The Writing on the Wall

I attended my first AA meeting on June 1, 1990. My former drinking buddy, who was to become my first sponsor, had invited me to the meeting. It was held in the Haight-Ashbury district of San Francisco, in a halfway house. There was an assortment of unsavory looking characters smoking near the front door. I glided past them in my business suit and sensible shoes. Inside was a noisy, talkative crowd of about 50 people. They all looked like hardened criminals to me. Clearly I did not belong. My friend and I took seats toward the middle of the front section where I had a clear view of the speaker. I stopped looking around at people because I found them so disturbing. My friend sat quietly, smiling and occasionally sneaking glances at me, which I pretended not to notice. I fidgeted with the latch of my purse. I could not wait for it to be over.