Buffy the Vampire Slayer

The Last One

By

22 Claws

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January 21, 2013

Cleveland, Ohio

Alcoholics Anonymous, Flat Irons Meeting

9:47 AM

Clive Travers surveys the wretchedness. It’s the Monday morning meeting. So, there are several that slipped up over the weekend. Lots of crying. Lots of smoking. Not a spot of proper tea to be had. Crying, cigarettes, and coffee. It’s kind of the theme.

The building’s very old and in the poorest part of town. The paint on the cinder block walls is cigarette smoke yellow. The seats are probably from some long ago high school. Almost, but not quite, adult size. They’re arranged in a circle. About thirty.

“I’m glad I’m sober." Some of them declare when they finish their words. Clive Travers finds that hard to believe. It’s been forty-two nerve-wracking days since he last took a drink. He can’t imagine being more miserable. Sitting among these poor Americans. Listening to the tawdry details of their train-wrecked lives, he can’t imagine how anyone is helped by this experience. He’s never wanted a drink more. He checks his watch. 9:48. Damn.

Before long, it’s Clive’s turn to speak. In a very decent Cleveland, Ohio American accent, he begins: "Um... hello, my name is John, and I’m an alcoholic." The group responds with a chorus of "Hi John."

"It’s been six weeks since my last drink." Clive begins. There are mutterings of congratulation and support. Clive continues. "This is my first meeting." He pauses, clears his throat nervously, then continues.

"Last night, a friend of mine was attacked in his home. He was beaten. His home was burned down." There is surprise and sympathetic reaction from the group. Clive goes on.

"All I wanted to do this morning was run away. Crawl into a bottle. But, goddamn it, the liquor stores weren’t open yet. There’s one down the road, by the way.

I was in the parking lot at eight-thirty, waiting for it to open at nine. Then, I noticed the sign outside for this mee