From the June 2014 magazine.

Where I Go, It Goes

On a plane or at the doctor's, she's never without her constant companion

I smoked my last cigarette 13 days before my last drink. I didn’t know it was to be the last day for either one. The morning after my last drink, I attended my first AA meeting with a guy I was dating (but that’s another story).

It was a smoking meeting, as most were back then, and I was jittery and crazy, in total shock—a combination of alcoholic denial with smoking withdrawal. The person next to me, carving into his styrofoam coffee cup with a ballpoint pen, was making sounds that were making my nerves rip. It was then that I spotted a slight figure wearing jeans and a man’s work shirt across the room. She had long blonde hair draped down the sides of her face from a fishing cap. With her hands quietly composed in her lap, she emanated a calmness that was foreign to me.

-- Terry F.

Lexington, Kentucky

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