We Want to Check In!
Since I was hanging out in the local sober club while I was drinking, I attached myself to a tall, red-headed Irish biker who also hung out at the club.
We played pool together, and the jukebox, and smoked copious amounts of cigarettes. It was just like being in a bar. So when the Irish biker decided, after 18 months sober, that he wanted to go out and drink too, I just sort of wandered out the door with him.
Together we visited bars I’d never frequented, which were just like all the other bars in the world. We got drunk for a couple of weeks together, had some sex, and I even met his extremely large Irish Catholic family, who didn’t seem to care that he was not sober.
My family cared, but they had moved to Washington, D.C. so I didn’t mention my transgressions to them. And I didn’t answer the phone if I was drunk and my parents called. They had no idea that after I’d finally rebuilt their trust in me, I was watching it drizzle away like water leaking from a plastic bag.
I’d been drinking, and quitting, and drinking, and quitting, and drinking consistently for several weeks before my neighbor said, “Maybe you need rehab.”
My first instinct: NO. I can do this on my own!
But I loved rehab. I’d had such fun there! I loved the comfort of being fed regularly without having to buy or cook my own food. I loved playing chess with my rehab boyfriend. I loved groups where we talked about our innermost feelings. I loved the safety of being away from the temptation of drugs and alcohol. I loved meeting Abraham Twerski and getting pearls of wisdom offered as freely as sunshine. And my favorite day in rehab was the day I walked out – and ended up watching bluebirds and goldfinches in the woods.
I knew the bluebird thing was unlikely to happen again, but I didn’t want to go to just any rehab. I wanted to go back to Gateway.
So the Irish biker and I got good and drunk, and then we drove ourselves to Gateway to check in. Actually, he drove my VW Bug since I was too drunk to drive. Somehow we made it there in one piece.
We stumbled into the lobby laughing.
A stolid woman looked up from behind the welcome desk.
We yelled: “We want to check in!” and burst into hysterics.
She waited until we calmed down. Suddenly I realized that it was very, very quiet except for us. Finally she said, “We don’t have any beds available right now,” she said. “We can put you on a waiting list.”
“I need help now!” I wailed. “I need another 28 days clean! I was here in 1989, does that matter?”
I could tell from her face that it did not. “Things have changed a bit since you were here,” she said. “Insurance laws have changed, so you can only stay for 14 days now. And the waiting list is about three weeks. How did you get here?”
“We drove!” said the Irish biker.
“Then you’re going to have to get a ride home,” she said. “You can’t drive in this condition.” Then she confiscated our keys and made us wait until someone from the Irish Catholic family took us both home.
The next day, I got a ride back to Gateway to get my car, and put myself on the waiting list.
During the following week, I totally destroyed my chances of getting in.