Sparkplugs

Sparkplugs
The next day we started group with a review of how everyone was doing in recovery. Relapse Boy and Julie were craving painkillers, but claimed they were clean and sober. Liam was worried, Michaela was angry, and Emu just felt numb. Ann said she was tired, and I knew she meant spiritually and emotionally, as well as physically.

James was upbeat. He had gone to an NA meeting the night before and liked it. He had spent a couple of hours on the internet before going to sleep. He had learned the difference between anteaters and aardvarks. He also learned female aardvarks were homebodies, male aardvarks prone to roam.

His curiosity hadn’t ended with aardvarks. James assured Julie dying from bird flu wasn’t that bad. He told Ann that cocaine had depleted brain chemicals tied to pleasure, but over time she should be able to enjoy casual sex again. “There’s a good chance if you get sober, your son won’t become an addict,” he said to Michaela. “And one cannot be held personally responsible for a corporation’s debts, should that corporation declare bankruptcy,” he added for Liam’s benefit.

I waited for the group to jump all over him. There was a moment of stunned silence.

“James, you should get a job writing greeting cards!” Relapse Boy joked. “No, no, counseling! You should go into counseling! You should be a grief counselor!” The group laughed. James thought about what he said, and laughed at himself.

"I really must learn to filter what I say,” James said.

“Maybe,” I said, “but you are a sparkplug, and I’m glad you’re part of this group.”

Today I will be grateful for upbeat people, the world would be a duller place without them.