Page 31 of Blue Umbrella Sky
She went on. “I guess someday it’ll come to me. What I need to do.” She shrugged. “For now, I guess I need to be satisfied with knowing that I’m willing—for God’s grace to come to me, to show me the path. And I’ll just keep coming to these meetings until something clicks.” She smiled, and Milt could see a much younger, woman, prettier, in that smile—a glimpse of innocence and what might have been. “Thanks, everybody. That’s all I got.”
Everyone clapped.
There was a brief silence, and then Milt looked up as a familiar voice said, “Hi, I’m an alcoholic named Billy.”
“Hi, Billy!” Milt found himself saying hi too.
Milt thought if he were a dog, his ears would have stood up at attention.
“I’m thinking about something I did once, back when I lived in Chicago. Someone gave me a butterfly kit as a gift. You guys know what that is? It’s for kids, so that shows you how this giver saw me.” He chuckled. “But it was actually really cool. A good experience. It let me raise a few butterflies from caterpillars on my own.”
Billy paused, thinking. “I raised a few from caterpillar to cocoon to full-fledged butterflies, but toward the end, when I was down to my last one, I had a little trouble. This little guy just looked worn-out, sickly, couldn’t lift his wings. I tried feeding him, poking him, prodding him, because, man, I have never been a patient guy.
“I thought he was gonna die. I remember it was a warm day, early spring, one of those days in Chicago when the temperature busts out into the sixties and you think you’re gonna die from the sheer pleasure of it after the long and dark winter. So I took him out into the backyard of my apartment building, thinking if he was dying, he could at least do it in the sunshine.” Billy smiled, and for a moment, Milt thought he’d spied him there in the back of the room, but then his gaze moved on.
“You’re all probably wondering what this story has to do with anything. And I’m getting to that. See, for me, what I got out of this experience was the surprise I got when I took him out. See, he wasn’t dying. It was just that his wings were very wet. When the sun warmed him up, it also dried his wings. In no time, I smiled as I watched him flutter off into the air.”
Billy paused. Milt could see he was fully immersed in the memory. Milt felt like he was too; he couldseethat butterfly.
“My point, and I do have one, is that the little butterfly taught me something. Maybe not that day, but looking back I can see how I learned a little more about surrender, about just letting things happen on their own time, not mine.
“Like a lot of you, I’m a control freak. I want to influence the outcome ofeverything.” He laughed. “Like right now. I know this guy and I really like him and I’ve been trying to get him to like me.” Billy smiled.
Milt’s skin prickled.
“And what I have to do is surrender. Things between us are gonna work out or they won’t—and right now, it’s looking like they won’t. He’s in a weird place and just not ready for the likes of me. Or anybody, really. But I know I just need to let go. As they say in these rooms, ‘let go and let God,’ and that’s what I need to do. Surrender my will and just ask for my higher power’s will to be revealed to me—whatever that is.
“One thing I know for sure, my higher power only wants me to have my highest and best good, right?” He nodded. “So I’m gonna try to surrender. Turn my will over. We’ll see how that goes.”
Milt caught the look of hope on Billy’s face, like something shining and fragile.
Vulnerable.
And it cut to Milt’s heart in an instant.
Milt stood and quietly slipped from the room as Billy’s thanks and the subsequent applause sounded.
Chapter 12
IT WASso hard to meditate. Even though Billy knew it was a good thing to do, it was almost impossible to quiet his “monkey mind.” Yet he kept at it, making a time every morning to simply sit cross-legged on his bed. He’d set the timer on his phone for ten minutes, close his eyes, and try to relax and concentrate on nothing other than the slow in-and-out of his breathing. It seemed like such an easy task—just sit back and think of nothing. But Billy found it daunting.
He couldn’t deny it. He thought he had one of the busiest minds on the west coast, maybe even in all the continental United States. The world? Billy shrugged and thought of an old Perez Prado and Rosemary Clooney song he loved, “Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps.”
Billy had to chuckle. The song was appropriate for this morning. It was all about the pining of an unrequited lover for another—and about forcing him to make up his mind.
He sighed and basked for a moment in the clarity of the early morning sun. It was so delicious, he briefly considered simply flopping back on the bed and returning to sleep. At least in slumber, he could forget about his “problem” next door.
Yes, he’d seen Milt slip in and out of the AA meeting the night before. He was both thrilled and pissed off that he’d come. Thrilled because it showed, Billy thought, his interest in him. He was sure Milt wasn’t coming to the meeting for himself. He’d known the man for a few months now, and there was no indication of any addictive behavior. Milt barely touched alcohol, save for the occasional beer on a hot day or a glass of wine with dinner.
Billy knew there was the chance Milt didn’t drink around him out of respect for Billy’s alcoholic status. That would make sense.
And he also knew, big-time, that alcoholics and addicts were masters of deception. Most all of them, Billy included, could lie and keep secrets with the best of them.
He just didn’t get a sense—in his gut—that Milt was hiding something from him.
Ergo, he’d followed him to the meeting and listened to his story about the butterfly that referenced Milt himself. He’d snuck out right after Billy finished speaking, which lent validity to the notion that Milt had come expressly to see Billy.
It was heartwarming in a stalkerish sort of way, if that was possible.
