Chapter 5 Chapter 3 Nothing to be proud of

I'm flying to Minnesota and will be picked up.When the plane circled on the waiting pattern, I couldn't help thinking about it, and I imagined the appearance of the person who picked up the plane.The executive did not describe the person's appearance on the phone. "It's going to be an assistant, I'm not sure who it will be. They'll recognize you, don't worry." I wonder how they would recognize me.Do drunks automatically exude some kind of daiquiris smell as a signal to connect with other drunks? I imagine it should be an old man.He sported a Freudian beard and was a father figure.He'll have a shrewd eye, honed in the battle against alcohol.His eyes were more benevolent after years of inner discipline and temperance.He must have read a lot, maybe he can recite some sentences to me in the car.

As the plane was getting ready to land, it started shaking from side to side, I think they would call it a wind landing.First one wing of the plane will hit the tarmac, and the engine on that side will explode; then the other side will hit it, and it will explode.Fireballs will roar down the runway.The wreckage of the plane was scattered all the way, and it did not stop until it rushed across the airport and into the wilderness.They continue to burn smolderingly until they are beyond recognition. The plane hit hard, bounced back into the air, and hit again.It actually felt like a relief to me at first.But it was quickly replaced by a strong sense of fear.

When I arrived at the airport, I tried to look like I was from New York so that the person who picked me up would recognize me as quickly as possible.Even though it was dark, I wore sunglasses to cover my bloodshot eyes.I tried not to look at people, I pretended I was in a Gotham bar, looking tired from the constant crowd of models and actors.I stood by the baggage claim desk with my bulging luggage bag under my feet.These bags used to travel with me around the world to shoot commercials, but now they have to follow me to the rehabilitation center.I failed them. I waited ten minutes.Everyone became suspicious to me, as if they were looking for someone.

I decided to put away the New York stuff and try to be as close to the hospital as I could be.I stomped nervously, I bit my lip, and looked around anxiously.I thought, should I just sit on the spot, swaying all over my body, until someone hugged me and said, "Okay, here I am, here I am, follow me to the courtyard." I waited another four minutes.I gotta get out of here before the narcotics dogs notice me.It's unbelievable that my luggage has been in storage for a year and it's still spotless. I picked up the bag, carried it on my shoulder, squeezed through the electric door, and came to the taxi waiting area.The driver asked where I was going, and I gave him the address of the rehabilitation home.I kept silent and never said the name of the hospital.I didn't say, "Prad...you know what? That 'gay' rehab center in Duluth. By the way, my name is Augustine, I'm an alcoholic..."

I can't say it.I just gave him the address: 3131 North Duluth Street. Without even thinking about it, the driver stepped on the accelerator and left the airport gate, onto the interstate highway.It frustrates me a bit, he seems to know exactly where he's going.He said nothing tactfully, which made me feel a lot better. "Another drunkard today," he was sure to say to his wife when he got home, over honey ham and ringtooth potatoes at the dinner table.He would still shake his head and say to his son, "Son, isn't this person scary?" As the drab, drab landscape of Minnesota flashed past my window in endless stretches, I tried my best to imagine what a rehabilitation home would look like.

I played the rehabilitation home guide tape over and over in my head.My favorite is this passage: Frank • Wright-style building out of the way, surrounded by neat and elegant boxwood; the interior of the building is of course Jan • Schlag; room, full of sunlight, firm mattress, and three-hundred-women white Egyptian cotton sheets... and a bedside table (probably made of birch, with a galvanized steel top) with a Chicken soup and lemon ice water made by alcoholics. I also think of the clean and clean oilcloth floor (since I have already thought of the details of this kind of wardization, so I think I can further develop it as much as possible).I don't think the nurses would wear white polyester, it would be too uniform and stereotyped; they might wear tailored hemp overalls.As they stood by the French windows overlooking the lily pond, I'd be able to catch a glimpse of their long, reflected legs.

I think there will be a big swimming pool.I'll put up with the terrible chlorine smell in it, I'll make allowances for that, it's a hospital after all. I think, there will be special swimming training in the gymnasium with modern equipment, and I will definitely lose all the fat accumulated in my abdomen by then. I figured my daily diet would be strict and restricted, presumably steamed local salmon and seasonal vegetables, and they would have a marzipan strawberry dessert, but I would politely decline that. But when the plains were gradually replaced by industrial parks, I began to feel anxious, and what I saw was a parking lot full of minivans that I had never seen before.The imagination like a movie in my mind came to an abrupt end.

Where did the lush scenery go?Where are the ponds full of rare Japanese goldfish?And what about those meandering walking paths? Take the taxi and turn left into Maiden Alley, the hospital should be at the corner of the alley.But what I saw was the warehouse of the Pillsbury factory towering over a field of industrial buildings.Across Piersbury (and its "Dough Babies" on the lawn), is a brown 1970s office building, the sign on the eaves has disappeared, the lawn has been trampled, and the front of the lawn The letters on a sign have been mutilated - what remains: POUINSTE. Signs with missing arms and legs are usually a bad sign.I remember when I was a kid, there was a local grocery store whose "PriceChopper" was missing an "e", and the "PricChopper" icon happened to be a man wielding an axe.This is a weird castration position.This deeply stimulated the twelve-year-old me at the time.

Oh, my god! The building is busy and has the atmosphere of a rural clinic: a receptionist holds two microphones and speaks directly into one of them; two people sit across a chair, reading out-of-date newspapers; The corner of the window is looming, with its dusty leaves hanging down. "Is there anything I can do for you?" the receptionist asked.It was a chinless twenty-something woman with short mouse-hair hair, blistered eyes, blistered nose, and blistered teeth.I told her I was here to check in and she looked at me kindly as if I had come to get my teeth whitened. "Please sit down for a while, someone will come over soon."

I could feel my ears throbbing and my face burning.In an instant, all the images will come true. I can go now, I can say, "I left something in the taxi..." and I just turn around and walk back to the parking lot.After I've covered fifteen feet and I'm safe, I can run wildly.I can go back to New York and say to everybody, "I had an epiphany on the plane, and I totally figured it out... Mentally figured it out... You'll never see me drinking again." At this moment a woman came towards me. "Hi..." she came towards me singing, "You must be Augustine, I'm Peggy, come with me." The woman was short, but disproportionately wide, and she was dressed in white polyester.She also has blond curly hair that reaches her shoulders, but is very dark at the roots, accounting for almost half of her hair.She babbled on to me, but I was too dizzy to listen.The only thing I can be sure of is that I have accidentally fallen into a wormhole in the universe, and somehow fell into some kind of harsh life.

She led me round and round down a flight of stairs, then to the left, through a door, and at last I found myself suddenly in a long corridor.There were rooms on either side of the corridor, and the doors were open.As I walked, I secretly looked into the room.This is easy because every room is brightly lit by fluorescent lights on the roof.I noticed that there were three beds in each room, and I smelled a vague smell of disinfectant and baby powder in the air.Some sat on their beds, looking idly and dazedly into the corridor.My first impression was that combs are disabled here.A man stared at me in horror as he chewed his nails, his gray hair in a mess. At this time, an old man in a blue hospital gown walked past us, his old face was haggard, his back had a big cut, and his thread was hanging down.His sunken cheeks made me pull back. It's just awful! I took a deep breath like a psychological midwife, but suddenly remembered that the air here was full of bacteria, so I quickly held my mouth again.In order to monitor the deteriorating situation at any time, I kept my eyes on Peggy in front of me.She wobbled from side to side as she walked, her heels were worn out and rough—she seemed about to fall to the left at any moment.Does that mean she's going to be walking a lot and running a lot due to emergencies?To attack, or to escape? She led me into an office.There were four gray steel desks and many gray steel filing cabinets in the office, and on one side of the room was a wall-wide window overlooking the inpatient area, which had a mesh screen so strong that it could withstand Get up a loveseat and smash it. Peggy led me to a woman behind a desk and said, "Sue, this is Augustine from New York, and he's reporting." Sue looked up from her desk work and smiled at me.I was immediately struck by her friendly, savvy face, and she looked like the kind of person who would understand why I would never end up here. "Just a moment, Augustine." She mispronounced my name.Busily stacking one stack of papers on top of another, she took a sip of coffee from a colored mug.On the coffee cup, it is written vividly: Go forward bravely and be happy every day! "Okay, you're Augustine?" She turned her attention to me abruptly, with a look on her face that I couldn't help, but her eyes said, "Wait a minute , it will be your turn soon." I didn't know what to say, so I said, "Yes, I'm Augustine." I paradoxically corrected her pronunciation of my name.This is the first time that I have acted in an unidentified and unconscious manner, and it can be recorded in my personal history. She asked me if all was well at the airport.I told her that I came by taxi, and she was surprised when she heard that. "But Doris should pick you up!" She frowned and looked at the phone. "How long have you been waiting?" She wanted to ask carefully. Thinking about not making trouble for this Doris, I tried my best and pretended to lie naturally: "Oh, I didn't wait. I thought I had to come here by myself, so I took a taxi." Then I told the truth: "Taxis here are much cheaper than in New York, which is nice." I smiled beamingly, as if I had just claimed a pair of ruby ​​cuff chains at Fortunoff. She looked at me for what seemed a long time.It made me wonder if I smelled of alcohol, maybe I forgot to use freshener. "Well then, let's register and get you settled." Before I could say I'd changed my mind, she shoved me a stack of forms and took a snap of me (saying it's a legal process) , she also said that my luggage had to be checked, "for cologne, mouthwash...anything with alcohol." "Cologne?" I asked in bewilderment. "Oh, you might be surprised," she said, "but you'd never know what those drunks are using to drink secretly." That's when I figured it out, but I'll never drink cologne, so I'm not really an alcoholic at all in that sense.I actually came to the wrong place, this place is actually for the heinous, cologne-drinking alcoholics, not the average drinker like me who just missed the global brand conference.I opened my mouth desperately and was about to say something when she stood up suddenly, picked up my bag and said, "I'll take these to your room and have them check while you fill out the form, how about that?" This is obviously not a question, but an order, and I don't need to answer it.I was downcast, helpless, as if pushed by an invisible force against my will, I felt inexplicably weak and powerless. I looked at the documents in front of me: insurance forms, declarations, next of kin status, my signature line, and so on.My handwriting is scribbled and messed up.Every time I sign, the handwriting is different, as if I were an imposter, as if some crazy power has always been in control of Augustine's body, and it is now doing whatever it takes to sign him into a rehabilitation center. The real Augustine would never do that, and the real Augustine would say, "Can I have a Bloody Mary and a little Tabasco...and bring me the bill." I finished filling out the form, and my eyes fell on the filing cabinet under the window ahead.On top of it sits a disposable aluminum cake pan containing a supermarket-style birthday cake, but it's a mess now—a mutilated piece covered in bright red and blue Icing, green powdered egg-yellow sponge cake, it looks like it has been eaten several times by hurried diners; it seems that the nurses rushed back to this room in the middle of emergency mediation, digging a few mouthfuls of cake and stuffing them into their mouths , and then ran back to tie the troubled patient to the electric shock therapy machine.I think the healing device is somewhere outside in an invisible corner. So I secretly watched Peggy's uniform and chin for traces of icing. At this time Su suddenly appeared in the room: "Your bag is very clean, there are no such things. Have you filled out the form?" "It should be fine." I said meekly. She glanced at the form: "It looks good. Let's go to your room and tidy up, come with me." I followed her for about fifteen feet—my room was just across from the nurses' desk, which was the "detox ward."I was told I would be in there for seventy-two hours before being moved to a long-term ward.This floor is basically a V-shaped structure, with men living in one corridor and women living in the other. The intersection of the two corridors is the nurse's desk.The nurse's station has a window with a screen that overlooks the conversation area, which has three sofas and various chairs and a large coffee table.The furniture is heavy wood slatted style covered with a layer of industrial tartan.The design of the furniture is not good, it just looks solid.Apparently Ian Schragerr, the granddaddy of boutique restaurants.It has nothing to do with them.If it had been Jan Schrager, he'd have turned his back on one look and said, as he got into his Aston-Martin Frontier, pour the house over with gasoline, Burned, how could I design this kind of house. My room was the same as the others, 3 single beds. "Here we are, honey," Sue said, handing me a folded white terry towel.On the towel lay a thick blue Bible-like book called Alcoholics Anonymous.She handed me another pair of paper slippers. "I'll give you five minutes to tidy up, and then we'll start." She said as she left, "Oh, by the way, the door to this room has to stay open, always." There was a threatening tone in her voice.Then she raised her voice and said cheerfully, "See you later." I take off my leather jacket, hang it on a hook next to the mirror over the sink, and sit on the bed.The sheets were paper thin and smelled of bleach.It wasn't "New Rain" or "Lemon Summer" brand bleach, it was the kind of hospital bleach that was out and about.A framed print hangs above my bed.In the painting, the rainbow hangs in the air, and there is a sandy field under the rainbow, and there is a footprint in the sandy field.There is a sentence printed under the footprints: A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. I stood up and looked out the window, which was the ground of the hospital's backyard.The picnic tables on the ground were dusty, and the ground was littered with cigarette butts.As far as the eye could see, I could still see a small river, and beyond, more industrial parks. Elizabeth • Taylor would definitely not want to die here! I noticed that the other two beds in the room were unmade and that one of the beds was stuffed with luggage indiscriminately.It's impeccable.I have a roommate and am under constant threat of having a second. "Ready?" Sue said from my door. Startled, I turned around. "Is everything packed?" I nodded, I seemed to be dumb. Sue led me to the empty chat area.She explained that the other patients were upstairs in small groups, and they would be down in ten minutes, then in the cafeteria for lunch. She points to what looks like an airport bar, next to a folding chair.You might see something like this at the Katie Hauke ​​Lounge at Fresno Airport, but it's actually a stand-alone nurse's desk. Nurse Peggy appeared out of nowhere, and her pale attire made me dizzy.She smiled unnaturally as she asked me to roll up my sleeves and take my blood pressure.As I rolled up my sleeves, she stuck an electronic thermometer in my mouth.She looked at me and smiled.She pulled the thermometer out when it beeped.Next, she wrapped the blood pressure measurement around my arm and kept squeezing.She let go, frowning. "Hmm... it seems a little high, let me test it again? I want you to help me this time. You sit back, close your eyes, relax, and try to think of something calm." I thought of an iced martini with an olive leaf floating in it.The liquid trembled gently, spilling over the rim of the cup like splashing or not. She took another test. Folding the manometer back into her pocket, she said my blood pressure was very high. "I'll give you Lidianine to calm you down, we don't want you to be physically stimulated by quitting alcohol, that would be dangerous, and we'll have to take you to St. Judy's Emergency in an ambulance room." I watched her leave to get the pill, and my blood pressure shot up even higher. So I thought, wait here for a while?Wait for chlordiazepoxide, this kind of medicine called mother's assistant?I am acutely aware that if I had gone to a normal, normal rehab center, I probably wouldn't have had this little mom helper lowering my blood pressure.I probably just need to report a blood pressure number. Then I heard a commotion upstairs, followed by thunderous footsteps and laughter on the stairs behind me.I feel like they see me. Peggy handed me the pills and a small paper cup of water, and she looked up and called out to the crowd to say hello. I watched people creep down a hallway and gather in the conversation area.One of them came towards us. "Hi, Kawi," Peggy said. Kawei just smiled at me, as if I were a new addition to the menu.He was wearing black jeans with decorative buckles and a tight white shirt.His eyebrows are thick and dense, as if two heavy strokes have been drawn on his forehead.He looks Indian, but he also looks like a highly Americanized gay man.It made me feel slightly humiliated by him staring at me like that.A lock of thick black hair, sleekly curled, fell with unmistakable precision from his forehead. "I'm Kawei, what are you doing here?" "Stay in the courtyard for thirty days." He grinned silly and put his hands on his ass. "No, I mean what medicine did you choose?" I couldn't understand what he was saying.Suddenly, I realized that I was speaking a different language, one understood only by chairs and lampstands. He waited for my answer. And I'm waiting for my answer. He rolled his eyes. "You know...like booze...crack...meth..." I suddenly understood a word. "Oh, wine. Sorry." Kawei seemed tired of my answers. "I'm a sex freak, that's why I'm here, and cocaine. I've never been an alcoholic. I'm from Corpus Christi, and I'm an airline attendant." I thought to myself, now you're on the ground, it's Amtrak. Peggy suddenly thought of something and looked at Kawei: "Would you like to make friends? Show Augustine around?" Ka Wei showed a very happy look. "Okay," he said, coolly twirling his curls. "Very well," she said, and turned to me, "now you are free." I hope so. Now I am in the middle of the conversation area, standing with Kawei.Other patients also saw me and came over one after another.They pointed and kept asking questions.I kept repeating my name and saying I was from New York.I look like I'm meeting people and shaking their hands, but I've already been out of my shell and I'm just doing mechanical movements. Kawei pulled me aside and turned to say something to the crowd.He led me all the way down the men's corridor.I seemed to be his. "This is the gym. Ellen has a drama therapy workshop here, and she's a little unrealistic." He rolled his eyes and shook his body. Rows of boxes and folding chairs line the walls of the gym, and there's a bench-top press with no weights in the far corner.The basket of the basketball hoop has no net, and a layer of boxes is piled high on it.I firmly believe that I'm the only one who walks into this gym and sweats, and I'm sweating now from fear. "We're usually open to the public here on Fridays for Alcoholics Anonymous." I was stung by the thought that I would no longer belong to the "mass". "Is there a swimming pool here?" I asked in a daze. "Do you often swim naked?" Kawei asked, picking his left nostril with his hand. I can't stay with Kawei for a minute. "Okay, thank you for your company." After saying this, I walked towards the exit. He just shrugged and led me out, back to the normal area with its impenetrable furniture and fireproof ceiling. At this moment, a large but kind-looking man approached me. "Hey, I'm Bobby," he said in his thick Baltimore accent, "...and I'm an alcoholic." This is really a "Saturday Night Fever" (the famous American variety show), a farce.I feel like I'm at home now, drunk watching TV.I've never been so dizzy, someone must have put something in my drink. Big Bobby looked at me after he finished talking, like a circus dog waiting to claim his prize after a show.He was grinning all the time and looked brainwashed, or worse.I suddenly noticed a large surgical scar on his forehead. He was smiling, as always, with great interest. I took a step back, not wanting to talk to him anymore.He's like an annoying Santa Claus. At this time, Kawei came over quietly again. "Go to lunch," he grunted. In a blink of an eye, people came out from all over the place out of sight.They act so in unison that they seem to share a system of thought.It's time for... lunch... Good thing they didn't stretch their arms and jump around like in the horror movie Night of the Living Dead. I followed Bobby and Kawi up the back stairs, through the main rooms and hallways, and down to the cafeteria.People chatting and joking with each other, carrying red plastic dinner plates, moving along the restaurant assembly line.I followed them closely.That's when a fish cake sandwich was flung onto a dishwasher- and microwave-safe dish and pushed onto my plate by a woman.The woman had a bitter look on her face, and it seemed that her salary was very meager.As I moved with the line, other food was thrown onto my plate: a handful of iceberg lettuce and bacon salad, a slice of white bread with hotel butter, and a small piece of red cheese with mixed fruit. Sherbet.Immediately I felt sympathy for the fruit in the jelly—they lost their freedom just as much as I did. Also, the welcome wine, a large glass of Edwards, was replaced by a pint of sealed pure milk. After the assembly line, there are round tables on wheels everywhere.I've been following Bobby and Kavey, sitting with them.Because they are familiar with them, it will be less threatening than other patients. I looked at my dinner plate and thought, Thirteen thousand dollars a week for fish cake sandwiches that are so old? But then I understood. They break you down before they reshape you.Smash you into tiny manageable pieces, then reassemble you into a whole new teetotaler of society, and the shredding scheme starts with food.In the end I just had the red jello jelly. Big Bobby saw it, and he said, "Hey, aren't you hungry?" He looked happy and optimistic. "No," I said, "not very hungry." So he put his big paw over the fish cake sandwich. "Then do you mind?" I let him take it. He folded the sandwich, and three bites were neatly wiped out. "I like the food here," he said as he chewed.He is like "Union of Dunces" A Confederacy of Dunces, author John Kernedy Toole won the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction in 1981 with this book.Courtesy of Ignatius. "You have a sesame seed on your mouth." I told him. So his wide, fleshy tongue quickly stretched out, quickly licking the sesame seeds into his mouth. While Big Bobby was devouring, Kawei was sucking on his little finger and looking at me intently, and I remembered - he's a sex maniac.So he instantly transformed in my eyes into a roadside public toilet—the kind used by passing truck drivers to have quick fucks with guys like Kawi.It should be yellow, I think, Kawei should be a yellow public toilet without a lock. I glanced at the watch on my wrist. It was not two o'clock in the afternoon-I had been here for less than an hour and a half!But I'm exhausted.If you were in New York, you would settle down quickly if you were alone.Thirty days off work and doing my own mini recovery.I could buy some self-directed books and maybe go to some Alcoholics Anonymous meetings.After seeing the chaos here, I am more convinced that I can do well on my own in New York.I think I've been so frightened in this short hour that I've forgotten about the drink.I guess I'll be the first alcoholic to be cured instinctively. But to be fair, I think I'll spend a full day here. Oh, that couldn't be more fair!I'm almost uncannily generous. After lunch, I joined the "group work".There were about twenty patients in my group, including David, the legal counsel for chemical dependence.David was almost handsome, but with his greasy hair and rumpled shirt, he looked almost like a homeless bum.I figured in my mind that his drinking capacity should be two bottles of light beer to reach the average level; and he should be nine bottles away from the level of the Baldwin brothers. We went upstairs and formed a small "safe" area with chairs and couches in a circle on the carpet.I looked around for Big Bobby, but he wasn't there.He could be downstairs in another group, or curled up under a table in the dining room, licking the floor. David said, "Let's get started, Augustine is new here, so let's go over the rules first. Who goes first?" A woman holds up her fat hands, and she has large, sad eyes. "Yes, Marianne, thank you," said David.He grinned at her like a baby peeing. I started to get goosebumps all over my body and even felt something crawling on my legs. Marianne kept looking at the floor as she spoke.Every time she said something, she held up a finger, like a child learning to count. "Eating is not allowed in the group, but drinks are allowed. You can't interrupt! When someone is talking, you can't interrupt him, you have to wait until he has finished speaking before you can speak. Also, if someone wants to cry, you are not allowed to hand him a tissue, Because you'll interrupt his sadness. Well... oh, and also, say 'I think' with everything. For example, if someone is saying something and you want to share it, you can say:' Well, I'm relevant... because I...' Wait. Also, never give advice to anyone." David nodded with satisfaction. She was almost beaming, but she stopped talking. I don't belong here.I am a professional advertising person with an annual income of over 20,000.Even the CEO of Coca-Cola once praised my tie. David clapped his hands and said, "Okay then, let's start now." Paul was the first to say: "My name is Paul and I'm an alcoholic." Paul was the first pregnant man I ever met. The room was filled with screams: "Hi Paul!" The screams were creepy. "I want to say that I'm not very comfortable with a new guy coming in today. Because this group will not be safe anymore, I'm sorry, but that's exactly how I feel right now." David shrugged, studying Paul. "You don't feel safe? Then how do you feel?" Paul was lost in thought, in a dilemma, as if he didn’t know whether to choose vodka quinine or the screwdriver cocktail Screwdriver. It is said that “Screndriver” is the drink that the technician on the construction site pours vodka and orange juice into the cocktail glass and drinks after spiral stirring, and thus And got its name. "I'm scared and excited and angry and curious and tired because I didn't sleep well last night... I think I need some medicine." David nodded frequently, very much like a sympathetic doctor. "Paul, after the group activity is over, you can ask the nurse about the medicine." Then David turned to me. "Augustine, what do you think of Paul's words? How do you feel about his feelings?" My mind was heavy and I couldn't think.This feeling can only be felt when the pressure is imminent. Memories are like a dead fish, slowly surfacing. ... "Augustine?" David asked. "Would you like to share your feelings?" I looked at the faces staring at me, except for the pregnant Paul, who was looking away. I shouldn't be here, I can't be like this, I don't know what to say, I don't know exactly how I feel. "My feeling is that I want to leave here now, and I feel like it's a huge mistake." Paul turned his head quickly and looked at me. "That's what I thought when I first got here," he said. Then others echoed, "Me too." Then someone else said: "It took me a week to accept this." "Very good, very good." David said in a soothing tone. Suddenly, a man with a figure like a wasp collapsed in a chair and burst into tears, and the room was suddenly silent.I can clearly feel the excitement in people's bodies quietly permeating the air.He buried his face in his hands, and cried so hard that his whole body shook.There are two people whispering something. David turned to the speaker and put his hand to his lips: "Shh..." Wasp Man chokes violently, then suddenly looks straight at me in horror and says, "I don't belong here either. I don't belong in this room and this damn world, I should die." He continued to look at me, and I looked back at him, fearing that if I broke that eye contact, he would immediately pick up his chair and hit me. David asked softly, "Tom, why do you think you deserve to die?" Bumblebee looked at him and began to tell the story, and the confusion turned into disciplined conversation at once. Bumblebee started talking.He told how he drank every night and how he couldn't move without it.He said he had been in and out of rehab six times, and he said this was his last chance.He said he came here this time because of his mother.He once drove his parents to a party, but his parents didn't know he was drunk. They thought he was concentrating on driving, but in fact he was so drunk that he was unconscious, and the car went off the road and turned over. Build an embankment together, and finally rush to a tree and stop.His mother broke her leg in the accident and is now paralyzed from the waist down.Every time he saw his mother, he was heartbroken.He thought that if he had died sooner, his mother would not have been like this.Now he dared not face his mother at all, and when he saw her he remembered that terrible night. I noticed that his pinstriped shirt had cuff links, and he was wearing loafers.When you look into his eyes, you see nothing but devastation and emptiness.I was terrified by something terribly sad, and I was terrified because I could almost see it: He might be an ad guy too. "I've been in a car accident before," said a man in a cowboy hat. "I got my face in the windshield and got thirty-two stitches," he said, pointing to his forehead and under the brim of his hat. Scars all over the place, "Think that's going to stop me? Of course not. Do you know why? Because I didn't hit anyone, only myself was hurt, and I didn't matter at all. Got it?" Tom, the bumblebee, looked at the cowboy and nodded.Yes, he knows. The car accident, the disfigurement, the paralyzed mother... I must have come to the wrong place.这里是给那些无可救药的强硬分子的，那些底层的、自残的酒鬼们；而我只是个有喝酒爱好的专业广告人士。真是一团糟！我双手抱胸，看向窗外，看向远处那棵孤独的树。那棵树看上去无家可归，无依无靠。它看上去——哦，我不知道——像个广告文案，因为拒绝去复原中心而被辞退了。我被一种世界末日的绝望感充斥着。 这时一个女人开口了：“但是，戴尔，你很重要。是你的病让你意志消沉，从而觉得自己不重要了。” 大卫看着刚说话的女人，一脸俏皮的神情。“海伦你是知道规则的，你说话时要说'我认为'。” 海伦脸微微红了，结结巴巴地说：“好吧好吧，你说的对。很抱歉。”她深吸了口气，目光滑向天花板。“我的意思是，我对你的话有些感想。因为我也曾认为只要我不伤害到别人，我喝酒就没关系。但是来这里后，我渐渐意识到我自己其实也很重要，尤其上了一些课程后，我意识到自己也是个有价值的人，是酒精和药物使我觉得自己不行。如果我以前不沾它们，我想我不会一败涂地的。”说完，她又看着牛仔：“戴尔，我很高兴你能和我们分享你的心情。还有你，汤姆。我真的从你们的话中受益匪浅……所以，谢谢你们。”她耸耸肩，腼腆地笑起来。 来这里后……谢谢分享……如果我不沾它们，我就不会一败涂地……这些人在说什么鬼话？ 我想起我初入广告圈时，也是如此垂头丧气，因为别人说的话我一句也听不懂。 我忍不住说：“我觉得这是一种酒鬼语言！我可不会！”我向来不善于语言表达，这也是我得尽快离开这的原因。 人们心照不宣地咯咯直笑。 大卫也微笑起来。 我的脸红了，心里一个劲地责备自己不该卷入到这班人中间，我最好还是坐着不吭声，淡化他们的注意力，千万不要哪壶不开提哪壶。 大卫说：“是有种语言没错，但你会很快学会它的。如果有什么你听不懂的话，告诉我们，我们会解释给你听的。” 玛丽安也暂时按住她的自尊，友好地对我微笑。 我把手在裤子上擦了擦，裤子上留下了又黑又湿的污渍。我感觉自己是如此的格格不入和不自在，更被一种强烈的威胁感包裹住。就像我上中学的第一天，我身穿红色的斯比多泳裤出现在众人面前时的感觉。我艰难地咽了口唾沫，“好吧，这位女士……”我指着刚才和众人“分享”的女人，“海伦，对吧？” She nodded. “是的，海伦，她刚才提到课程的事，我想知道这个课程是什么。”实际上我并不认为这些课程有什么立竿见影的效果。 “有谁愿意回答奥古斯丁的问题？” 孕妇保罗冲着我笑，似乎要开口回答我的问题。 “没问题。你好，奥古斯丁，我是布莱恩，我是个瘾君子。”一个一直沉默的人开口说道。他不仅沉默寡言，而且近乎痴傻。 “你好，布莱恩！”众人欢呼雀跃道。 “这些课程要拿一些术语来解释，主要分步来，你知道十二步吗？” 我茫然地摇摇头，耸耸肩。我只知道第一步，而它已经足够令人压抑了：承认我对酒精毫无抵抗力，甚至桑格利亚汽酒。这样看来，剩下的十一步一定更加令人退缩。 “好吧，那么，当你进行课程时，你要根据步骤要求，要努力保持从容镇定。到时候就会明白的。当你从这出去时，你就可以参加一些匿名酗酒者会议。” 这应该会很有趣，我一直很好奇匿名酗酒者会议是什么样的，我一直没去匿名酗酒者会议的原因除了我在那不能喝酒，还因为我害怕看到我想像中的场景：人们待在教堂潮湿废弃的地下室里，身穿黑色长大衣，戴着福斯特•格兰特牌子的墨镜，坐在金属折叠椅里，表情羞怯。每个人手里都攥着一只聚苯乙烯泡沫塑料杯，杯里有半杯劣质咖啡。之所以只有半杯，是为了防止咖啡泼出来，因为每个人的手在都抖个不停。他们一个接一个地进行自我介绍…… “……我是个酒鬼。”我还听到其他的酒鬼热情鼓掌。“恭喜恭喜！欢迎欢迎！”或许他们还会谈论他们的酒量和酒瘾，他们还发出一阵阵呷咖啡的声音。没准还会有秘密的握手，就像摩门教徒们一样。 我通常认为，如果匿名酗酒者会议就是一班人坐在教堂底下，喋喋不休地谈论各自想喝多少酒的话，我将永远不会谈论喝酒的事；我宁愿谈谈现代艺术，要么广告，要么电影剧本创意。所以，是的，领教一下匿名酗酒者会议的神秘力量一定会很有趣。我几乎迫不及待了，现在就开始吧。 可是为什么要弄得这么复杂呢？我希望他们只是割一下“酒腺”——就像割除肾结石一样。你只要作为门诊病人登记入院，然后腰部以下被麻醉，他们在你头上套上耳机，开始听恩雅的歌。十五分钟后，医生将耳机拿下来，让你看从你体内某个地方割下来的一小块组织——一块看起来像蜗牛一样大小的组织。 “你想留着它作纪念吗？” “不，西斯摩医生，扔了吧。我不想要任何纪念。” 你走出门时，医生会拍拍你：“恭喜你，你现在干净了。” “我能跟大家说点话吗？”布莱恩问。 “当然可以。”大卫说。 “我是想让每个人知道，我的安定药只剩下最后一剂了，下个星期后，我就不用再吃了。” 房间内一片掌声。 为什么他要吃安定药？我现在只吃到一块鱼饼三明治。如果有了那种“妈妈小助手”的药，我想我就不会有戒酒并发症了。我也需要安定药。 这个布莱恩身上有些地方吸引了我，他浑身上下透着股聪明劲儿，说话也颇具专业范儿，仿佛他就是医生，这使我觉得心定神闲。这是我的直觉，但我今晚只想和他坐在一起，不理大鲍比和那个性爱狂卡唯了。 小组讨论进行了一个半小时。终于解脱了，在我下个课程——化学品依赖史之前，我还有十五分钟的自由时间。 下楼时，汤姆那只“大黄蜂”追上我。“真的会好起来的，”他说，“几天后你就不想离开这儿了。” 我笑了，说：“谢谢。”然后回到房间，我一边走，一边想，你错了。 楼上，一块白色记事板前，我正绞尽脑汁地写下我的饮酒史。 “我要你尽可能回忆，列下每件事……酒精、巴比妥酸盐、镇定剂、速度……每个细节……甚至止痛药，不要掩饰和缩小。列出你的年龄、酒的种类和数量，还有频率。” 目前为止，我写了如下清单： 7岁：因为感冒我祖父给了我尼奎尔喝。他是卖这个的，所以我们有很多箱。我很喜欢它的绿色，所以有时会偷喝。 12岁：第一次真正喝酒，一瓶红酒，喝完后吐了朋友的牧羊犬一身。 13-17岁：每周抽一次大麻；每周大概喝一次酒。 18岁：每晚喝酒，常喝到醉，每晚大概5瓶。 19-20岁：每晚大概10瓶，有时醉后耍酒疯；每半年一次可卡因。 21岁至今：每晚一升德华士，再接着喝鸡尾酒；每月一次可卡因。 写完这些，我退后，看着自己写的一团蓝色的字——我混乱的笔迹。真想不到，我会向一块昭示天下的记事板招供。这真是史无前例！ 人们看着记事板，看着我。 翠西，“化学品依赖史”小组的头，用她那老于自己年龄三倍的眼神看着我。她那样看着我，仿佛她的眼睛被目光所及的每件东西割伤了。“你看到你写的东西，有何感受？”她问。 我看着记事板，看来我确实喝得很多。“我想我喝的太多了。”我惭愧地说，就像我一连好几天都穿同一套内衣样。 布莱恩这时说道：“看到你喝了这么多，你能活下来真是个奇迹。” 这个“安定药先生”怎么一下成专家了？我疑惑地想。 一个穿蓝色美国大厦字样T恤的女同性恋说：“我真高兴你来了。你确实应该来这儿。” 其他人纷纷表示赞同。很高兴你来这儿，你应该来这儿。也许他们说的对，也许又错了。但有件事我可以肯定，那就是，我这段经历真的会成为一个精彩的酒吧里的笑料。 “你喝酒的量显示你已经到酗酒症的后期了，你正面临着酒精中毒的危险。我也很高兴你能来这儿。”翠西以一种真诚、温暖和理解的表情看着我说。她的表情里还有某种东西，某种使我认为——一切都是冥冥注定，也许我们早该聚到一起——的东西。 我意识到我已经无路可退了。“苯那君（伤风抗素剂的一种）也算吗？”几个人看着我说。我茫然地耸耸肩，抱歉地喃喃而语，我对这东西一无所知。 “苯那君？抗组胺剂？”翠西问。 “哦，是的，”我明白过来，说，“那也算吗？” “看什么情况了。”她疑惑地说。 “哦，是这样的，我一喝酒就会有过敏反应。脸会肿，胸口会发红，嘴里还会有金属味，呼吸也变得困难。每次喝酒都会这样，但是我发现只要喝酒前吃点苯那君，就没事了。” “吃多少？”她问。 其他人看看我，又看看她，然后又看着我，气氛简直像温布尔敦网球赛一样紧张。 我突然意识到，我服用的量已经大得惊人。我不好意思地说：“一天十片，有时十五片。” 她吃惊地瞪大眼睛。“医生建议的量是多大呢？”但是言下之意，她并不关心建议的剂量，她是在问我有没有意识到自己已经太离谱了。我顺从地回答：“两片。” 她继续瞪着我，实际上她的目光已经穿过我，射向了椅子的后面。尽管我挡住了她的视线，但她仿佛已经把房间后面的布置看得一清二楚了。她开始缄口不言，因为她知道她勿需再说什么，她知道我心知肚明。她只是闭上眼睛，轻轻给我一个微笑：“是的，我很高兴你来了。” 我安静地坐着，一股奇怪的陌生感袭面而来，这又近乎一种舒适的解脱感——耳朵疏通，血压下降，同时又伴有玄音。我想我是第一次意识到，我确实比一般人喝的要多很多。包括我吃的那种药。我的身体对酒过敏，这其实是它在告诫我不该喝酒。可是我还是一意孤行。当我看着我所写的，我禁不住意识到，也许我来这里是明智的选择。或者这唤起了我的注意，我不该再视它为儿戏了。 又或许一切到此为止，我可以走了？ 晚餐的情形是这样的：上楼时，我尽力避开卡唯，那个来自科珀斯克里斯蒂的性爱狂。我现在听起这个城市的名字都觉得淫秽，仿佛它是蓝鲸的阳具的专业术语。“蓝鲸的科珀斯克里斯蒂完全勃起时有9至125英尺长。”哦，多么可怕！我一走进餐厅，立刻受到一些病人的欢迎。一些是我在小组讨论里认识的，一些是“化学品依赖史”课上的，还有一些从未谋面。“谢谢……是的……文化冲击……三十天……酒精……我确定……谢谢……”我面无表情、机械地回答他们的问话。 我拿起一只红色餐盘。还是那个一脸苦相、工资微薄的女人服侍晚饭。她的名卡上写着：瑞丝夫人（英文为“Rice”，另一翻译为米饭）。所以她干这份工真是名副其实啊！ 她身材高大，健壮但不肥胖，头发为灰色，长而直。但是头发在中间出现了断色，这使我认为它以前应该是金色的。她是一位在复原医院一天倒两次班的前金发女郎。我对她微笑，因为我充满罪恶感。就像我穿阿玛尼，就本该安分地过这样的日子，而不是胡作非为以至来了这里。或者我太冷漠了，一向被娇惯坏了，所以配不上别人的同情，或者享用这顿晚饭。 也许事实确实如此。 我端起盛着马铃薯肉饼、罐装奶油玉米汤、木薯布丁和牛奶的餐盘，环顾四周，看看布莱恩在哪。我看到了他，于是径直走过去。 他似乎一点也不惊讶我会和他坐一起。“布莱恩，对吗？” “他妈的，不错嘛，我花了两星期也只能记住一个人的名字。”他的下巴上粘着粒玉米。 二十四小时内我第一次发自内心地笑了。“你那有粒玉米。”我说，一边指自己的下巴。 我们很快发现我们之间的共同点。他讨厌这里的食物；我也是。这里的人都变态；我正是这么想的。这个地方一团乱；太对了。 但是这里依然有用。 “真的？”我问，不太相信。 他埋头吃饭，手放在桌上围着他的饭菜，作保护状。吃饭间隙，他告诉我他是位精神病医生，干了六年化学品依赖症治疗的工作。他说这里的顾问是他见过的最聪明最专注的顾问。 “你疯了吧？”我被他的话惊住了。那为什么……他们怎么样聪明专注呢……？我没有问出口，但是他看出了我的心思。 “是的，旧金山复原中心的顾问就没这里的好……我以前做医生时，会经常私吞病人的安定药，比如一片给你……我自己留两片……” 他思维清晰，表达有序。他是医生。 “然后变成一片给你……五片给我。” 他看着他的餐盘，继续说：“最后，两个星期多一点之前，我吞了我所有病人的安定药，大概一天二十片，用阿斯匹林冒充着给他们，最后被发现了。”他抬起眼看看我。我看到里面的悲伤，之余还有悲伤恐惧。“我可能会丢掉我的行业执照。” 我除了“哦”外，不知该说什么。 接下来五分钟，我们沉默不语地吃饭。中途只是他让我把胡椒粉递给他；还有我把餐巾纸弄掉到地上，弯下腰去捡。 我在他之前就很快吃完了饭。我只呷了几口玉米边上的白肉汁。依我来看，这里很适合放卡尔•卡朋特的歌美国乐队Carpenters主唱KarenCarpenter，32岁时死于神经性厌食症。——我敢打赌，我离开时体重一定能减到九十磅。 我看着布莱恩用叉子戳起一块烧过头的青豆，这个动作以一种独特的悲剧感触动了我。我感觉到胸内嗡嗡作响，仿佛一群黄蜂正在锥我。一个医生也能沦落到如此地步！那么我呢？很显然，一个做广告的会沦落得更彻底。 “我真的不喜欢这儿。”我对他说。 他看着我，仿佛心知肚明，但是什么也没说。 我继续说：“这里乱得很，又不专业——还有这里的人，我也说不上来。但这里真是跟我之前所想像的不太一样。” 他站起来，端起餐盘走，我紧随其后。我们一起走到垃圾区，倒掉碟子。 “过几天你就会明白的。” 我们并肩走时，一个瘦骨嶙峋、满头黑长发的女人抓住“安定药医生”的胳膊。她把他拉到一边，在他耳边低声说了什么，随后他们一起走下走廊。那个女人的手环抱着他的腰，欢快地大笑。“楼下见。”他回头对我喊。 我想着“安定药医生”刚说的话——“过几天你就会明白的。” 有种仪式被称做“宣誓”，这里有夜间宣誓和早间宣誓。真走运我错过了早间的那场。 我和诸位病人坐在楼上的主房间里。玛丽安，那个只会和地毯做眼神交流的大块头女人，很显然是这组的头，她以大声问话作为开场白：“谁自愿读今晚的誓言？” 卡唯等候多时似地举起手。他的手挂在手腕处前后摆动，样式暧昧做作。我注意到他穿了晚装。那件白色紧身T恤没了，现在是件黑色鱼网背心，他蓬松的胸毛从网洞里伸出来。那些胸毛出奇地光滑，似乎他给它们抹了护发素，我甚至觉得我已经闻到了惠尼斯护发素的香味。也许只是幻觉。 他开始读一本平装书，那本书的封面上是一幅阳光破云而出的图案。 “四月十五日，朝变化迈进一步。”当他读着鼓舞人心的条文时，我百无聊赖地看着人们的脚，我发现几乎每个人都穿着那种淡蓝色医院拖鞋。我也发了一双。我病态地想，我会不会也被这个地方改造成乐意穿这种女人鞋子的家伙呢。我想，也许当它们裂开口子时，我还会哭得很伤心，我还会凄凄惨惨地和病友们分享我的痛苦。 大鲍比带着一种类似紧张的表情一直使劲眨眼，孕妇保罗盯着窗外。天已经黑了，所以我猜他是在看小组人们映在窗玻璃里的影子。“大黄蜂”已经换下细条纹T恤，穿了件白牛津布衬衫，仿佛他到了巡洋舰上似的。 卡唯读完宣言以后，玛丽安这个没自尊的人说：“我想我该开始感恩词部分了，我感恩我今晚来这……我感恩我活着并被爱……我感恩，你，奥古斯丁，来这里。” 哦，我真希望她别那么说，我已经受不了被他们这样关注了。我真希望我能灵魂出壳，从房间里消失。 这时另一个人振振有词道：“斯蒂夫，我很感恩当我在单人间时你给植物浇水。我很感恩我没有虚度今天，而我对明天也充满希望。” 几个人开始叹气，又连连赞赏地点头。 这时我这组的带牛仔帽的男人说话了：“我很感恩你能来这里，奥古斯丁。我很感恩我自己也来这里。我要感谢上帝给了我这一次机会。” “安定药医生”冲自己莞尔一笑，低下头盯着地板。他是不是在使劲咬住嘴，强忍他的笑意呢？ 于是这些人又花了十五分钟，七嘴八舌地表达了他们对彼此所作所为的感激，什么“在走廊上跟我打招呼”、“下午在小组讨论时分享你的故事”、“掰了一半巧克力饼干给我”…… 我能感到我脑子左边的脉搏在突突跳动，几乎要爆发成动脉瘤了。我的肝脏已经代谢了太多的利眠宁之类的药物，现在已经病入膏肓了，它已经比纽约的出租车司机的肝脏还要伤痕累累了。我想，事情不能再比这更糟了。 然而很显然，事情一直在朝更糟的方向变本加厉地演变着。 “好吧大家，现在几点了？”玛丽安俏皮地问，带领众人站起来。 这时两个病人手伸到椅子后，够起两只破旧的大玩偶。一只是猴子，一直是蓝色的猫。他们把脏兮兮的毛绒玩具摆到大腿上，裂开嘴笑得很开心。 房间立刻爆发出可怕的歌声。“现在是猴子旺奇时间……猴子旺奇是只孤独的猴子。然后蓝色小猫成了他的朋友……现在猴子旺奇和蓝色小猫要和你做朋友！！！” 这时那两个人突然从他们椅子上跳起来，朝我冲过来。他们咯咯笑着把那两只玩具扔到我腿上，然后像乖孩子一样回到座位上。 我呆住了，一动不动，丈二和尚摸不着头脑。周围响起如雷的掌声，怎么会有这种动物歌？我手上怎么会拿着它们？ 不过这些都不重要，重要的是，明早最早回纽约的航班是几点？只要有，我哪怕坐厕所旁边的座位都没关系。 我朝“安定药医生”看过去。他得意洋洋地扬扬眉毛，仿佛在说，你看，你现在就见识到了。 玛丽安第一次把眼睛从地毯上抬起来，说：“不要担心，奥古斯丁，这只是我们这的小风俗，每晚我们都会把这两只小动物送给那些需要一点帮助的人。既然你是新来的，所以就给你了。”接着她又说：“所以你今晚要和这些人多接触接触，明天你要选个人把这两只动物再传给他！” 在我来得及说话之前，全组人站起来，纷纷握手。我的手被迫和我两旁的酒鬼们握到了一起，那两只毛动物从我腿上掉下来。 接下来，仿佛是早就排练好似的，一个一直瘫在椅子里，头发遮住眼睛的年轻男人说：“上帝……”接着其他人神经质似的异口同声地说：“……赐予我平静去接受我不能改变的事，赐予我勇气改变我能改变的，赐予我智慧能洞察秋毫。阿门。” 真是太古怪了。他们引用了谢妮德•奥康娜的那首歌《我感觉如此不同》的开头。我喜欢那首歌，它使我想起了伏特加和玫瑰青柠汁。那时我刚搬到纽约，住在市区电池公园城的高层公寓。我总是大声放那张CD，然后靠在我起居室窗前，看着楼下车水马龙的西街和深不可测的世贸中心大楼。它们总是通体透亮，尤其在午夜。 人群大笑着一散而开。不知谁说：“把你抬到咖啡机那去。”于是突然间我被人流抬了起来，往楼下走我手里依然攥着那两只动物。 “我知道这有点粗野。但是你要相信我，过了今晚，你就会发现这里的课程真的很有趣。”“安定药”说。“给点时间，”他又补充，“一段时间后你就能和他们打成一片了。” 大鲍比蹒跚而来。我忍不住想说：“我没吃的，走开。” 他安慰我说：“不要担心。它们不脏。” "Oh?" I said. “猴子和小猫，我们一星期洗它们一次。”他笑起来，踏着重步走下楼梯。 我脑中立刻浮现出一幕场景：全体病人站在洗衣房里，焦急地绞着手，等着长毛玩具变干。 我回到房间，我的室友像个婴儿般蜷缩在床上。我把动物们扔到床角地板上，坐下来。 现在是九点，就让我畅想一番吧。现在我应该在树阴酒吧，喝我晚上的第七杯马提尼。我可能还会随手拈过我面前的餐巾纸，在上面潦草写下我突然迸发的广告灵感。或者我还会前前后后地和男演员或服务员们调情。 我看着我的室友，一个在我前几小时才登记进来的衰老萎缩的黑人。他一整天都足不出户。有人偷偷告诉我他已经肝癌晚期，之前他应该去了普通医院做了些额外检查。所以我一开始时没见到他。 我换上短裤和T恤，爬进薄床单下。我头下的枕头太扁，根本没有任何支撑作用。我盯着天花板上浅褐色的水渍。 I sigh. 我头疼欲裂。