He looked familiar, but they all look alike after a while, I kept driving. An hour later I was in my other seat, Rescue Lieutenant in Providence, and we were called to the same corner for an intoxicated male. This time I couldn’t just keep driving.
It was Paul, and I haven’t seen him in a few years. Back then he was a daily caller, never gave us much trouble, always said he was going to stop drinking tomorrow.
He told me all about the program, the twelve steps, his sponsor and how he let it all go just for a drink. He’d been at it for a week, now, he said, killing himself a half pint at a time. He came to Providence to visit some friends, had a pocket full of money and good intentions. But he knew I knew he was lying. He came back to Providence to get drunk, and stay drunk, and die drunk.
Something happened in Maine, he started to tell me but couldn’t finish his story, getting choked up before he could speak.
“You need to get back to AA.” “That’s why I called you.”
It is a disease of isolationism, most die broken and alone, yet to fully grasp the thing that will restore sanity reaching out to others is imperative.
And for me, staying sober means helping other alcoholics. The back of Rescue 1 has been host to more than a few AA meetings.
It will be seventeen years in a couple of weeks, as long as I remember to take things one run at a time.