Commitment Issues Read online

  "So when I went to AA, I went to the group in my old neighborhood. It was the only one I knew about, and I got sober. It was all okay until there was a business meeting. Bill Wilson himself was there. I'd seen him a lot over the weeks, and I never knew he was one of the founders of AA. I just thought he was a regular drunk."

  He thought about what he had said. “That didn't come out right. Bill Wilson was a regular drunk like the rest of us."

  The speaker spotted Wyatt. “Hey, kid,” he said. “I forgot your name, but I was at the Trinity Group yesterday and heard you speak."

  I saw Wyatt tense a little.

  "Pardon me for being forward. We're anonymous and all, but I want to say how proud I was of you. So everybody knows, this guy looks like he ought to be in kindergarten or day care. Yesterday he went to the oldest AA group in town. Part of what he mentioned was his sexual orientation. Nobody ever is forced to share that with anybody, and it really isn't anybody's goddamn business, if you want the truth. Your friend here says he's been sober for just a few weeks, but this guy had the guts to stand up and tell the truth about who and what he is. I am so proud of you. What's your name?"

  "Wyatt."

  "That's right, Wyatt,” the old guy said. “Sorry, my memory fades. Everybody give Wyatt a hand."

  Everybody clapped.

  "I was hoping you'd be here tonight for two reasons. First and most important for me is that you're about the best-looking man I ever saw. I mean, damn, child. How do you even do that? You must be one of those men who get hit on all the time. You are stunning and gorgeous. You are adorable, Wyatt. When you smile, I almost want to fall out of this chair. Sorry if I was staring at you, but I couldn't help it. I don't mean to be forward, but I wanted you to know that I am grateful that you could be here as eye candy for a guy in his nineties. Thanks, Wyatt, and I really mean that. Does the group have one of those portable defibrillators? If so, you might keep it handy, because this young man is about to give me a heart attack. Somebody get their phone and dial nine and one, and keep your finger close to the one. Just be ready for me."

  I saw every eye in the group turn to make sure they memorized Wyatt's face. He had been anointed as the group's official Pretty Boy by a ninety-year-old who had been around when AA was founded. The old man fanned himself and made a big show of blotting his forehead with a paper napkin that he found on the table.

  "Okay, I'm better now. Wyatt, sorry. I hope I didn't offend you. I was serious about all that, by the way. You are truly eye candy for these ninety-year-old eyes. But the other reason I'm glad you're here tonight is that I have a story to tell you. It's a story for everybody, but I thought about you last night at the Trinity Group. I want you to know about how Bill Wilson made AA safe for people like Wyatt and me. It is safe for us everywhere, every group. Not just at a gay group. I haven't seen any anti-gay anything in AA for decades. Not even in the Bible belt. Bill Wilson was one of our founders. I use his last name because he asked me to use it. You are never required to use your last name because we are anonymous. One of our traditions is that nobody uses a last name on radio or TV or film or newspapers. If you read the Traditions, it only says we have to be anonymous in the media. We aren't on the air here, and Bill always wanted me to use both his names. Bill Wilson was a little gruff sometimes, but he was always friendly and funny. He always came across like he was trying to sell you something, and there was some kind of sadness in the way he talked. Nervous, maybe. So a business meeting was called after the regular meeting. I have to say that business meetings are rough. If you don't have at least fifty or sixty years of sobriety, I suggest that you stay away from business meetings. This meeting was called to talk about two topics. One guy was caught stealing money from the group. He was taking money from the place that was trying to save his ass. The group all voted to kick him out of the group with very little discussion. The other topic was sex. It wasn't that anybody was caught having sex with anybody, but they found out that there was a homosexual attending. That would be me,” he said as he raised his hand.

  "Bill asked if there was any wrongdoing by this person, but nobody said anything. He asked if this person had made unwanted advances at anybody. The leader of the business meeting said it was necessary to make sure that the group's reputation stayed good so the group could continue to be a force for recovery. I was sitting right there, and everybody knew it was me. I was the one who was endangering the reputation of a room full of winos and hobos. There was almost no discussion before the leader called for a vote. Only four of us voted against the new rule. I was kicked out of the group, and I was put right on the same level as the thief. Bill Wilson was one of those who voted against the rule. It wasn't his home group, but nobody told him that he couldn't vote. After the rule was approved, Bill stood up and gave the address of his home group. It was the Manhattan Group on 41st Street. It isn't there now, but it was the first group in New York. Bill asked that both the thief and the homosexual be given the address. He said that both would be welcome there, and then he left."

  The old man took another drink of water and looked over at Wyatt to make sure he was still listening. The speaker pretended to get a shiver from looking at Wyatt.

  "Anyway, I followed Bill Wilson into the street and thanked him. He just smiled and walked uptown. I don't know if he was traveling by taxi or subway. He just walked away. I started attending the Manhattan Group on 41st Street. It was Bill's group, but I never saw the guy who had been caught stealing. Bill's group was busy getting out the book we now call the Big Book. It was published a few months earlier. The meeting hall was open all day, and guys were always busy with the Big Book. It really was big because he used the thickest paper the printer had, figuring that drunks would want the book more if it looked big. Within a couple of weeks, the leader at one of our meetings read a letter from the world office. Bill was a member of the group, but he was writing as the head of the worldwide movement. Nobody said anything about his membership there. The leader read the letter. Bill said that a number of groups had talked about membership requirements. He wanted each group to send him whatever rules the group had."

  Another drink of water. I think the speaker wanted to let his words settle.

  "A few weeks passed, and there was another business meeting at the Manhattan Group. We were lousy with business meetings back then because we didn't have... we didn't know how to run an AA group. When there was a question, the group had a business meeting. Thank God we don't have so many these days. Anyway, the leader said we had heard from the worldwide office. It was a letter from Bill Wilson, read like he wasn't sitting right there in the room. The letter had gone out to all the groups. It listed the requirements for membership from the various groups. There were more groups than I would have guessed. I knew about Dr. Bob in Akron, but I thought it was just Akron and New York. The letter said it was an attempt to draw out a national standard for AA membership, so everybody could know where they stood. According to the rules, you had to be male but you should also be a woman. Go smoke on that for a bit, but it gets better. You had to be Roman Catholic but you couldn't be Catholic. You had to be Episcopalian, but you also had to be Methodist. You had to be Jewish, but Jewish people weren't allowed. You had to be white, but you had to speak Spanish, Chinese, and French. You couldn't be homosexual, and you couldn't smoke cigarettes. I think we all smoked cigarettes back then, so we were out of luck. When the leader finished reading, it was clear that membership in Alcoholics Anonymous wasn't going to be as simple as you might think. We were all trying to get more members, but now we had a list that proved nobody would qualify. How do you be male and female at the same time? Everybody in our group was about to be banished. There was nobody anywhere who could be a member of AA. The solution, according to the letter, was the passage of a new principle. That principle says: ‘Our membership ought to include all who suffer from alcoholism. Hence we may refuse none who wish to recover.’ Period. We usually say that the only requirement for membership is a desire
to stop drinking, but that wasn't the original wording. Now do you see? Bill got this principle passed because of me. I am here to tell you that I am a member of Alcoholics Anonymous, and I have been for seventy-one years. I have a desire to stop drinking. End of discussion. Where's that on the wall?"

  Somebody pointed to the left of the podium.

  "See? I didn't even have to look,” he laughed. “I knew that the Twelve Traditions would be on your wall. Every group in the world has these traditions. That includes the third tradition. I am here, sober for seventy-one years, because of my friend and mentor. Bill Wilson, for all his faults, stood up for me. I am here because of him. You are here because of him. You are welcome at any AA group on the planet because of the wisdom and courage of our founder. He didn't make a big deal out of what he did. You probably didn't even know about your connection to the third tradition, but you know now. So Wyatt, I know it took more guts than I ever had to go over to that straight group and say what you said. You didn't have to do that, but you did. I saw that you broke through some issues that other people had with sexual orientation. You were there being yourself, and I want you to know how proud I was of you. I want everybody here to know about our third tradition. I want everybody to know why it is in place. We have the third tradition because of me and because of Wyatt and because of everyone here. Wyatt, you keep coming back and keep being honest. You guys keep coming back because it works if you let it. It works. I'm living proof of that."

  There was a standing ovation. I saw that Wyatt was crying.

  "He was there,” Wyatt said.

  "Yup,” I agreed. “And you're here. Wanna meet him?"

  "Naw, I'm good."

  "Okay,” I said as we began walking out to the parking lot. “Diner?"

  "Can't tonight,” he said. “Car's in the shop. I took the bus."

  "Come on,” I said. “I'll drive."

  "You are kidding, right?"

  "What?"

  "You're on your Harley,” he said. “Count the wheels."

  "Two,” I said quietly.

  "Somebody has stolen half of your car. You're supposed to have four wheels, but you only got two."

  "It's a motorcycle,” I laughed.

  "But,” he said. “Holy shit to mother of Jesus. What's that?"

  "Handlebars,” I whispered. “They all have one."

  "Not the handlebars. You have a pink Barbie doll squeeze horn that's supposed to go on a girl's bicycle."

  I shrugged as I gave him my helmet. I can ride without a helmet, but I almost always wear one. I didn't have two helmets, so Wyatt got my only one. I got onto the bike as he strapped the helmet onto his head. After I made sure both passenger pegs were down, I told him to get on. He put one foot on a peg, and then he just waited.

  "Hop off!” I said loudly.

  "What's wrong?” he asked like he had done something awful.

  "You ever ride before?"

  "Okay, now I know you're crazy. Do I look like a biker bitch?"

  "Sort of,” I laughed. “You can be my biker bitch anytime you want, but you have to learn how to mount."

  "You won't let me mount you."

  "The bike,” I said. “There's a way to get on the bike. You don't weigh much, but I feel every pound. It's no big deal, but you stood on the peg. We almost went over because I wasn't ready for you to just stand there."

  "Sorry,” he said like I had shot him.

  "Not a huge deal. Stand on the peg, but swing your leg over and sit down. We gotta stay balanced."

  "Oh, okay. I get it."

  "Only other thing is that I'll drive. I lean for curves, but you are just dead weight. Don't help me lean in the curves. Just sit there, and I'll keep us upright."

  "Yes, boss."

  I hit the ignition button, and the bike came to life. Potato-potato, it said. Potato-potato. I even squeezed the horn, and it went eee-woo, eee-woo.

  "When do I get to swim again?” he asked me as I started to pull out.

  "I'm afraid to ask you,” I told him. “If I get you wearing next to nothing again, I won't be able to keep my hands off you."

  "Nobody's asking you to,” he laughed. “Touch me all you want."

  "I can't,” I said, thinking we'd discuss it.

  "Fine,” he said. “Just take me home, and I'll be out of your hair."

  "That's not what I meant,” I told him.

  "Please take me home, or I can just get off and take the bus."

  That went well, don't you think?

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Six

  ... And now this nation of immigrants is facing the latest in a long string of immigrant waves. That's Perspective America. I'm Sean Roberts....

  "And we're clear. That's a wrap,” Ronny said through the studio intercom.

  I poked around at the station and then went directly to the group. I was early and caught the tail end of a business meeting. Wyatt was sitting in the front row listening intently. He hadn't been sober long enough to be attending a business meeting. They can be contentious. The topic was the thirteenth step. The business meeting leader explained that the thirteenth step was when anybody with a year or more of sobriety made sexual advances on a newcomer with the claim that sex would help the newcomer's program. Great. Just great.

  Part of me wondered if the meeting had been called because Wyatt and I spent so much time together. Maybe somebody saw how much I drooled when I saw him, how I blabbered when I tried to talk to him. Maybe they saw me coming up with poetry when I thought about his eyes or lips.

  Wyatt didn't pay any attention to me. It was like I didn't exist. He saw me come in, but he just ignored me. The business meeting concluded with passage of a paragraph about the thirteenth step. It was going to be read at all the group's meetings for a month, and it was to become a permanent part of every Newcomer Meeting.

  The business meeting adjourned, and there was still a half-hour before the eleven p.m. meeting.

  "Can I talk to you outside?” Wyatt said.

  "Sure,” I said, getting up and following him.

  When we were on the parking lot, I reached out to him for a hug. He just stood there with one hand against my shoulder. He didn't want to hug. He didn't even want me close.

  "Why did you string me along?” he asked in a severe tone that I had never heard from him. His voice was biting and fierce.

  "I don't know—"

  "Bullshit. You did,” he said, raising his voice. “You never cared about me. You were just wrapped up in your own shit."

  "Wyatt—"

  "Shut up. Just shut the fuck up. I wanted you so bad. I wanted to be inside you, and you told me you wanted it too."

  "But you're a newcomer."

  "Yeah, I was,” he laughed. “I was a pansy little newcomer, but you never said sex with you would help or hurt my sobriety."

  "But—"

  "No, shut up. The rule about the thirteenth step is only when the guy with the most sobriety tries to tell the newcomer that sex will improve sobriety. You never claimed that. You never tried to thirteenth-step me. You just didn't want to have sex. Next time somebody throws himself at your feet, have the common decency to tell him you aren't interested. You strung me along like a cheap piece of costume jewelry."

  "That isn't—"

  "Just shut the fuck up and leave me alone."

  And he walked away. He left and didn't come to the eleven p.m. meeting. He left me alone in the parking lot, wondering what I had done that was so wrong. Whatever I did or didn't do with Wyatt was for his own good. He was on the rebound from getting kicked out of a relationship, and he was still an AA newcomer. Any one of those things would mean I had to keep my hands to myself. There were multiple reasons why we couldn't be in a relationship, not now. Maybe we could later, but I knew that I was doing the right thing. Wasn't it the right thing? He said that I didn't want him, but that wasn't true. He said that I couldn't commit to a relationship, but I didn't think... could that be it? No, my intent was t
o protect Wyatt, to give him space to get sober and to live sober. Whatever, he made an abrupt departure from my life. He was there one minute and gone—poof—the next.

  I didn't see Wyatt for three weeks at the eleven p.m. meeting, although my sponsor told me that he was going to the noon meeting. He was going to a meeting that was held when I was on the air. He had picked a time where he was positive that we wouldn't meet. He had given me the boot, and he put up every wall he could find.

  * * * *

  Hi, I'm Sean, and I'm an alcoholic, and I fucked-up first class.

  I was alone at the eleven p.m. meeting, and it felt awful. I never went to the diner but just went straight home. It was really awful. What had I done that was so bad? My goal was to keep Wyatt safe and secure, and he was punishing me for it.

  I stopped going to meetings. I stopped everything except work and fast food drive-throughs. I even wanted to get drunk, and that hadn't happened for a very long time.

  "I want to go get a drink,” I told my sponsor on the phone.

  "Bullshit,” Sharon said. “You never wanted a drink in your whole miserable life."

  "You're right. I want to go get drunk."

  Sharon didn't speak. My sponsor just listened. She waited for me to say more.

  "Hello?” I said.

  "I'm here."

  "Any words of advice?"

  "Call the newspaper. Maybe they'll send a reporter right over."

  "Don't be... I want to get drunk."

  "Is this Sean? Is this the guy I've listened to for at least two years say he's an alcoholic?"

  "You know it's me, but that—"

  "If you're an alcoholic, I'd be surprised if you didn't want to go get drunk from time to time. Of course you want to get drunk. This isn't news, babe. Seems to be an occupational hazard for people like us."

  "I haven't wanted to get drunk in so long. What am I supposed to do? I miss him so much."

  "Rum? Baby miss his rum?"

  "Wyatt,” I said through my tears. “I want to get drunk because I can't stand to be without Wyatt."

  "Bullshit,” she said. “You want to get drunk because you're an alcoholic. Did you read anything from the Big Book today?"