“Let’s Get Back on the Wagon,” I Said.
“How can I help you and me get back on the wagon?” I asked George at lunch.
He had brought us two chili dogs from Sarah Jay’s eatery.
“You get out of control,” George told me accusingly. “You can’t handle your liquor. I can.”
George was right. George is what you call a functional alcoholic. I am not. My life, in all areas, spirals out of control when I drink. George still manages to avoid the law, go to work, etc.
“Would you go to some meetings with me?” I asked.
I have been of the mindset that if you can’t beat them, then join them lately about Alcoholics Anonymous. And besides, I badly, badly need a healthy social outlet in my life.
“You know our misgivings,” George replied professorially. “We don’t believe in all that religious bullshit.”
“We will use the group’s conscious as our higher power,” I replied.
George looked up at me defeated. “Life was better when I didn’t drink. My money I’ve saved is getting eaten alive!”
“Let’s make a pact and a truce,” I told him. “We will help each other. We can be our own little support group. You know I can’t drink for obvious reasons. You’ve seen what it does to my life and my family.”
George sighed. “I really didn’t want to have this conversation this morning.”
I could smell alcohol on his breath from the distance from my couch to the lounge chair.
“Just think about it,” I finally said as we turned to eating our hotdogs.
George left to get some sleep. I hope he does think about it. I had never done better than when my best friend quit drinking as well. It gave me something to strive for. George can be my best friend and my own worst enemy at times as well. I need his help and support. He needs mine as well. Together we can do this I hope.