Yes, it had.
Up ahead, he saw a group of people standing outside an open door. He went inside, not bothering to speak to anyone, found a seat in the back away from the others and kept his head down as he waited for his first gambler’s anonymous meeting to start.
Joan always took a two-hour break during the lunch hour, and even though she’d been out with her sister, earlier in the day, she didn’t see any reason to change it now. But, instead of going on another two-hour walk, Joan had something else in mind. She needed a meeting.
The incident with the alcohol had reminded her just how long it had been since she’d gone to a meeting, and her just how vulnerable she was to temptation. She didn’t feel like drinking – at least not in a conscious way – and yet, the memory of the moment of anticipation, the way her body had pulled her towards the drink, singing its promises of comfort and warmth – that had been real and very much in her path of awareness, and it scared the shit out of her. First alcohol, then pills, and then ... she didn’t even want to go there.
When she arrived at the meeting, she remembered why she hadn’t made it a habit of going. She’d attended the meeting a few times after coming to Barcelona and she often felt a little out of place. The people were nice enough but it was a big meeting held only in Spanish which was more than terrible at. But, then again, meetings all around the world basically said the same thing. The twelve steps were the twelve steps whether in English, Spanish, French or Pig Latin.
She laughed at that thought and smiled to the greeter.
“Ah, you are the American,” he said, “You came, once, a few months before?”
She smiled, and nodded, “Yes, I came once,” she said.
Then she pushed past him and went inside the room. She didn’t want to engage with anyone.
She got herself a Styrofoam cup and poured herself a coffee, then went to the middle of the room and took a seat. When the room began to fill up, she started to relax.
The man who’d greeted her was leading the meeting. And to Joan’s annoyance, he called her out. “We have a special guest back with us today,” he said, looking straight at Joan. “An American, I believe. Joan, isn’t it? Why don’t you stand up and introduce yourself?”
Joan felt her cheeks heat, and not just because he’d called her out. How did he know her name? It had been almost two months since she’d come to a meeting in that room. She didn’t even remember meeting the guy before. Oh well. She obviously had met him, and the dude had some memory.
People were clapping, expecting her to introduce herself, so she stood up and muttered, “I’m Joan, and I’m an alcoholic.” Then she sat down.
Behind her, there was a sudden commotion, as if a chair had fallen.
Joan turned around and saw that some man wearing ragged clothes had fallen out of his chair. People were helping him back to his seat. The man, had his head ducked down as if in shame.
Her heart went out to the man. Just another Drunk.
The meeting continued and the readings were done in Spanish, then a few people shared in Spanish. Joan had already decided, given the uncomfortable presence of the greeter, that she’d sit on her hands and not share.
The greeter stood again. “Why don’t we let our two guests share now, in English? Any objections?”
Joan was a little annoyed by this. She didn’t want to share. She shook her head and avoided the leader’s eye.
“Alright, if our American doesn’t want to share, how about the gentleman that fell out of his chair?”
There were titters of laughter followed by enthusiastic applause.
Joan felt sorry for the man, and more than a little irritated with the leader for calling on a man who was obviously not sober. She turned to give the poor guy a sympathetic smile, but the man was practically hiding her face in his coat.
The leader pressed, “Come on, at least tell us your first name.”
The man lifted his face, and Joan gasped as she recognized who it was.
It was Antonio. Oh, my God. And he looked terrible.
Was he drunk?
He certainly looked like hell, the way his body was doubled over as if in great pain.
It was inappropriate for the leader to press anyone to speak, especially someone who was currently drunk.
“No, I’ll go,” Joan said, hoping to take the attention away from the poor man. The greeter smiled broadly and waved her to the podium. She got up and took her spot. By the time she turned around to face the room, Antonio was already gone.
She swallowed away her disappointment at seeing him go, then began her share. “My name is Joan and I’m an Alcoholic,” she said, not bothering to try and speak Spanish since the greeter had told her to share in English.
“I haven’t been to a meeting in a while, but today I was reminded just how strong the disease is inside me. Something upsetting happened to a loved one, and since she’s not one of us, she was offered a drink to calm her nerves. She took it, and it helped her, but a drink was offered to me out of courtesy. Before I could even think to stop myself, I was reaching for that alcohol. It was like a magnet and my fingers were metal filings, you know what I mean?”
There were nods in the room as people sat on the edge of their seats, some of them translating to Spanish what she was saying.
“So, I almost took that drink. My sister stopped me in time, but I was so shocked by my actions that I almost threw up.” A few people thought that was funny, but Joan didn’t, so the laughter died quickly away. “So, that’s why I’m here,” she said wrapping up her share. “I needed to be reminded that I’m not like other people. I can’t drink or use successfully. I always screw my life up when I try it, so, I’ve decided not to do it anymore. Thanks for letting me share.”
They all clapped. Instead of sitting down, Joan hurried out of the room. She was hoping to catch Antonio. If he was a drunk like her, then maybe she should help him... maybe, she could let go of her anger over how he’d behaved. Maybe, she would be there for him, like he hadn’t been for her.
But, when Joan got to the front of the church, she saw that she was too late.
Antonio was long gone.
Chapter Five
ANTONIO FERRARO FELT like both a heel and an idiot as he ducked out of the AA meeting. He knew that she’d recognized him, and it made him sick that she’d seen him like that. He couldn’t face her, not battered and down, worse than he’d ever been in his life. He’d messeded up – didn’t even have the sense to check which meeting he’d walked into. As soon as he rounded the corner he noticed a much smaller room with a meeting going on inside. There were only a handful of people. On the door knob, a sign hung which read “GA”. Well, he knew where to go next time, if there ever was a next time.
When he got outside, he found himself fumbling in his pocket for his keys. He laughed as his fingers pressed the unlock button on his key fob. His car was probably in the impound lot by now. It occurred to him that he hadn’t bothered to look on the windshield for a ticket. Maybe it was still where he’d parked it? He saw a taxi driving by and flagged it down.
When they got back to his car, it was being towed. “Let me out,” Antonio shouted to his driver. The cab pulled over, and before it came to a complete stop, Antonio threw open, and despite the pain, ran to the men hooking his car up to a tow truck. He started yelling at the men, shouting that they couldn’t tow his car on that truck. Explaining in his best Spanish, that dragging it down the road would ruin the very expensive car.
“Flatbed,” he said in Italian, and English, because he didn’t know the word in Spanish.
To his surprise, the man in charge, brought over a phone. Antonio explained to the person on the other line, who understood English, about how the car would lose all its value if they towed it on anything but a flatbed.
The man with the wrong kind of tow truck, disengaged his chains, and drove away.
Antonio knew they’d be back. And there was a lock on his wheel, so he couldn’t drive of
f, even if he wanted to.
He picked off the ticket from his windshield and waved for his cabbie to come over. He didn’t want to walk back to his hotel. He thought about last few thousand dollars he had in his bank account, the pending hotel bill, the fine he’d have to pay, to get his car out. Then he thought about how he still needed to pay for food between now and the wedding.
He wasn’t sure he could afford to stay in Barcelona through Saturday.