Flashes

     I walk briskly down the sidewalk, my small Al-Anon book in my right hand.  I throw the book out into the street.  Step after step, moving in time with the music pounding through my headphones.  I stop and I launch my fist against the nearest tree, feeling the rough bark scrap against my tender knuckles. Finally I reach my destination, my Al-Anon meeting.  I yell and scream out, my screams drowned out by the rush hour traffic.

     Inside I find that I am early.  “How was your week?” my Al-Anon friend asks.  “Good,” I reply.  “It’s been good.”  I see the Al-Anon table and overturn it in a rage. I head to the bathroom and wipe off some errant tears from my eyes.  I can’t stand the person looking back at me.  I smash the mirror and watch the pieces fall and sparkle.  I look down at the shards.  I return to the meeting room and grab myself a cup of soda, and settle into my favorite chair in the circle.  I clench my fist tightly around my cup, soda erupting up and down my hand, my arm.  

     The meeting starts and I find my focus goes to tracing the patterns in my jeans with my eyes.  I grab the empty chair next to me and hurl it against the far wall. I sit with my arms and legs crossed.  I find a point on my jeans and focus on it until my vision turns black.  Though my eyes remain unfocused, my ears follow each word that is said.   I rip out books out of the bookshelves and then pull the shelves down.  They crash to the ground resoundingly.  I can feel their eyes on me, pondering why I won’t look at anyone, why my face is emotionless, why I haven’t shared yet.  I stand up quickly, pushing my chair back behind me.  I run out the door, and keep running, and when I can’t run anymore I walk, and when I can’t walk anymore I sit.  I stare up into the night sky and pray for peace.  After the meeting I grab my book, stand up and leave quietly.