Chapter 6 Chapter 4 Alcoholism for Beginners

"My name is Marianne. I drink and do drugs," Marianne said, looking at the fat hands on her legs. "Hello, Marianne," the crowd sang back. "I'm where I'm supposed to be," Marianne said to her hand. "You have come where you should come." Everyone echoed. "I feel what I feel and share it with others." "You feel what you feel, and you share it with them." Marianne looked across the room, pausing briefly among the crowd. "I love myself." "You love yourself." Everyone agreed. "I am a man of value."

"You are a valuable person." Everyone responded in unison. A smile flashed across Marianne's face—she blushed.She wipes her hands on her jeans, then turns to the person to her right. "My name is Paul, and I'm an alcoholic," said Paul, a pregnant woman. "Hi Paul, alcoholic." Everyone said in a word.Marianne chimed in, now that she could look at Paul calmly, who was staring at the floor, trying to suppress a nervous smile. "I am a good person." "You're a nice guy." Everyone agreed. "I'll be fine," Paul said optimistically.

"You'll be fine," the drunks agreed again. "I will change my mind and find a good boyfriend." Paul grinned. "You will change your mind and find a good boyfriend." The crowd sang. "I'm a man of value," he said, crossing his hands on his stomach. "You are a man of value." Everyone said, but I didn't say anything. As a consultant said in the morning, the advocacy meeting is for us to declare that we are strong.For example, if I think I'm fat, I should say, "I'm thin." Then other people will prove it.They'll sing with impassioned, "You're skinny." Simple as that.Usually you end up with "I am a man of value".

It's really funny.It seems that I have had similar declarations before, but none of them had the same effect.I remember telling Greer many times, "I'm not drunk, I'm not going to work drunk again." And she'd be like, "Bullshit! You liar!" Finally the circle turned to me, and there was silence all around.And while I'm on my errands, I'm imagining walking into a jewelry store in downtown Minneapolis.I'm going to buy a watch, I gave the original one to a former police officer.I gave him the watch after we spent the night in my apartment. Someone cleared his throat and all eyes turned to me.

"My name is Augustine, and I'm an alcoholic." I recovered and murmured. "Hello Augustine," said the crowd. "I'm glad to be here," I said duplicity. "You're glad you're here," they repeated. "I'm not leaving after lunch," I said. "You don't leave after lunch," they testified. I think, almost. "What else...?" someone said. "What else?" "Also, you are a valuable person." Three or four people said maliciously. oh god. "I'm a man of value," I said sarcastically.

"You are a valuable person." They emphasized every word. After the advocacy session, I went straight to the group discussion.The lovely David is not here today, and Lei is the consultant.Ray was a big woman.As if to emphasize the point, she was dressed gaudy and had huge flowers blooming all over her body.Her voice was so calm, it made me think that there was no way I could get away with it, that I couldn't even think about it. "Today I'm talking about the consequences. The consequences of our drinking. Can anyone tell me what the consequences are?" No one said anything.

She looked around, staring straight at everyone, including me.She stared at me for a long time, and I couldn't help but shudder.I figured it was scarier than going face-to-face with some suspected robber in a Halloween mask in June on the subway. Ray grinned fiercely. "Oh, I see. None of you have had the consequences of your drinking, have you? You're a lucky bunch of alcoholics." My only reaction when I heard this was to jump up and yell. Still no one spoke.Everyone seemed to be in meditation, and they didn't even look at others.I guess we're all looking at our shoelaces, trying to work out the knots.

"Well then, I'll tell you. One consequence is that you get drunk and you meet another drunk in a bar, and you start dating, and every night you drink together, and every night this drunk you hook up with will Beat you half to death, then in the morning he apologizes, then you forgive him, but what if he breaks all the bones in your face? Or worse..." She stopped.My hands were sweating and I was dizzy, like I was on a roller coaster. "All your friends around you will accuse you, say you're crazy, hanging out with that drunk. You fight back and say it's none of their business. Gradually, your friends are gone. But you don't care because you think you're still There's booze, and there's your alcoholic. That's just one example."

She paused again. "Of course, there's the consequence of losing your job and losing your self-esteem. You're going to be down on a daily basis, the house is a mess, the sink is full of dishes, and you don't care." This seems to be ringing an alarm bell to me!I think about my apartment, it's my deepest darkest secret, it's not a secret that I drink too much.It's no secret that I usually get drunk at home before drinking with Jim. The apartment is my secret!It was full of empty wine bottles!Not five or six, but three hundred.Three hundred one-liter Scotch whiskey bottles filled the empty space in my apartment.Sometimes I myself am startled by what I see.The scariest thing is, I really don't know how they got here.You'd think I'd normally throw the empty bottles in the trash, but I usually keep two.Because I think it's just two for the time being, not too many.So, there was a third one.Gradually, more and more accumulated.But the funny thing is, I'm not the kind of person who is keen on collecting.I don't collect old postcards from friends, and I don't have childhood memorabilia.The design of my apartment is also modern and simple, which is what you would imagine a New York advertising man's mansion.

In addition to wine bottles everywhere, magazines are everywhere on the ground. Every time I clear the bottle out of the apartment, I swear to myself that it won't be the same.But still bad habits do not change.I don't drink whiskey, and when I drink beer, there are piles of beer bottles.I had a whim and counted: a total of 1,452.I didn't begin to realize the seriousness of the situation until I tiptoed down in the middle of the night with plastic garbage bags stuffed with hundreds of bottles, carefully carrying them downstairs to throw them away. Before I could change my mind, I blurted out, "I think I have something to say about what you just said." I had already used the "I think" sentence.

She looked at me, folded her hands on her chest, and nodded with satisfaction: "Continue." I talk about my bottles.I talked about how I never invited friends over because of them. "Actually, every time I heard movement in the hallway, I froze in fear of someone knocking on the door. I pretended I wasn't home." Speaking of this, I feel a dull pain in my heart.How can anyone be like me?I feel discredited.So I said, "I know it's ridiculous. But it feels weird to say that, like I'm saying something I shouldn't be saying." She clapped her hands and said, "That's it! What you're doing now is talking to your demon. You need to face your demon. You need to treat it as an individual inside you. It wants you to drink alcohol. If you don't drink, it says: 'Come on, just have a drink.' It wants you to surrender to it, so when you bring up your bottle or other consequences of drinking, you're fighting it." I was inspired, and my mind continued to search forward.I tried to imagine that there was a seductive villain living in my forehead, knocking on my eyeballs, and babbling to lure me into talking.Then I pictured myself wearing those hospital slippers. "Of course, that can't be a real entity, but it will help you to think that way." She adjusted her clothes. "Now, what happened to those bottles?" "Hmm...I think they're going to mess up the room," I said. "What else?" she asked again, like a prosecutor. I looked at her, bewildered.I can't go on. "Who else has to say?" she asked the others. Big Bobby sat up straight in his chair, and said, "I figured if his house was full of bottles, as he said, no one would come. Then he must be alone." I feel a pang of pain.Now I am more transparent than sashimi in front of everyone. "Yes," she said, "exactly. Those bottles will put a glass wall between you and others, and you will be a prisoner of your own family. Your demons will be delighted, because It just wants to separate you from the crowd. Your demon is jealous, as long as you obey it." I remembered how I always hurried home to drink after work.These days I don't even care if Jim is busy or if I'm a friend I haven't seen in a long time.I don't mind drinking alone at home, in fact I'm more and more at home. Then I thought of Pighead.We never seem to talk about his AIDS because he's healthy and there's no need to.Except sometimes— "Augustine," he always said, "I don't want you to do me any favors or go to Hawaii with me for a month. I just want you to come over for a meal, a barbecue, or a phone call Me, say: 'Hey, how's it going?'" I remembered how I always found him demanding. "I can't go," I always say back to him, "I have to work." Roast beef and an hour is too much for me, even a phone call. The Valium Doctor went on.He mentioned that he might lose his medical license because of his Valium addiction.He said that his hard study for so many years might end up being nothing. "Yeah, that's the consequence," Ray said. So others began to share their thoughts one after another: "Bumblebee" talked about his car accident and his paralyzed mother; Marianne talked about the failure of her six-year relationship with her girlfriend; There is nothing to do, he hates that he is already thirty-two and still lives with his parents... Now the room is as lively as Lingling's circus.Looking at these strange people, I was surprised to find that not only was I not indifferent to their words, but I could empathize more and more. "Ten years ago, I was a prostitute in Green Bay, Wisconsin. I'd sleep or blowjob if I was given enough money to buy a bottle of wine, and it didn't have to be a good wine. No matter what kind of bad wine, just a bottle Okay. Then I met my Prince Charming.” Ray spit out “Prince Charming” as if it were poisonous, as if she had bitten the thermometer and was now spitting out the mercury. I looked at her face to see if I could find any traces of broken bone.I get nothing!In fact, her skin is smooth, her expression is calm, and she is even as clean and comfortable as the tourist destination I have always been fascinated by. "I got hit hard in the tub in the shower and I lay in it for two days, unconscious. When I woke up, my hair and my blood were all stuck to the tub, me and my own shit. Lying together for two days." I looked at her fancy dress and was amazed, it was incredible. "But that was ten years ago. Five years ago, fifteen years ago, I was a doctor's wife, and I went to night school in a Cadillac every day. My life was full of plans. But then, my marriage fell apart. .My husband was having an affair and I couldn't get over it. So I started drinking heavily. It started with just a few pre-dinner cocktails at night, then two, then six. At the end of that year, I stopped drinking in the mornings Coffee, instead of alcohol. After three years, I dropped out of school and started drinking day and night." wow, i thought.Does that count as a Bloody Mary?I love drinking bloody marys in the morning.It turns out that you also have this habit. She continued: "I know my situation is a little bit different, a little too soon. In five years I have nothing! I think I feel more." My current thinking is that she is an excellent sensationalist, and if she is advertised, she may be able to achieve something.She fanned the excitement in the room.I realized my hands were sweating, but not cold sweats of fear, it was the excitement of wanting to know what was going on in the story, and I loved the play.I glanced at everyone, and they were also engrossed in waiting for the next article.I finally understood why people like to come to gay hospitals, there's always drama going on, and people love drama. "When I got out of the tub and walked up to the mirror, I couldn't recognize the person in the mirror. That was the day I went to my first Alcoholics Anonymous meeting. That was ten years ago. Today , I’m sober and I’ve got a Ph.D. I’m sitting with you and I’m trying to help you get sober too.” wide awake.That's why I'm here!Suddenly, the word came over me with a sadness I hadn't felt in my adult life, a sadness akin to that felt at the end of summer—the fireflies gone, the ponds drying up, the trees dying as they were before. Green and verdant.Summer is over, but it is still hot and heavy, and autumn is still far away.It was another season between seasons.It is the sadness when good things pass away. "Look, alcohol is like bubble gum. You blow a bubble, and it explodes, and some rubber sticks to your chin." The crowd let out short, knowing chuckles. "So what keeps the rubber off your chin?" Sometimes I chew grape-flavored bubble gum because it has a strong flavor that masks the booze.I replied, "Bubble gum, you have to take the bubble gum in your mouth and press it to the place on your chin to pull the rubber off." Ray exclaimed, "You're so right." Oh, I'm already on the road to recovery. "Only an alcoholic can cure an alcoholic. Only other alcoholics can calm you." Then she slapped her hands on her legs, exhaled quickly, and said, "Okay, here we go. It's lunch time." But in any case, I still hate this kind of cosmopolitan life. I got released from the rehab ward, left that rainbow footprints poster, and moved into a common room across from the men's shower, with my new roommates being "Valium Doctor" and Big Bobby.I have adapted to the daily life here easily, like a labor camp worker.The morning and evening affirmations (I am a man of value!!) stood squarely in front of me like shoddy book presses in the daily stressful study life of this alcoholic college. Days here can easily be lumped together.Because in four days, you can taste all the courses here, and then just repeat it day after day, like the movie "Groundhog Day"-a never-ending loop. A skinny girl came to the group recently. "As soon as my girlfriend cuts my leg with a razor blade, I can orgasm. I often feel like I don't belong to a human, I'm just some animal shell or something. But when she cuts me, I see myself bleeding Well, I dipped my finger in it and tasted it, and I felt like a human again, a real human being. It really turned me on." So she's one of those Ladies' Lives kind of girls who love to stab their knees until their parents catch them and take them to the hospital.Although it sounds novel, it always makes people feel incredible. David assigned us homework the day before yesterday, and today we will have a group discussion. "I want you to write a letter to someone close to you. Be honest with him about how you really feel about him and your relationship." "Valium" doctor wrote letters to his former patients apologizing for passing off aspirin as Valium; Apologize for birth. I write to Pighead. Dear Pighead: I have always been cold to you for two reasons.The first is because I drink too much.I have to drink every night, so I can't think about anything. The second is because of your illness.I can't stand being close to you and then watching you die, you are my best friend and I have to protect that. I seldom call you, or see you, because I'm going to stay away from you now while it's easy.Because at least I can talk to you now.I want to stay away from you slowly while you are still healthy, and I don’t want to be unable to bear the blow when the day you leave suddenly comes. I'm slowly spreading out the pain of losing you in advance, rather than enduring a concentrated pain blow one day. I read my letter in a group discussion, and something completely unexpected happened. I was in such agony that I could hardly breathe, and tears filled my eyes.Marianne reaches for the tissue box. "No, Marianne, no," said David. "Oh, yes, I forgot . . . how stupid I was," she said shamefully. I mouthed "thank you" to her and she gave me a small smile.I'm going to let her know that she's actually handed me the tissue and that's exactly what I want.Then I clear my throat. "I don't know what's going on," I said.I was horrified to discover that I was such an emotional person.But that's good too, and it made me understand my feelings about Pighead. "I, oh..." I said again.I was surprised to find that my voice was shaking, as if I was sitting on top of a washing machine that was rumbling to dry clothes, and then I cried again.It's embarrassing to weep in front of everyone, but I can't help it, and something inside me feels like it snapped.After I cried for ten minutes, I finally collected my mood. "Are you okay?" David asked. I nodded and raised my sleeve to wipe my eyes. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Are you worried?" I bit my lip. "It's about Pighead. Read that letter, you know... I can't tell... Maybe it reminds me of our past." I met Pighead on a sex line.I had just moved to Manhattan and was bare except for an inflatable rubber bed I bought at Walmart, but I had a telephone and a copy of The Village Voice. The "Village Voice" ad featured a phone number—"Friends Line."So I dialed the number and chatted over a beer.I also put on a British accent. When you make a call, you are connected to another person who made the call.If you don't like him, you hit the cut button and it's another guy. Usually I wait for the other person to speak first. "How big is your penis?" is usually the question to ask. I pretended to have a British accent and started asking, "What brand of toothpaste do you use?" Usually I get cut off.Only once did someone reply, "Crest." Then I said, "Really? Why not Colgate or Gurley?" Then he said, "Because I like the smell of Crest better. Doesn't Colgate have fluoride? I don't know what fluoride is, but I'm still afraid to use it." After listening to his words, I laughed out loud. "You know," he said, "you have a great British accent. But you give it away when you smile. You've got to work on it." I switched back to my own accent and said, "You bastard, are you trying to make me laugh?" he said yes. "That's great, I haven't laughed like this in a long time," I said. He said: "That's where you should try to change. Do you believe you can change yourself? Are you one of the stagnant people?" I said, "I grew up around ponds, so I know the dangers of standing still." He said it was great news.Then he asked, "Then why don't you ask how big my penis is? Everyone else does. Aren't you curious?" I said, "Okay, how big is your penis?" He said, "That's right. You're just looking for sex, you're only interested in sex. Know what I'm thinking? I'm calling to find a serious, healthy relationship." "Are you kidding me?" I said. "I'm serious," he said. We chatted on and off for another hour, and finally he suggested that we meet. "Just a drink," he said. The next day, we met in the "Winter Gardens" at the World Financial Center in the city center.I was in jeans and a yellow oxford; he was in a thin Armani suit and a ring on his little finger.I immediately commented: "Donald Trump, Donald Trump, a well-known real estate agent in New York, USA. That's the only one he wears." He listened and said, "Take that sentence back." I smiled at him and said I wouldn't take that back because I was telling the truth. He said, "I think I'll have to drink a little so I can bear you and not leave you." There is a Chinese restaurant in the courtyard on the first floor of the financial center, and there is a big fish tank full of orange-red fish.We sat down at the bar in front of the fish tank.He ordered ABSOLUT vodka and tonic water with rose lime juice, and I ordered the same.I deliberately put on airs and said that we actually have the same hobbies.What a coincidence, my eyes told him.I am becoming more aware of what I am doing. Pighead was—as if there was no other word to describe it—a wise man.He also looks so comfortable with thick black and smooth hair, witty and charming, and he exudes the smell of CK's "Bewitched" perfume. I told him about my advertising career, specifically emphasizing that I had no formal education after elementary school, but I was young and promising.Those are generally the two things I show off to other people.I can't talk about my parents, or my childhood, or my adolescence, because that would make their ears creepy.They'd think I was a freak, especially from an investment banker's perspective. Pighead looked at his gold watch and said he had to go. I'm sure we shouldn't be stuck with formalities, we should just move in together.I'm new to New York, and I'm short-sighted enough to imagine that there are too many people who have a special opinion of him like me.And I'm just an ordinary person, nothing special.A handsome banker in Manhattan has never had a shortage of dates with guys like me. On my bookcase at home, there is a photo I took of Pighead.He was trying on a leather jacket I bought him for Christmas, and in the mirror behind him he could see me photographing him.I wear a funny red Santa hat and gold-rimmed glasses on my nose.In another photo, I'm swimming in a motel pool in Maine.I remember it was called "Lamp Hotel".It was autumn, and the water in the pool was freezing cold, with orange leaves and beetles floating on the water.This was our first road trip and we had known each other for a year.I remember after we got out of the pool, we went back to the room, I took a hot shower, and we fucked on the bed.We spent two full days in bed, and only in the evenings did we eat steak or pasta at the only restaurant in town that served water in glasses instead of paper cups. “I think I’m in love with you,” I told him one night after we got back to Manhattan, as we leaned on the railing of the Terrace at Battery Garden City, watching the planes circle overhead.For New Yorkers, airplanes circling at night represent the stars and symbolize romance. He turned to me and said, "I love you too, Augustine." Then he added softly, "But that's not love. I'm sorry for what happened between us, I didn't expect us to develop like this, I shouldn't have had sex between us, I shouldn't have made you think we were more than friends. It was my fault." I was deceived because I really loved him; I was fooled, I really wanted to hurt him badly and take revenge on him.You will love me one day, I think, and then it will be too late. And so another year passed.Hard, horny sex, and friendship; but no romance.I have to go to his apartment (mine is always too messy for him); he always makes roast chicken or beef stew.I'd often watch him go about his business: chopping vegetables, stirring, grinding paprika... I'd stare at his hands and think, I love them.At this moment, I had the idea of ​​leaving him. I would no longer care whether he had tender feelings for me, and I was determined to leave him. I started dating.The first time was with Tim, we lasted for three months; then Ned, for two weeks, then Julian, Carlos, Eric...these are all similar to Pighead, His shadow is all over him.Tim was a banker, and Julian and Carlos looked a bit like him; Ned didn't look like him, but he was Greek, and I thought, maybe that's enough. After a year, I finally felt like I had gotten rid of him.Not every song reminds me of him anymore, I can stop thinking about him all day and all night, and I wonder if it's time for me to find someone else. One night he called me from the car and told me to come downstairs and meet him.It was a Friday and I was going to have a drink with Jim at the Odeon or the Grange. "You come down, now." I climbed into his car in a bad mood. "God, what's the matter with you?" I remember asking him.Probably not all of these words, but to the effect. "You need to relax, it's not that bad, it's just a matter of work, it's not you who has AIDS." But -- he tested positive for HIV. I spent the night at his house that night.I hugged him and told him I didn't care about it.I want him to know that even if the cure doesn't work, there is still hope, a hope that is powerful, a hope that cannot be given up because it is desperately wanted. That very night, he told me that he actually loved me—not friendship, but love. But what he said to me at the time was that he just said it out of fear, he was just afraid of losing everything, he didn't love me at all.I made up my mind to leave him completely and just be his friend. I don't want to be burdened by the virus.I hate him, I hate him After I worked so hard to get rid of him, he suddenly said he loved me after getting terminally ill.He makes me so unbearable, and he breaks my heart so much, he bastard! So, now that I'm his regular friend, I think I've gotten rid of him.But, obviously, I'm not fully recovered, I'm still distracted. I got released from the rehab ward, left that rainbow footprints poster, and moved into a common room across from the men's shower, with my new roommates being "Valium Doctor" and Big Bobby.I have adapted to the daily life here easily, like a labor camp worker.The morning and evening affirmations (I am a man of value!!) stood squarely in front of me like shoddy book presses in the daily stressful study life of this alcoholic college. Days here can easily be lumped together.Because in four days, you can taste all the courses here, and then just repeat it day after day, like the movie "Groundhog Day"-a never-ending loop. A skinny girl came to the group recently. "As soon as my girlfriend cuts my leg with a razor blade, I can orgasm. I often feel like I don't belong to a human, I'm just some animal shell or something. But when she cuts me, I see myself bleeding Well, I dipped my finger in it and tasted it, and I felt like a human again, a real human being. It really turned me on." So she's one of those Ladies' Lives kind of girls who love to stab their knees until their parents catch them and take them to the hospital.Although it sounds novel, it always makes people feel incredible. David assigned us homework the day before yesterday, and today we will have a group discussion. "I want you to write a letter to someone close to you. Be honest with him about how you really feel about him and your relationship." "Valium" doctor wrote letters to his former patients apologizing for passing off aspirin as Valium; Apologize for birth. I write to Pighead. Dear Pighead: I have always been cold to you for two reasons.The first is because I drink too much.I have to drink every night, so I can't think about anything. The second is because of your illness.I can't stand being close to you and then watching you die, you are my best friend and I have to protect that. I seldom call you, or see you, because I'm going to stay away from you now while it's easy.Because at least I can talk to you now.I want to stay away from you slowly while you are still healthy, and I don’t want to be unable to bear the blow when the day you leave suddenly comes. I'm slowly spreading out the pain of losing you in advance, rather than enduring a concentrated pain blow one day. I read my letter in a group discussion, and something completely unexpected happened. I was in such agony that I could hardly breathe, and tears filled my eyes.Marianne reaches for the tissue box. "No, Marianne, no," said David. "Oh, yes, I forgot . . . how stupid I was," she said shamefully. I mouthed "thank you" to her and she gave me a small smile.I'm going to let her know that she's actually handed me the tissue and that's exactly what I want.Then I clear my throat. "I don't know what's going on," I said.I was horrified to discover that I was such an emotional person.But that's good too, and it made me understand my feelings about Pighead. "I, oh..." I said again.I was surprised to find that my voice was shaking, as if I was sitting on top of a washing machine that was rumbling to dry clothes, and then I cried again.It's embarrassing to weep in front of everyone, but I can't help it, and something inside me feels like it snapped.After I cried for ten minutes, I finally collected my mood. "Are you okay?" David asked. I nodded and raised my sleeve to wipe my eyes. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Are you worried?" I bit my lip. "It's about Pighead. Read that letter, you know... I can't tell... Maybe it reminds me of our past." I met Pighead on a sex line.I had just moved to Manhattan and was bare except for an inflatable rubber bed I bought at Walmart, but I had a telephone and a copy of The Village Voice. The "Village Voice" ad featured a phone number—"Friends Line."So I dialed the number and chatted over a beer.I also put on a British accent. When you make a call, you are connected to another person who made the call.If you don't like him, you hit the cut button and it's another guy. Usually I wait for the other person to speak first. "How big is your penis?" is usually the question to ask. I pretended to have a British accent and started asking, "What brand of toothpaste do you use?" Usually I get cut off.Only once did someone reply, "Crest." Then I said, "Really? Why not Colgate or Gurley?" Then he said, "Because I like the smell of Crest better. Doesn't Colgate have fluoride? I don't know what fluoride is, but I'm still afraid to use it." After listening to his words, I laughed out loud. "You know," he said, "you have a great British accent. But you give it away when you smile. You've got to work on it." I switched back to my own accent and said, "You bastard, are you trying to make me laugh?" he said yes. "That's great, I haven't laughed like this in a long time," I said. He said: "That's where you should try to change. Do you believe you can change yourself? Are you one of the stagnant people?" I said, "I grew up around ponds, so I know the dangers of standing still." He said it was great news.Then he asked, "Then why don't you ask how big my penis is? Everyone else does. Aren't you curious?" I said, "Okay, how big is your penis?" He said, "That's right. You're just looking for sex, you're only interested in sex. Know what I'm thinking? I'm calling to find a serious, healthy relationship." "Are you kidding me?" I said. "I'm serious," he said. We chatted on and off for another hour, and finally he suggested that we meet. "Just a drink," he said. The next day, we met in the "Winter Gardens" at the World Financial Center in the city center.I was in jeans and a yellow oxford; he was in a thin Armani suit and a ring on his little finger.I immediately commented: "Donald Trump, Donald Trump, a well-known real estate agent in New York, USA. That's the only one he wears." He listened and said, "Take that sentence back." I smiled at him and said I wouldn't take that back because I was telling the truth. He said, "I think I'll have to drink a little so I can bear you and not leave you." There is a Chinese restaurant in the courtyard on the first floor of the financial center, and there is a big fish tank full of orange-red fish.We sat down at the bar in front of the fish tank.He ordered ABSOLUT vodka and tonic water with rose lime juice, and I ordered the same.I deliberately put on airs and said that we actually have the same hobbies.What a coincidence, my eyes told him.I am becoming more aware of what I am doing. 皮格海德是个——好像没有其他词可以形容——睿智的人。他浓黑光滑的头发看上去也是那么舒服，诙谐而有魅力，他身上散发着CK那款“迷惑”香水的味道。 我跟他讲了我的广告生涯，特地强调了我小学后就没受过正规教育，但是我年少有为。这一般是我向别人炫耀的两件事。我不能谈我的父母、我的童年或我的青春期，因为这些会让他们听得毛骨悚然。他们会认为我是个不正常的人，尤其在一个投资银行人看来。 皮格海德看看他的金表，说他该走了。 我确定我们不应该拘泥于形式，我们应该直接搬到一起。我刚来纽约，见短识浅，还想像不到像我这样对他有特殊想法的人太多了。而我只是一个普通人，没什么特别之处。一个曼哈顿的英俊银行家从来不缺和我这样的人约会。 在我家里的书柜上，有张我给皮格海德拍的照片。当时他正在试我圣诞节给他买的皮夹克，他身后的镜子里可以看到我在给他拍摄。我头戴滑稽的红色圣诞老人帽，鼻子上架着金边眼镜。在另一张照片里，我在缅因州一个汽车旅馆的游泳池里游泳。我记得是叫“明灯旅馆”。时值秋天，池里的水冰冷刺骨，水面上还漂着桔黄色的树叶，还有甲虫。这是我们第一次的公路旅行，那时我们已经相识一年。我记得我们从泳池上来后，回到房间，我冲了个热水澡，然后和他在床上嘻闹。我们在床上整整待了两天，只在晚上，才会去镇上惟一用玻璃杯而不是纸杯装水的那家餐馆吃牛排或意大利面。 回到曼哈顿后的一个晚上，我告诉他：“我想我爱上你了。”当时我们正斜靠在电池花园城露台的栏杆上，看飞机在头顶盘旋。对于纽约人来说，夜晚盘旋的飞机代表着星星，象征着浪漫。 他转过来对着我，说：“我也爱你，奥古斯丁。”接着他又温柔地说，“但是那不是爱情。我对我们之间发生的事很抱歉，我没想到我们发展成这样，我不该让我们之间发生性，我不该使你错觉我们之间的关系超过朋友。是我的错。” 我被欺骗了，因为我真的爱他；我被愚弄了，我真想狠狠伤害他，报复他。你总有一天会爱上我的，我想，而那时就会太迟了。 这样又过去了一年。剧烈、饥渴的性交，还有友谊；但是没有浪漫。我得去他的公寓（我的对他来说总是太乱了）；他总是做烤鸡或炖牛肉。我经常看他忙个不停：切菜、搅拌、磨辣椒粉……我会凝视他的手，沉醉地想，我爱这双手。就在这时，我动了一定要离开他的念头，我不会再在乎他对我有没有柔情蜜意了，我要决心离开他了。 我开始约会了。第一次是和提姆，我们维持了三个月；然后是内德，维持了两个星期，然后是朱利安、卡罗斯、艾瑞克……这些人都和皮格海德有相似处，身上都有他的影子。提姆是个银行家，朱利安和卡罗斯长的有点像他；内德长的不像，但他是希腊人，我想，也许这就够了。 一年后，我终于觉得自己已经摆脱了他。不再是每首歌都能让我想起他，我可以做到不整日整夜想他了，我在想，我是不是该另寻他欢了。 一天晚上，他在车里给我打电话，让我去楼下见他。那天是星期五，我本打算和吉姆去欧迪恩或农庄酒吧喝酒。“你快下来，现在。” 我爬进他的车里，心情很差。“上帝，你到底怎么了？”我记得我这样问他。可能不全是这几个词，但大意如此。“你得放宽心些，情况没那么糟，只是工作上的事而已，又不是你得艾滋了。” 但是——他检查出HIV阳性。 那天晚上，我在他家里过了夜。我抱着他，跟他表示我不在乎这个。我想让他知道，即使治不好，也还是有希望，一种强大的希望，一种因为热烈渴求而不放弃的希望。 就在那个晚上，他告诉我他其实很爱我——不是友谊，是爱情。 但当时他的话给我的感觉是，他只是出于害怕才这么说，他只是害怕自己失去一切，他根本不爱我。我更下定决心要彻底离开他，只做他的朋友，我不想受那病毒所累。我恨他，我恨他我千辛万苦地摆脱他后，他却在得了绝症后突然说爱我。他是让我如此于心不忍，他又是那么伤透我的心，他这个混蛋！ 所以，现在我成了他的普通朋友，我想我已经摆脱他了。但是，很显然，我并没有完全康复，我还是心猿意马。 今天是二十号。在这里日子已经没有了名字，只剩下编号，显示我已经多久没喝酒的编号。我听到传言，说匿名酗酒者会议里现在有人已经数他未喝酒的日子，数到以年计了。所以这意味着，除了包括换工作换朋友在内的生活调整以外，我现在还得建立一个不同标准的日历来生活，比如中国的农历。所以今天，二十号，也许就是十九。这一天发生了一件事，有个新人进来了。 我那时正坐在交谈区，读着上星期的地区报纸，享受我难得的半小时的自由时光。这时一个新人走进来，坐在护士台那装铁丝网的玻璃窗户后面；我坐在我当初进来登记时的同一张椅子上。他一脸痛苦，脸上扭曲成一层恐惧焦急的硬壳。他应该很英俊，但是现在已经面目模糊了。 他到达时已近八点钟了，所以他在这里的首次露面应该是晚上的宣证会——那首毛绒动物歌和那段“移交仪式”。我已经迫不及待地要看好戏了。 我读完了报纸，然后去卫生间撒尿。出来时，我看见他站在摆着咖啡机和为病人准备的草药茶的咖啡桌旁，紧张地拨弄着一只塑料杯，等着新鲜咖啡出来。 “欢迎来到地狱。”我说，也拿起一只杯子，放了一只酸果蔓茶包进去。 他紧张地看着我，仿佛我背后藏着把枪。 “哦，你好！我叫海丁。”他是个英国人。 “我叫奥古斯丁。” “请你原谅，我现在情绪不佳。我太累了，而且来这里让我觉得很痛苦，我真不敢相信我来这里了。事实上，我不相信我还活着。” “我理解这种感受。” “你从哪来？”他问。 “曼哈顿。”我说。我没说我来自纽约，因为我不想让一个来自伦敦的人认为我住在乡下。 “哦，真的吗？”他眼睛一亮，“我也从那儿来。”然后他又顿了顿，“是的，曾属于那儿，我来这里前公寓没了。所以等我离开这时，我也许得回伦顿和我父母待一阵子。” 咖啡好了，他倒了满满一杯。一个宁可喝劣质咖啡也不喝茶的英国人，我已经开始喜欢上他了。我们参加宣证会前还有二十分钟，所以我问：“你想出去走走吗？呼吸点新鲜空气？” “好主意。” 我们走出去，来到后院。我们最远只许走到那条小河边上，大概一百尺。但是我们没走那么远，我们在破烂的旧野餐桌旁坐下来。抬头看星星时，我发现自己有点想家了——星星使我想起了那些摩天大楼里的灯光。 “你怎么会丢掉你房子呢？发生什么事了？” 他呷了口咖啡，叹了口气。“老实说，我丢了它是因为我吸可卡因。我把钱都花在吸毒上，已经七个月没交房租了，结果我被赶了出来。来这儿前，我住在我朋友家，条件是马上要戒毒。但是……我戒不掉，所以那个朋友和其他朋友逼我来这里。” “他们逼你？”我问。 “嗯。他们威胁说要向移民局报告。要知道我在这个国家非法待了七年，他们说如果我不来这儿，我就会被驱逐出境。” 同是天涯沦落人，我想。要么来这儿，要么被丢掉那份轻松高薪的工作。 “那么，是吸毒，不是酗酒了？” “不，也酗酒。”他看上去像个犯错的小孩，一个三十出头的犯错的小孩。 “那么一言以蔽之，你是一个刚从纽约公寓被赶出来的英国非法吸毒酗酒犯。”我说。 他顽皮地笑了笑：“没错，这是为我量身定做的一句话。” 从我所在的位置，我很容易就看见房子里人们开始排队上楼，我瞥见了一只毛软软的蓝耳朵。“哦，该去参加宣证了。做好准备，有你想不到的事呢。” 他警惕地看着我。 我们走过去加入了他们，海丁坐到了对面，宣证会还和以前一样索然无味。 “我要感谢莎拉今天在小组讨论时对我的拥抱。” “我要感谢小组接受我。” “我要感谢保罗煮了一壶新咖啡。” 孕妇保罗还在一如既往地盯着窗户里的人影看。他看似身在这里，其实从来未在这里。就像他自己怀孕了，但生孩子仿佛遥遥无期一样。 到了唱动物歌的时间，我使劲压住邪恶的笑容，静观其变。 那两只毛动物果然被扔到海丁腿上时，海丁立刻站起来，冲出房间，冲下楼。众人看着他的空椅子，面面相觑。 这时顾问说话了：“好吧各位，我们继续，继续完成宣誓。” 活动结束后，我特意慢慢地走过护士台，回房间。护士台的门关着，海丁正站在那儿和两个顾问谈话，他手势夸张，他看上去暴跳如雷。那两只动物正坐在一张桌子上，像被没收的证据。 “安定药医生”走进我们房间，砰地躺到床上。“好像我们的新朋友不喜欢这里的第一小时嘛。”他顽皮地笑。 “我也想不通。”我说。 “确实很尴尬。”他补充道，拿起他的《当代心理学》。 我想对他说些什么，但不知如何开口。“你真认为你会丢掉你的执照吗？” 他从杂志里抬起头，吸了口气，慢慢地说：“真有可能。” 他的话让我焦灼不安起来。如果我回去后他们还是会开除我呢？他们会易如反掌地说，没有我他们也干得很好。然后立刻传言四起，结果没有其他广告代理会要我了。 我坐在床边，想这个问题。到目前为止，好像还没什么迹象，但是这种事既然能发生在一个医生，一个“黄蜂”，一个航空服务员上，那也同样会发生在我身上。 过了一会儿，大鲍比走进来，坐到床上。“哎，你们认为护士台里那个家伙会怎么样呢？” 我埋在我的笔记本里（我此刻正在上面乱写一气），头也不抬地说：“那些该死的动物！他可能被它们吓坏了。” 我有写日记的习惯。在我会写字前，我有一台蓝色的录音机，我会像对老朋友一样对它倾吐心事。 “呵，那真是太糟了。我希望他能再给我们一次机会。”他的胃咕咕响了一声。“要我从厨房给你们带点什么吗？”他问。 第二天早上吃早饭时，海丁跟我说起他昨夜在护士台里的争论。“我气坏了。我跟他们说：'我可经不起你们这样的折腾。'我说我是真心实意要戒掉毒戒掉酒的，我还以为这会是个专业的复原院，没想到是这么个滑稽幼稚的地方。” 我正往吐司上抹黄油，吐司突然断成两半。“我不是指责你，一点没有。我和你感觉一模一样。”我想起我来这里后的心路历程，我渐渐发现这里也不是一无是处。“但是，确实是慢慢有点意思了。”我想起穿着大花衣服的雷，“你再等几天看看。” “最好是这样。”他气呼呼地说，我忍俊不禁，咬着嘴才没笑出来。海丁至多五尺二高，但似乎他没意识到这一点。事实上，他似乎觉得自己是六尺高，二百多磅重。他总觉得自己很伟岸，气势凌人。 “这些很好吃。”他指着那些回锅炒蛋说，而我盘子里的那份我一动未动。 到目前为止，我已经瘦了快十磅了，饿得有点眼冒金星了。“你从伦敦来，所以……” 他大笑：“确实是这样的，这比我妈妈做的还好吃。” 我做了个鬼脸。“你们吃那种撒在吐司上的恶心的东西？叫什么来着？” 他眼睛一亮：“蔬菜酱！哦是的，我喜欢！” “那今天的晚饭你一定也会喜欢了。”我胸有成竹地说。 接下来一个星期，我和海丁形影不离。我们一起坐在防火双人沙发上，躲进我们自己的舒适世界；我们彼此交换各自不堪回首的放荡生活；我们意犹未尽地对其他病人评头论足。事无巨细，什么都谈。我们看到一个女同性恋用指甲钳修刘海时，就兴奋不已。我们一致认定她在跟自己做剧烈的思想斗争，很快就要故态复萌了。 我想我从来没有这么快就有了如此亲近的朋友。 和海丁在一起的时间过得飞快，我已经不再看钟了。这是一种六七岁时才会容易建立起的友谊。你让一个小朋友荡你的秋千，然后他就成了你最好的朋友。突然之间，你不再在乎你讨厌数学，因为你有人和你一起讨厌了，放学后你们还会一起玩耍。你从来不会心存疑虑，你从来不会问自己，我是不是和他待一起的时间太多了？我是不是太自作多情了？ 接着你长了阴毛，于是每件事开始变了——阴毛意味着你堕落的开始。从那以后你又开始上中学、大学，然后工作。在你参加工作的时候，你已经不再冰清玉洁了。你不再像你拿袖子擦鼻子的时代那样，心无城府地交朋友了。 不过，似乎进复原院后事情可以有例外。 海丁和我也谈到了这些。我们都对我们之间年纪一大把了竟然还有这种友谊惊叹不已。“而且有趣的是，”他说，“我们不是在酒吧里喝醉了才这样。” This is real.坐在酒吧里喝酒时通常很容易和某个陌生人迅速建立关系，但是通常这种关系到早上四点酒吧关门或早上你们发现你们睡在一起时就无疾而终了。 但是和海丁，这种关系一直持续着。我忍不住想，也许是因为复原院有某种魔力。我们从这出去后还会继续是朋友吗？我希望能这样。我想要我们住在同一栋公寓里，像玛丽和罗达一样隔层而居。海丁让我觉得相逢恨晚，所以我们更该把握良缘，住在一起。 我在复原院的最后一个星期里，我和海丁在健身房里发现了一张折叠起来的乒乓球桌，它被压在一堆箱子后面，所以我们一直没注意到它。 “你想打？”他问。 “当然。”自从小时候我祖父在一个圣诞节送我们一张巨大的绿色折叠乒乓球桌后，我就一直没打过。我父母受不了这个，他们一直把它扔在地下室里，靠在加热器边上的墙上。但是后来我发现，你只打开桌子的一边，然后以一个正确角度竖起来，你就能把球击到对面那边桌上，和自己对打。我打得不错，但是和自己做对手太枯燥乏味了。 在一连没接到三个球后，我终于能够把球打过去了，我脑子里的乒乓细胞也活跃起来了。我们打得有条不紊。“你怎么打这么好？”我一边弯腰捡球一边问。 “哦，我父亲教的。我们以前经常一起打。” “你也不赖。”当我们成功相持不下达一分钟后，海丁说。 “那是因为我擅长把东西从我眼前推走。” 我们一声不吭，又打了几分钟，全神贯注地打着。 他举起球，问：“你想发球吗？” “不，你发。” 他把球抽过来，我又抽回去——我很擅长这个。如果没其他事，我想没准我走时还练了一手好乒乓，没准还能和某个中国人一决高下。 “我真的会想你的。”他突然对我说。 三天后，我将离开这里。看上去真有点不可思议，我仿佛觉得自己已经在这里待了很多年了。想像一下，我现在还学了门“手艺”。我没准还可以靠它吃饭，就像上周雷给我的那张纸的手艺。 那张纸上列了二十张形态各异的脸，用简单的黑线画出不同的表情。每张脸下都有标题说明：高兴、难过、嫉妒、生气、迷惑和恐惧……“如果你想知道你在某个特定时刻的感受，你就拿出这张图，找到那张与你情绪吻合的脸。”所以实际上这是本酒鬼—正常人词典。我发现我已经每天把这张纸揣在我牛仔裤的前兜里了，每次有需要时都看一下。每次吃午饭时站在集合线外，我都好会打开这张图，找到我当时的表情。我找到那张脸，是厌恶。 “你知道我害怕什么吗？”我说，“我害怕我已经被制度化了，害怕我下半辈子要和这班恶心的酒鬼纠缠不清了。就像我怎么也脱离不了的大家庭，恐怕再也不能适应外面的世界了。” 海丁没接到球。“该死，”他叫道，“我了解你的意思，我就从来不想离开这儿。” “我还没做好心理准备。”我说。这里至少很安全，我想时间一长，我就能习惯这里的鱼饼三明治和油布地板；外面的人不会再搭理我了，我会孤苦无依，我想最后我还是会回到这里的。 “不，你做好准备了。”他说。 “何以见得？你有什么根据？” “因为我第一次见你，我就不相信你真的是个酒鬼。我想你可能只是有时喝得有点多而已。”他的眼睛闪闪发亮，“现在我相信你确实是……一个愤世嫉俗的酒鬼。” “那意味着我该留下来才对。”难道真的这样？我已经更糟了？ “不，相反，”海丁说，把球举到空中，像要敬酒似的，“那意味着，我亲爱的孩子，你更真实、更现实了。”