Ants spilled out in all directions.

It was good to know I could screw up a million little lives with one motion.

Lord only knew what I was going to be able to do to two little human lives.

“Are you still at your sponsor’s house?”

“Yup. That’s why I called.”

I heard Howie suck in a breath. I snickered. I loved jacking around with him.

“About Japan…”

I could almost picture Howie having a panic attack.

“I’ll be ready to go by then.”

Howie let out a breath of pure relief.

“That’s great. I mean….but, are you sure?”

I rolled my eyes.

“Do you think Kevin’s going to let me out of his sight for a second? He’s freakin’ better than a twelve-step program. He’ll be breathing down my neck at every stop.”

“I know. But I mean…”

Howie might have a penchant for tequilas and for a good Cuban cigar every now and then, but the concept of addiction just wasn’t in him. I scratched the heavy beard growth on my face. I had a feeling an ant or two had climbed up to give me payback for crushing their home.

“Am I going to break open the mini fridge and start downing all the little liquor bottles?” I asked. “Is that what you mean?”

“Well, you can’t be cured in a week, can you?”

I laughed. “There’s no cure for addiction. I wish it could be that easy. The only thing I can do is just practice self-control.”

“Self-control?”

I could almost see Howie’s face. Me and self-control were not usually mentioned in the same sentence.

“Don’t worry. I’ll see you at the airport. Or before then.”

“Before then?”

I gave my beard another scratch. Then I scratched my leg. Damn…I was fucking itchy. I lifted the bottom of my jeans. My eyes widened.

“Fuck, I got to go.”

“What? What happened?”

I snapped my phone closed and scrambled to my feet. My legs felt like they were on fire. I scratched at my beard.

It wasn’t just an ordinary ant pile I had desecrated. It was home to thousands of pissed off fire ants.

I glanced up at the sky.

“Okay I get it!” I yelled up. “Is this the best you got?”

At that exact second, a shot of lightning streaked across the sky and the heavens opened up with drenching rain. I ran up the stairs feeling the tiny bites and feeling like a giant dick wad.

“What choo doing child?” Reva asked as I unzipped my jeans. I began smacking my legs. I could see the angry red bumps through the hair on my legs.

“Fire ants,” I said. I scratched my balls. I prayed it was just psychosomatic, but I could almost feel those little buggers traveling towards the mountains. I tried to slide off my shoes without untying them; my jeans wouldn’t completely come off with my heavy white sneakers. Finally I sat down on the floor and yanked everything off. I took off towards the shower. The water was always freezing cold but this time I didn’t care. Everything burned and itched.

By the time I got out, Reva was standing over my clothes with a squirt bottle and a fly swatter. She looked at me and shook her head.

“Did nobody tell choo not to mess with fire ants?”

“I didn’t know they were fire ants,” I complained.

“Well don’t mess with regular ants either!”

I held up my hands. “Sorry, just call me fucking Snow White. Maybe the damn birds and I can sing a duet on my next record.”

Reva walked over to me. Her strong fingers pressed against my jaw.

“What—“

She raised the bottle of aimed several heavy squirts right into my mouth. I sputtered as the horrible bitter taste of diluted dish soap filled my mouth. She held up the bottle with a smile.

“Tis gets rid of ants and potty mouths,” she said. She shook the bottle for emphasis. I grabbed the hem of the new shirt I just put on and wiped my tongue against the bottom. It didn’t help. I felt if I burped I was going to come up with a huge soap bubble.

“Point taken,” I said bitterly. Reva walked back in the kitchen and I grabbed the wet clothes from the floor and headed down to the cinderblock basement where the washer and dryer were located. The thunderstorm was still raging outside. As I put in some soap and turned on the washer, I scratched my beard again.

My mom used to wash my mouth out with soap too. I suddenly had a vision of a small version of myself running off at the mouth. What would I do?

Admittedly, I’d probably wash his mouth out with soap. I leaned against the vibrating machine and bit a black tipped nail.

I had until June to get my act together. That meant more than staying away from drugs and alcohol. That meant I had three months to patch things up with Rochelle and stop cussing.

I was going to need a lot of cards, roses…

Oh, and soap.

A truckload of soap was probably a reasonable amount. Right?