Commitment Issues by Wynn Wagner Page B

at the leader, so I didn't notice any hands.
    "I'm Wyatt, and I'm an alcoholic."
    "Hi, Wyatt,” everybody said, and my heart almost stopped.
    "I got kicked out of my apartment today. It was my boyfriend. I guess he's now an ex-boyfriend or something. When I told him that I was coming here, he said AA is a cult and threw all of my stuff onto the sidewalk."
    "You have a place to stay today?” the leader asked.
    "Yeah,” Wyatt said. “The 24 Hour Club."
    That's one place that will get your attention. If you get somebody to tell you what they think alcoholics look like, they'll describe people you can find at the 24 Hour Club.
    "Good,” the meeting leader said. “That's Sean—Sean R.—right in front of you."
    I looked up and turned around to look at Wyatt. Melt! Heart attack. Oh my God. Get me a paper bag, because I know that I'm going to hyperventilate. If I don't hyperventilate, then I may get motion sickness. Help! What was the leader trying to do? I couldn't talk to Wyatt. I'd just blabber incoherently.
    One of our older members caught my eye, and I knew what he was thinking. He was almost a predator around pretty boys. Somebody was going to have to protect this kid. Somebody was going to have to help him navigate the waters. Even the most awful dirty old men would give a newcomer space, but they'd be hovering. They would be ready to pounce as soon as Wyatt was sober, and I decided to be the kid's protector.
    "Hi, Sean,” Wyatt said.
    "After the meeting, Sean is going to give you his phone number and the number of at least three or four others."
    I nodded.
    "Sean, make sure he has a Big Book too."
    After the meeting, Wyatt waited for me. I had no idea what to say or do, but I had an assignment. We had slogans plastered all over the walls, and I caught a glimpse of one: I AM RESPONSIBLE. Whenever anyone, anywhere, reaches out for help, I want the hand of AA always to be there. And for that: I am Responsible.
    In a way, it was the only way that I could have a conversation with such a dream guy. The part of me that wanted to drool wasn't as strong as the part that wanted to be responsible. Wyatt was so hurt by his addiction that it made me want to cry with him. I had been through just what he was going through.
    My head was racing, and I don't know if I made any sense to Wyatt. He was so delicate and hurt, and I was such a buffoon.
    It was all business, because I was the “hand of AA” that night. He was a newcomer, and I had been around for a few years. Ugggh, why is this happening to me? I didn't know what to do.
    I got him a copy of the Big Book, the main textbook on staying sober. The group keeps several on a bookshelf, and there is a slot to drop money. I put a twenty-dollar bill into the slot without looking to see if that was too much or not enough.
    When I gave Wyatt the book, I also gave him a pencil and told him to write his name in the book. I told him my name again and gave him my cell phone number.
    "How's it going for you?” I asked. Stupid question.
    "Pretty good. I am unemployed,” he said. “My so-called boyfriend tossed my ass out of the apartment, and I'm camped out at the 24 Hour Club. So it's peachy. I got the world just where I want it."
    I smiled. At least the guy has a good sense of humor. “Hungry?"
    "No cash right now."
    "I didn't ask if you were flush,” I whispered. “I just asked if you were hungry. There's a diner a couple of blocks from here. There's usually a group of guys from the meeting at the diner. When I first got here, somebody was there with an occasional meal. It's payback for that. One day, you can take somebody there, so it isn't charity. It's like I'm making a deposit in your AA bank. ‘Kay?"
    That made him cry, and he leaned over to hug me. He put his head into my shoulder, and I felt my whole body get tense. Wyatt was touching me, and he had no idea what it was doing to me. I had never felt a man who was so soft and cuddly and warm and tender and.... Ugggh, I want