Brilliant … But Bouncy

Do You Need Any Help?

Back on the main drag in Braddock, I was utterly lost.

Being sober for almost three years had changed me; I’d acquired new perspectives. I’d spent so long sober that I’d gotten used to vibrant colors, the comfort of a soft bed, the ability to read a book. I’d learned new songs, had deep, philosophical conversations, traveled to places I’d never been before, explored nature and bathed in its beauty.

In other words, I’d had a life.

The horrors of drinking again and “detox” put me on an all-too-familiar path toward death again. Everything was gray, broken, filthy. Hopelessness overwhelmed me.

I felt completely unloved. I couldn’t call Louise; she’d been very clear that I needed to stay in detox. My parents had moved to Maryland and didn’t even know I was drinking again. I couldn’t call Paul. I didn’t even have phone numbers for the handful of people I knew in AA. Even Ronnie had hung up on me.

I was done with college – twice – and fired from another job. I had no career prospects, no hope to ever love again. Other than Kitty and my Atari game set, nothing waited for me at home. I had no friends, no soul mate, no family, no future, no life.

For reasons I hadn’t yet conjured, I hadn’t just thrown myself under a moving train.

So I was walking around in circles in Braddock, Pennsylvania, an armpit of a town devastated by the loss of its mills, and I couldn’t even get another beer because I was too high on detox drugs to be served.

My rage at the detox flared again. Detox had trampled my rights, and now I couldn’t get a beer. I have always been able to make myself a victim, and on this day I was an exceptionally pathetic victim.

It was in this condition, wandering alone despondently on the streets, when the worst thing happened. I reached for my cigarettes and tragically discovered that I only had one cigarette left in the pack.

If I lit the cigarette I wanted, I would have no cigarettes at all.

I stopped walking and looked around. I was surrounded by boarded-up buildings and garbage rolling down an empty street. There were no convenience stores, no bars, no gas stations, no restaurants, nothing.

Since I’d started smoking at the age of 20, I had never been without cigarettes. And now I was down to my last cigarette.

I had no money, no alcohol. I felt homeless, empty, desperately alone.

A car appeared on the street, slowing down as it drove, two young guys staring at me as they passed.

I had nowhere to hide; I froze, mentally on high alert.

The car rolled down the street; I breathed.

Then it made a sudden U-turn, heading back in my direction – and stopping. The guy in the passenger seat jumped out and headed straight toward me.

“Hello?” he called, somewhat harmlessly. “Um, hi … do you need any help? My name is Frank. I’m from Narcotics Anonymous.”

From Narcotics Anonymous!!!

I burst into laughter and started to cry at the exact same moment, instantly becoming hysterical. Not only was the strange man not attacking me, but I’d been sent an actual angel: the answer to my unspoken prayer.

“You’re an angel!” I scream-wept. “You’ve been sent directly from God!”

“I don’t know about that,” Frank the Angel said warily. “But I can help you if you need some help.”

Laugh-sobbing uncontrollably, I howled: “I’m out of cigarettes! Can you help with that?”

Finally, Frank laughed. “I think I can,” he said.