FOR WOMEN ONLY
Author: Aimee Dearmon
Fitted out in camouflage from head to toe, the man burst
through the double doors with such momentum his shirt flapped out behind him.
“Sorry, sir. This is a women’s meeting,” cried a voice that
sounded like it was coming through a telephone receiver.
“Shit!” he spat and turned to leave.
A giant square of a woman with a shaved head sprang from her
seat. “Hold on a minute, sir!” she called. “If you really need a meeting we can
open it up. Come on in and have a seat.”
She tugged at the hem of her rainbow T-shirt as she
addressed the woman with the tinny voice. “Sylvia, this is a women’s AA
meeting, but anyone who really needs one can attend it. That’s the rule.” She
turned back to the man and pulled out the chair next to her.
His drab green combat boots slapped the tile floor as he
trudged across it scowling at no one in particular, and flopped into the seat.
A young girl with shocking pink hair finished the opening
statement with “what you hear here, who you see here, when you leave here,
please leave it here.” After a chorus of “here, here”-s, she asked, “Is there
anyone here who has a problem that may be hindering their sobriet—“
“I do!” the man cut
in.
She cleared her throat, “Okay. Not to embarrass you, but so
we can get to know you a little better, will you tell us your name?”
“Charlie, alcoholic here.”
An enthusiastic chorus of “Hey, Charlie,” rang out in
unison.
“Hey. Thanks for letting me in. My ol’ lady just left me
screaming and raising hell. Had the kid all riled up and squalling. I really
needed this meeting.”
His chair screeched out behind him as he got up and strutted
like a peacock over to the coffee counter. “That woman sure can pitch a bitch,
you know what I mean?” He poked his dirty finger through a plate of cookies,
destroying the attractive arrangement, picked one out and popped it into his
mouth. He slurped his coffee and let out a sigh as he walked back, sat down and
tilted his chair back on its hind legs. He stuffed another cookie into his
mouth.
“So,” he said, his mouth full, “She’s gone.” He dropped into
his chair and washed the cookie down with some more coffee. “Guess that makes
me a single man. Any of you girls feeling lucky?” he grinned.
A few of the women exchanged looks.
“Aw, c’mon. I’m just joking, just lightening it up a little
in here. Jeez! No sense of humor.” He
took another loud slurp from his coffee, and then returned to his balancing
act.
“Okay, then. I’m kinda glad you broads are here.”
A grumble travelled through the group. The big woman held up
a hand and gave the ladies a let’s-be-patient-with-the-poor-drunk look.
“What is it about you women? I mean, Yack-ety, yack-ety,
yack,” he said, his hand opening and closing like jaws. “They have all kinds of
medicine out there, stuff to make your grow hair, stuff that puts you to sleep,
even stuff that makes you horny, but they haven’t found a damn thing that can
shut a woman’s mouth.” Then, in mocking falsetto, “Oh, you don’t like my
family, how come you never want to be around my family?”
“Uh, excuse me Charlie,” said the pink lady. “What does this
have to do with drinking?”
“Well, I have to drink at least two beers just to make it through
Christmas dinner with that bunch.” He lifted his camouflage cap and scratched
his balding head with the same hand.
“Anyways, she complains that I hate her family, so her baby
sister comes over. Beautiful girl, a blonde. You know, blond hair automatically
raises a chick’s status from hot to smokin’, right?”
He eyedballed a young girl with long, golden hair and grinned.
She cringed.
His tore his eyes from the blond and glanced around the
room, coming to a dead halt at the pink lady’s steely glare.
“What?” he asked.
Shrugging, he continued. “So, I took baby sister for a ride
on my Hog, you know, my Harley. Righteous bike; Softail Duece, black. Anyway, we
get back, I open the door and a glass flies past my head and crashes against
the frame. Her baby sister hauled ass.” He shook his head. “There’s no way we
were gone for four hours.”
One woman took advantage of a brief pause in Charlie’s rant.
“I’m Hannah, and I’m an alcoholic.” After a five-minute rundown of a harrowing
experience, she sighed, “I was afraid I’d relapse.”
“Relapse? I just relapsed the other night,” Charlie
interjected. “I even puked! The beer was green, man. Some cheap shit no-brand
stuff. Makes me hurl every time. You’d think I’d know better, wouldn’t ya?”
“As I was saying,”
Hannah said, glowering at Charlie. “I’m sober today with the help of AA. With
that, I’ll pass.”
“That’s great, great.” Charlie clapped his hands a time or
two. “I’m Charlie. I’m an alcoholic.”
A tired, ‘Hey, Charlie’ went up in discord along with a
single, “Oh, good gawd.”
Again, he addressed the young, blond girl. “If I said you
had a beautiful body would you hold it against me?” He slapped his thigh. “Really,
though, is there anyone here would like to go to a swap meet with me? You know,
a motorcycle swap meet? I got a couple of tickets.”
“Charlie, may I remind you that we are here to discuss our alcoholism
and that there is no crosstalking?” said the pink lady.
“I was just asking. Jeez. Is this a women’s meeting or are you
all a bunch of lezbos?”
With that, the large, square woman with the shaved head and
rainbow T-shirt rose, grabbed a handful of Charlie’s camouflage shirt with one
hand, his belt with the other and propelled him through the double doors. One
of the doors stuck open offering the rest of the women a view of Camouflage
Charlie tumbling into the street.
She threw the deadbolt after him. Then she turned around, dusted
her hands and said, “Now, then. I’m Geri and I’m an alcoholic.”