SURRENDER
by: Therese Plummer
She sits in the back row smoking one cigarette after another. Snickering, sighing, making goggly eyes at Patrick across the circle. They are starting group therapy again. Old metal chairs scrape the gym floor. Slurps of coffee and hacking coughs. She is only 20-years-old and the rest of the patients are at least 35 or 40. They talk about their husbands and wives and the courts and loosing their kids and probation officers and blah blah blah, stuff old people have to worry about. She can’t relate. She isn’t married. She has no kids. She has no court date or probation officer. She parties too much and it almost killed her. And if her home life wasn’t so messed up she wouldn’t have to drink and do drugs anyway. She wouldn't have to find a million ways to run away from reality, to not feel anything. It isn’t her fault.
The counselor finally comes into the circle and sits in his chair. He plops down like he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders and takes a deep breath. Now this guy is ancient. At least 65. An old crusty white man. She already knows he has nothing to tell her. She puts her cigarette out and looks at the clock on the wall. She looks at her watch to make sure it’s the same time. She looks across the ring of chairs and catches Patrick staring at her and winks. She lets out a loud obnoxious sigh. All of a sudden she hears Old Crusty boom, “Who the fuck do you think you are?” She snickers wondering who just got called out. When she looks around the circle everyone is looking at her. So she turns around. They can’t possibly be looking at her. Right? Crusty repeats himself, “I said who the fuck do you think you are? You come into this group and you look at the clock and sigh and make eyes at the boys. You know what I see when I read your chart? I see an addict who if she doesn’t change her attitudes and behaviors will go back to the same people places and things that are killing her and will drink and use and will die.”
No one moved.
The first thought that goes through her head is to pick up her metal chair and throw it at Old Crusty. Save face. Show everyone how tough she is. Instead she kicks the chair and runs. She runs so hard and so fast she burst through the doors of the rehab and she is gone. Ready, Fire, Aim. She feels everything and can see nothing. She feels rage coursing through her blood stream keeping the fire in her belly blazing. Her brain screams: “Who the fuck does he think he is talking to me like that? I will sue him and this place! He can’t talk to me like that who does he think he is? They will give anyone a degree to be a counselor! This is unreal no one talks to me that way! I hate him and I hate this place and I…and then her body stops moving. It feels as if she slams into a brick wall. Only there’s no wall there. She stands still. Must have been 5 seconds. She has never stood still this long in her life. She’s breathing heavily and can see the steam coming from her mouth and nose. She is panting like a wild animal. Her belly is hot. A thought comes to her as clear as day: STOP RUNNING AWAY. GO BACK INSIDE. She’s alone in the middle of the lane covered in snow at 8 o’clock at night. There’s fresh snow on the evergreens surrounding the buildings. Fresh snow on the building roofs and she can’t hear any cars or sirens or honking. It is perfectly silent. The rage starts to subside and she realizes she stormed out with no coat on and she’s freezing.
When she goes back inside the rehab Old Crusty is standing there waiting for her. He looks her in the eyes and asks her, “Are you done?” She looks back at him and sees so much kindness in his eyes. He gets it. He really does. “Yes,” she says in a voice barely above a whisper. Old crusty laughs and gives her a hug and says, “The war is over sweet girl, you lost, welcome home.”
