my AA meetings,” a writer friend has told me. A manic-depressive with a long history of alcoholism, she’s been attending for fifteen years, and she’s been urging me to do so. I finally get what she means. As I walk to my car, I see Sophie approach a group of her friends. “You wouldn’t believe who I just ran into,” I hear her say. I chuckle inwardly: my ego’s yearning to be recognized, and the fear of it, realized at the last possible moment.
