Page 21 of Blue Umbrella Sky
“Ruby? Never. The sweetest thing about her is she knows which side her bread is buttered on. Whatever hell she came from, I firmly believe she knows it was me that rescued her from it. And she’s grateful. She wouldnotrun away.” Milt thought for a moment. “I’m grateful too—to have found her. She gives me as much as I like to think I give her.”
Billy wanted to tell Milt that he was lucky to have such a faithful companion but knew he’d be pointing out the obvious.
Billy himself had been an abused animal, and the abuser had been the worst kind of enemy—himself.
He let Milt and Ruby continue wordlessly up the trail. Partly because not making the connection he wanted with Milt was making him a little sad, and with the sadness came a certain amount of lethargy. He’d hiked these trails—and this one in particular—countless times. They were aids to his recovery as much as the twelve steps themselves were, as much as the meetings were, and as much as his calls to his sponsor, an older woman named Candy. Alone up here on a trail, with the whole world spread out before him, he’d managed to find himself, to find the stillness within where he could begin to hear the voice that helped him find a new life, not hiding from it in a bottle, but embracing it, filled with all of its joys and sorrows.
Now he was lucky enough to have a companion on the trails. He’d taken Milt to White Water, to Palm Canyon, to Joshua Tree. There were still many, many unexplored paths for them. Could love grow in the sandy brush of the desert? Billy frowned. It didn’t seem so, at least not in this case.
He sometimes thought Milt looked at him as a kid brother. There was an easy affection between them that was growing. Billy knew he should accept that, be grateful for the gift it was, but he was stubborn.
Today, he thought, shielding his eyes as he looked upward at Milt and his dog and a sky so blue it glowed with neon intensity, he’d need to beg off after their hike and get himself to a meeting.
He needed to remember the simple words of the Serenity Prayer.
Chapter 9
BILLY, BRAINfuzzy, regarded the little crowd seated on folding chairs around him. The lower level of St. Augustine’s Catholic Church looked like the basement of many other old Catholic churches, at least in Billy’s experience. He’d grown up Catholic in Riverside, California, and had long ago abandoned the faith because, as a gay man, he no longer felt welcome. On the wall opposite was a come-on for Tuesday night bingo; next to that, Christ hanging out on his cross. Billy smirked. He’d always found Jesus kind of sexy, especially in that loincloth. There were also a few obvious nods to twelve-step groups—placards announcing “Easy Does It” and “There’s a Magic in this Room” and “Just for Today.”
What am I doing here?He shook his head, and the small motion made the little man behind his eyes pick up his ice pick and go back to work. The headache was sharp, making his eyes more sensitive to light. The fluorescents above, softly buzzing, did him no favors. He licked his lips, but it was no good—his mouth was dry. Acid pooled at the back of his throat.
The meeting hadn’t started yet, and the men and women gathered in that basement room, with its speckled linoleum and acoustic-tile suspended ceiling, chatted softly among themselves, clutching Styrofoam cups of coffee, many of them laughing. Billy was surprised at that. After all, wasn’t this an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting? Weren’t folks supposed to be serious, or to underline with a groaner of a pun,sober? Some of these folks were behaving as though they were at a party. Billy felt left out, like he wasn’t one of the cool kids. But how cool could you be, he wondered, if you ended uphere?
The assembled alcoholics were a mix of young and old, fat and thin, poor (Billy guessed) and affluent. There were a couple of cute guys—one in particular who caught Billy’s eye who reminded him of Freddie Mercury, with his cropped black hair and walrus mustache—and Billy wondered if he could lead him astray after the meeting. One woman looked like she could have no different occupation other than a librarian, with her gray hair pulled back in a loose bun and her oval wire-rim glasses. She wore a loose-fitting housedress, black-and-white checkered, that his mom would have referred to as a shift. She wore black flats—sensible shoes.
It must have rolled around to meeting start time, because a guy with a beer gut, reddish beard, and kind smile, seated in the center of the circle, cleared his throat. He smiled at everyone. “Would those who choose to please join me in the Serenity Prayer?”
Billy had heard of the Serenity Prayer but wasn’t familiar with how it went. He’d be a good sport and at least try to mouth the words as they were spoken.
The man said simply, “God,” and then paused.
There was a little shuffling of feet, a shifting of bodies; some bowed their heads.
And then they began speaking in unison.
“God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change.
“The courage to change the things I can.
“And the wisdom to know the difference.”
New age hooey, Billy thought.What happens now?
The bearded leader of the group began. “Hi, everyone, I’m Stan. And I’m an alcoholic.”
“Hi, Stan!” everyone cried out in response, and Billy smirked, rolling his eyes.
Stan went on to describe how things would happen in the meeting. There’d be readings, followed by sharing and then “observance of the seventh tradition,” and then announcements.
He might as well have been speaking in a foreign tongue as far as Billy was concerned. These folks had simply traded one addiction for another. He slouched in his chair, wishing he could be home, in his bed, sleeping yet another one off. He could get up later, find himself the greasiest cheeseburger and fries in town, and feel like himself again.
And then… a tavern near his apartment that opened early. Visions of a backlit bar danced before him, rows of bottles of different-colored potions reflected in a huge mirror mounted behind them.
He shook his head, trying to make himself listen, as Jon had told him, with an open mind.
But it was hard. And his ears didn’t really perk up until the readings had gone by—so much gibberish—and a couple of people had shared their miseries.
But when the “librarian” began to speak, to share, Billy woke from his state of sloth and boredom.
