Earl tells his story at a Sunday morning AA meeting, opening with an emotional reflection on how far he has come from the man who had no history with anyone, no anchors to life, and no tools for living. He drank and used for sixteen years on a daily basis starting around age twelve — alcohol, heroin, cocaine, barbiturates, benzodiazepines — and by twenty-eight he was two hundred fifteen pounds, yellow, psychotic, had broken seventy-four bones, accumulated over six hundred fifty stitches, and lost his entire family. A therapist told him he was damaged beyond repair six months before he got sober.
He describes a failed attempt to quit after being strapped to a gurney in a bootleg sanitarium in Hollywood, where he made a desperate deal with Higher Power and meant it with every fiber of his being — then went out and drank for another couple of years. His actual bottom was spiritual and emotional: the realization that he was not connected to a single human being on earth, and that was entirely his doing. After forty-two days of detox on a free cot in Long Beach, a man named Ray W. told him AA was the only place for a guy like him, and he walked into the Thursday Night Brentwood Beginners Workshop — though the first time he stepped inside, he thought there were a thousand people and immediately backed out.
Earl walks through the steps with sharp clarity — step one is the problem (lack of power), step two is the solution (a power greater than himself), step three is the decision to act — and describes the obsession of the mind with a riveting dramatization of the disease whispering to him in a soothing voice, telling him a couple of cocktails are just a health decision. He talks about sponsoring Louie, a man with devil horns and a flame tattoo who now has eleven years and carries the message to teenage speed freaks at Midnight Madness meetings. He recreates his own early meetings in a rapid-fire stream of consciousness — park park park, keys on the seat, find the guy in the red coat, twenty-four things ABC — that captures the chaos of a newcomer's brain with devastating humor.
Now fifty-one with twenty-three years of sobriety, Earl has a wife he loves and likes, a home group, a house with two dogs, a legion of sponsees, and a life built on what he calls seconds and inches — the tiny decisions that separate him from the woman picking through garbage cans in the parking lot. He closes by telling newcomers that the small victories they cannot yet see are the foundation everything else gets built on.
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