AT LAST the long day was at an end. He switched off the lights, checked the doors. . .the Christmas Eve business was over for another year. What a day! Rush, rush, rush! As the hours dragged on he swore he'd just have to have a drink. He'd only been in AA seven months but he'd always said, "If I can ever get through Christmas Eve, I know I can make it!"

It had been close. At noon when he went out to lunch and Milt, home from the city for the holiday, had begged him to have just one, he should have told him then and there that he was all through with drinking, that he'd joined AA, but he was afraid of being kidded. He'd come up with that old one about not being able to take a drink because he had to go back to work.

As the day wore on liquor had started to show its power. Several customers had been feeling very, very jolly indeed. There'd been a lot of that "old pal, old pal, and remember when" stuff. Once in the late afternoon that wild craving for a drink had started, along with a sort of crazy feeling of being left out. What the hell! Who cared--certainly not Millie. There was a girl who, when she was through, she was through. And she'd done a good job of turning the kids against him. Damn her anyway! This staying sober. . .what for? What good is money if you don't have any fun?

This sort of tiling had gone on for about an hour and then passed. He'd seen an old friend come in, pitifully drunk, wasted, beaten, pathetic, and that old phrase, "There but for the grace of God--" came to him. Sort of scared him. From then on he'd been all right.

He left the store and walked down the long street. On every side were the bright lights of Christmas. He dropped in for a coffee and then was when it happened. A big, lumbering drunk (one he'd quarrelled with back in his drinking days came over to the counter, waving a bottle. He yelled, loud enough for everyone to hear, even above the din, "So here's our little AA boy! Don't know what that means, fellows? It's Alcoholics Abominous--har--har--har! Well, I'm gonna' pour a drink down the smug little b--d's throat!" The open bottle came close. . .he caught a whiff of scotch and for an instant a mad desire to grab it flashed through his mind. Humiliation, anger, fear, all crowded in. Well, they talk in AA about a Higher Power. . .just at that moment he appeared, in the form of the manager who, with a sharp "Break it up, boys!" stopped the performance, in the turmoil he made the street.

A sickening sense of shame swept over him. So this was contented sobriety, this, the pure, white light of a--better way of life. Damn the cursed devils, damn everything, damn everyone! Hate, resentment, tore at his soul. Why not--why not drink? Who cares? Only fools and weaklings stay sober on Christmas Eve.

Somehow, it must have been the Higher Power at work again, he got home. He was shaking and he could feel the perspiration breaking out all over his body, just like a hangover. Quickly he locked and bolted the door and went up to bed. A little AA book lay on the chair and he opened it at a favorite reading. As he read a sort of peace descended upon him, for it said "In a race, it is when the goal is in sight that heart and nerves and muscles and courage are strained almost to the breaking point. So with us. The goal of the spiritual life is in sight. All we need is the final effort. The saddest records made by men are those who ran well, with brave, stout hearts, until in sight of the goal and then some weakness or self-indulgence held them back. They never knew how near the goal they were or how near they were to victory."^[1]

He closed the book and knelt and prayed, "I thank you, God, for saving me from myself today." He clicked off the bed light and lay relaxed. And then, a feeling of excitement and jubilation hit him, a sense of victory. All at once he knew he'd made it. . . 'The First Christmas"--in AA!

^1*from "Twenty-four Hours A Day"