A MILLION LITTLE PIECES

I am sitting in the Room with Lilly. I have a loaded pipe in one hand, a bottle of Thunderbird in the other. A torch sits on the floor between my feet. I smoke and drink until I meet oblivion. I love it and I hate it.

The old man is with us. He is pleasuring himself with Lilly. I sit and I watch. I sit and I smoke. I sit and I drink. I care only about the pipe. I care only about the bottle. I am helpless. I love it and I hate it.

The dreams are real, or as real as dreams can be, and in them I see and I hear and I feel and I touch. Inside and out. Images like running film, sounds like a stereo. The crack and the wine in my body are real, the crack and the wine in my mind are real. I fade in and out, between consciousness and unconsciousness, between sanity and insanity. I love it and I hate it. I love it and I hate it.

I give up on sleep. I get out of bed. I walk to the Bathroom. I get in the shower and I wash off all of the dirt from yesterday. I am in the shower for a long time.

I get dressed and leave my Room and get a cup of coffee and walk down the stairs toward Lincoln’s Office. There is a Group Meeting in the Lower Level, and as I pass by it, I can feel the stares of all the men. I don’t look at them. I don’t acknowledge them.

I walk past the Phone Booth down the short Hall. The door is open, Lincoln is sitting at his desk reading the Blue Book, the Big Book, the Bible of Alcoholics Anonymous. He looks up at me as I come in and he speaks.

Have a seat.

I sit across from him.

You sleep well?

No.

Bad dreams?

Yeah.

I thought you’d have them.

Why?

Because you were near it.

That what happens?

It does to me, even after fourteen years.

I guess that’s the price I’ll pay.

I guess it is.

Lincoln stares at me for a moment. Unlike at most of our meetings, his stare isn’t loaded with anger and judgment. He holds up his book, speaks.

You ever read this?

Yeah.

What’d you think?

I didn’t like it. Didn’t ring true for me.

Last night made me think a lot about it.

Why?

Because you aren’t supposed to be able to do what you did.

Because that book says so?

No, because my belief in this book says so.

I don’t believe in it, so I’m not bound by its Rules.

Whose Rules are you bound by?

My own.

And what are those?

Just one rule: Don’t do it. No matter what happens, no matter how bad I want it, don’t do it.

You think that’s gonna work?

I do.

In the long term?

I do.

I tried that way.

How’d it go?

I failed three times with it.

What happened?

I was Addicted to speed. I’d use, go to a Treatment Center, get some days under my belt, refuse to listen to what I was being told. I thought I was stronger than my addiction, and when I got out, the first time I was near it, I used it.

How’d you get sober?

I finally gave up. I came here, I listened, I did what I was told, I turned my will over to God as I understand him, I worked the Twelve Steps. That’s what saved me.

That’s a good thing.

Yeah, it was.

He smiles, looks at me for a moment. He looks down at his book and back at me.

I didn’t think you would do it last night.

No?

I hear a lot of shit talking in here, and most of it turns out be just that, shit talking.

I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself if I hadn’t done something.

For whatever it’s worth, and considering our relationship up till now it might not be worth much, I’m proud of you.

Thank you.

I wouldn’t have been able to do it. I wouldn’t have gone after her, I wouldn’t have gone into that Bus Station, and I sure as hell wouldn’t have gone into that Building.

Why do you say that?

You risked your life last night, maybe in more ways than you know, to save someone else. I save People, or at least I try to save People, but it’s controlled and it functions under a System that doesn’t force me to risk anything. I don’t know what you saw last night, or who you dealt with, but I can imagine what it must have been like, and I know it wasn’t easy. I don’t think I would have done it.

I assume you risked your Job coming to pick me up.

Maybe, but I did it because if you were willing to risk what you did, risking my Job wasn’t that big a deal.

It was a big deal, and I owe you for it. I owe you huge.

You do two things and we’ll call it even.

What?

I’d like to get along for the rest of the time you’re here. I know I’m going to make an effort, I’d like you to also.

I smile.

No problem. What’s the second?

You said last night you were going to prove me wrong.

Yeah?

Do it. Prove me wrong.

I smile.

I’m sure as hell gonna try.

He stares at me.

Do more than try.

I stare back, nod.

I will.

He stands.

Shake my hand?

I stand.

Absolutely.

He reaches and I reach and our hands meet. We hold strong and firm we stare in each other’s eyes and there is a bond of respect. We let go and I speak.

Am I allowed to ask how she’s doing?

She’s okay.

What’s going to happen?

They’re going to keep her on the Medical Unit for today. She’ll start the Program over and work her way through it again. We’re trying to get hold of her Grandmother because our Rules state that when a Patient leaves, if they come back, they have to pay for another term. You’re still not allowed any contact with her, but I’ll give you updates if you want them.

I do.

Consider this your first.

If you see her, will you tell her I love her.

He smiles.

I will.

Thank you.

You should get back out.

Okay.

Come find me if you ever need anything.

I will. Thank you.

He nods.

Thank you.

I turn and I walk out. I walk down the short Hall and I walk into the Unit. The Group Session is breaking up, the men are starting to go to the Dining Hall for lunch. I see Leonard and Miles and we walk to the Dining Hall together. Along the way they ask me where I’ve been and I tell them and they are both stunned. By Lilly’s actions and by my actions, that I found her and I brought her back and that Lincoln and Hank helped me do it. They ask me if it was hard and I say yes. They ask if I would do it again and I say yes, and I would do the same for either of you. As we get our trays and our food, today’s special is Spanish rice and pork cutlets, they ask about how Lilly is doing and what’s going to happen with her. I tell them, though I leave out the part about the money because it isn’t my place to talk about it. They tell me if they can do anything to help to let them know. I thank them.

We sit at a table in the corner with Ted and Matty. Matty has a stack of newspapers in front of him and he is looking for articles on tonight’s fight. Most of the papers are picking the larger Heavyweight to win, though Matty still thinks he’s going to lose. As he reads the articles he talks about the writers, most of whom he knows from his days as a fighter, and he calls the ones he doesn’t agree with names like feckhead, grasshole or kicksucker. We know this is part of his ongoing attempt to quit swearing and it makes all of us laugh. Leonard asks him why he doesn’t just use the real words and Matty says that he’s been three days without the Devil’s talk and he ain’t gonna start with it again just because of some gosh darn fight.

After we lunch, we go to the Lecture. We play cards in the back row. Leonard wins all of the money, but he gives it back when we’re finished.

As we walk out of the Lecture, I see Ken standing outside the door with Randall, the Lawyer who has been working on my case. I look at Randall, speak.

Any news?

Can you talk in Ken’s Office?

I say yes and we walk to Ken’s Office. With each step my feet get heavier and a sense of dread begins to consume me. I watch Ken and Randall in the hope that some manner of expression in one or both will give me a clue to my fate, but there’s nothing. We walk and my feet get heavier and the dread grows. It feels as if I’m walking to my cell right now.

Ken opens the door and Ken sits down behind his desk and Randall and I sit across from him. Randall is holding a file on his lap and he opens it and he looks at me and he smiles. I am expecting the worst, so his smile annoys me. He speaks.

I almost don’t want to know, but I’ll always wonder if I don’t ask.

He waits for some sort of response. I stare at him. I’m scared and annoyed and I wish he’d get on with it. He smiles again.

Who are your friends?

What?

Who did this for you?

I have no idea what you’re talking about.

He laughs.

Just tell me.

I start to get angry.

I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.

Ken speaks.

Calm down, James.

Stay the fuck out of it, Ken.

Randall looks at me.

We got an offer this morning for three to six months in County Jail and three years Probation. All of the felonies have been changed to misdemeanors, and if you get through Probation cleanly, they’ll be wiped from your Record.

I smile.

No fucking way.

He nods.

Yes. Yes fucking way.

I laugh.

What happened?

The Prosecutor said they had encountered some problems, that there were some issues with missing evidence, and that he had received a couple of phone calls on your behalf. When I pressed him for details, he wouldn’t give them to me.

I laugh again. I am overjoyed.

When do I go?

You want to accept?

Fuck yeah.

Given the sudden change, you might have a chance at Trial.

I just want this to be over.

I understand. I’ll get the paperwork started.

When will I have to go?

I believe you’ll have turn yourself in within the next ten days.

I smile.

Fuck yeah.

Ken speaks.

I can’t believe you’re this excited about going to Jail.

I’m excited because three to six months in County is a fucking cakewalk.

It’s still Jail. You’ll still be locked up.

But it’s not Prison. In County, I’ll be with a bunch of drunk drivers and wife beaters and pot Dealers. I won’t have any problems with them.

It’s still Jail.

It’ll be a cakewalk.

Randall speaks.

Do you have any idea how this happened?

I smile.

I have an idea.

You mind sharing it with me?

I don’t think the people I’m thinking of would appreciate it if I did.

I understand.

He closes his file, stands.

I’ll bring the paperwork by when I get it.

I stand.

Thank you very much for all your help.

I think there are some other people you may need to thank more than me.

I will, but I’m thanking you as well.

Certainly.

We shake hands and Randall leaves and I sit back down. Ken looks at a file for a moment, then at me.

I went over your Program with Joanne this morning and we think you’re ready for the final two steps that we cover here, which are Step Four and Step Five.

It doesn’t matter that I haven’t done the other ones?

Will you ever do them?

No.

Then let’s talk about Four and Five.

Okay.

Step Four, we made a searching and fearless moral Inventory of ourselves. Step Five, we admitted to God, to ourselves and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs.

My Confession.

Yes.

Except for the God part, it sounds fine.

We recommend that when you do your Inventory you write everything down.

Okay.

And we recommend that when you do your Admission, you do it with a Priest.

Why?

They have experience doing it. They tend to reserve judgment and they tend to be objective. Most people think it’s the best way.

I look down, think, remember. I take a deep breath.

Ken speaks.

I can try to find someone else.

It’s fine.

When will this happen?

Depends on how long it takes you to do your Inventory.

I’ll be done by tomorrow.

It usually takes people three or four days.

I know what I need to say.

Don’t make a joke out of this, James.

I won’t. I promise.

Are you comfortable doing Step Five day after tomorrow?

That sounds good.

I’ll schedule a Room for you. Think about whether you would like a Priest or not.

A Priest is fine.

If you have any questions, come find me.

Okay.

I stand and I thank him and I leave. I walk back to the Unit, where Lincoln is leading a group on Relapse Prevention and the Recognition of Triggers. He is standing in front of a blackboard speaking. The men are spread out in front of him on the couches and the chairs.

I look for a place to sit. On one of the couches there are two spaces on either side of one man. He is a new man, a man I have never seen before now. He has long, stringy hair that has been dyed black. He is wearing black leather pants and a black T-shirt that has a picture of a skeleton on it. His left arm is missing, and his right arm has been freshly amputated just above his elbow. What remains of it is covered in bandages and rests in a plastic splint that emerges from beneath his shirt. It holds the arm above his chest and parallel to the ground. There is a red snake tattooed around the width of his neck and the bottom of his eyelids appear to have been tattooed black. His eyes themselves are a dull brown. They stare straight ahead. They are motionless. There is nothing in them.

I look for another place, but there isn’t one. I sit next to the man and I try to pay attention to what Lincoln is saying, but I can’t do it. I am uneasy next to this man and I stare at him out of the corner of my eye. I look at the stump of his right arm. The bandages are clean, but beneath their edges, his skin is light blue covered with greenish black spots. I look at his neck and I follow the snake around it. The snake’s head is on his Adam’s apple and its jaw is wide and hissing, I see its tail disappear down his back. I look at his face. His skin is pale yellow, the sign of a fading jaundice, there are small scars on his cheeks, as if he has cut himself with shards of glass or a razor blade, and there are the remnants of holes in his eyebrows, lips, nose and ears, as if his face was once pierced.

Worse than anything I can see is what I can smell. The man smells like he is rotting, like there is something inside of him that is either dying or dead, like whatever it is has been there for a long time. I can almost see the smell, and when he exhales and his breath leaves his body, there is another equally foul smell. It is sour and slightly chemical, old and incredibly dirty. It is as if he brushed his teeth with a mixture of raw sewage and motor oil. It is as if the last time he did so was years ago.

I am not the only one who notices the smell. I am not the only one staring at this man. Everyone in the Room, including Lincoln, is drawn to his presence. Some, like me, watch him from the corner of their eyes. Some stare directly. Those sitting nearest him wince at the smell or wave the air in front of their faces in an attempt to make it go away. Those sitting farther away shift in their seats, lean at awkward angles, sniff the air as if checking to see if what they think they smell is what they actually smell. It is. It is fucking awful. There is something dead in him and it is slowly decomposing.

Before the Session ends, Lincoln tells us that we have the rest of the afternoon off and that dinner tonight is on the Unit at six-thirty. Someone asks why and he says wait and see and he releases us. Most of the men get up quickly. They leave the Room or walk to some part of it where the smell isn’t as bad. I stand and I walk over to Leonard and Miles, who are sitting together against one of the walls. As I approach them, they look up at me. I smile and I speak.

Thank you both very much.

They look at each other. They look confused. They look back at me and Leonard speaks.

For what?

I was just with the Lawyer who has been dealing with my shit.

Miles speaks.

And?

I smile again.

Three to six months in County Jail. I have to report within ten days.

Leonard smiles, Miles speaks.

Are you happy with that?

I nod.

Yeah, I’m very happy.

Miles nods.

Good.

I think you two had something to do with it, so I want to say thank you.

Leonard looks at Miles, Miles looks at Leonard. Leonard speaks.

Did you do something?

Miles shakes his head.

No. Did you?

Leonard shakes his head.

No, I didn’t do anything.

Miles smiles.

And if you had, considering our positions on the opposite ends of the legal spectrum, you certainly wouldn’t have discussed it with me.

Leonard smiles.

No fucking way. I get nervous discussing the weather with you.

Miles laughs. I speak.

Is that how we’re playing this?

They both look at me. They are both smiling. Miles speaks.

Consider yourself a very fortunate young man, James.

Leonard nods.

Very fucking fortunate.

I smile.

Thank you.

Miles stands and says he needs to make some phone calls, Leonard stands and says he has some business to take care of before tonight. I walk up the stairs and I go to my Room and I open the door and I sit down on my bed and I pick up my book. I have missed it my little Chinese book.

Forty-four. What is more important, fame or integrity. What is more valuable, money or happiness. What is more dangerous, success or failure. If you look to others for fulfillment, you will never be fulfilled. If your happiness depends on money, you will never be happy. Be content with what you have and take joy in the way things are. When you realize you have all you need, the World belongs to you.

Thirty-six. If you want to shrink something, you must first expand it. If you want to get rid of something, you must first allow it to flourish. If you want to take something, you must allow it to be given. The soft will overcome the hard. The slow will beat the fast. Don’t tell people the way, just show them the results.

Seventy-four. If you understand that all things change constantly change, there is nothing you will hold on to, all things change. If you aren’t afraid of dying, there is nothing you can’t do. Trying to control the future is like trying to take the place of the Master Carpenter. When you handle the Master Carpenter’s tools, chances are that you’ll cut your hand.

Thirty-three. Knowing other people is intelligence, knowing yourself is wisdom. Mastering other people is strength, mastering yourself is power. If you realize that what you have is enough, you are rich truly rich. Stay in the center and embrace peace, simplicity, patience and compassion. Embrace the possibility of death and you will endure. Embrace the possibility of life and you will endure.

This little book feeds me. It feeds me food I didn’t know existed, feeds me food I wanted to taste, and have never tasted before, food that will nourish me and keep me full and keep me alive. I read it and it feeds me. It lets me see what my life is in simple terms, it simply is what it is, and I can deal with my life on those terms. It is not complicated unless I make it so. It is not difficult unless I allow it to be. A second is no more than a second, a minute no more than a minute, a day no more than a day. They pass. All things and all time will pass. Don’t force or fear, don’t control or lose control. Don’t fight and don’t stop fighting. Embrace and endure. If you embrace, you will endure.

I set down the book and I close my eyes. I don’t feel peace and I don’t feel chaos. I don’t have hope nor do I lack it. I am not anxious and I am not in a hurry. What I feel isn’t time slipping away it is simply time passing as it does and as it should pass. What is going to happen is going to happen. It is simply life and the events that occur during the term of life. Just as I am accepting that I am on my bed right now in this moment unmoving and still my eyes closed and my body quiet, I will accept the events of my life as they come. I will deal with them. Good and bad they will both come. I will accept them in the way that I am accepting myself right now. Let them come.

I open my eyes and I pick up the book and I read more. I read words like harmony, contentment, humility, understanding, intuition, nourishment. I read words like open, fluid, receptive, balanced, core. I read that if you close your mind in judgments and traffic in desire your heart will be troubled. I read that if you keep your mind from judging and aren’t led by the senses your heart will find peace. I read close your mouth, block your senses, blunt your sharpness. I read untie your knots soften your glare settle your dust. I read that if you want to know the World, look inside your heart. I read that if you want to know yourself, look inside your heart. I set the book down I set it against my chest. I close my eyes my bed feels warm and soft against my back. I don’t move I just lie there warm and soft against my back. Quietly breathing.

Thinking.

Not thinking.

Of me.

Of the World.

As it is.

The bed is soft and warm against my back.

I lie there.

The door opens I hear it. It has been a while I don’t know how long. I hear the door and I open my eyes and Miles comes in his eyes are swollen. I sit up.

What’s going on?

He walks to his bed, sits down.

I’ve been on the phone with my Wife for the last hour and a half.

How’d it go?

He looks down and he shakes his head. I stand up and I walk over to him and I lean over and I put my arms around him and I hug him. He hugs me back and he starts crying. I don’t know what to say, so I say nothing. I hug him and I let him hug me and I hope that somehow and in whatever way, I am helping him. I don’t know what his Wife said, but I know he needs help. His crying becomes sobbing becomes violent sobbing. He squeezes me tight. I have my arms around him they are my only weapon against his grief. We sit and he cries and I hold him. Whatever has happened has happened he’ll talk about it if he wants to talk my arms are my only weapon. We sit and Miles cries.

Violent sobs become sobs becomes crying. He stops. The Room is silent. It is getting dark the Sun is down the last streaks of fading light slip through our window. He pulls away and he asks me if he can be alone. I stand and I leave the Room. I close the door behind me.

I walk into the Unit, and it is a madhouse. There is a man in a blue jumpsuit installing a cable box on top of the television. There are other men dressed in white pants and white shirts and white shoes setting up banquet tables. Most of the men of the Unit are standing in small groups talking about what’s going on and why these people are here. I hear one of the men ask the Cableman why he is here and the Cableman says I am not at liberty to discuss it. I hear another ask one of the Caterers and the Caterer says I am not at liberty to discuss it.

I get a cup of coffee light a cigarette look for somewhere to sit down. I want to sit down alone. As I start to look for an empty chair, a man steps from the Phone Booth and calls my name. I say what and he tells me I have a phone call. I ask him who it is and he says he doesn’t know.

I walk to the phone step into the Booth pick up the receiver.

Hello.

Hi, James.

My Mother and Father both say hello. The connection is distant. There is a slight echo and a slight delay.

Hi.

My Mother speaks.

We wanted to apologize, James.

For what?

For having to leave early. We feel terrible about it.

Don’t.

Are you sure?

Yeah. I appreciated you coming at all.

My Father speaks.

Thank you, James.

Sure.

Any news?

I heard from Randall.

My Mother speaks.

What’d he say?

Three to six months in County Jail in Ohio. Three years probation. If I stay out of trouble, my Record gets cleared.

My Father speaks.

That’s great news. How’d it happen?

I chuckle.

I’m not sure.

My Mother speaks.

Why are you laughing?

I’m just happy. This is a big load off my shoulders.

My Father speaks.

When do you go?

Sometime in the next ten days.

When are you leaving there?

I don’t know, but soon.

There is silence. I can feel my Parents thinking about me, their youngest Son, sitting in a Jail cell. The silence is dense, and it is punctuated by deep breaths and footsteps. I hear my Mother start to cry and the echo doubles, my Father is standing with her. He asks if he can call me back and I tell him yes and he tells me he loves me and I tell him I love him and we hang up.

I open the door of the Phone Booth and I step back into the Unit. The banquet tables have been set up and they are covered with white tableclothes, white plates, forks and knives and glasses. I don’t see the Caterers, but I know they are nearby because of the smell, which is of rich, strong, hot food. The smell makes me instantly hungry instantly ravenous. I want it right now. Ten heaping plates of it right fucking now.

I walk up to the Upper Level. I stand with Matty and Ted. I ask them if they know what’s going on. Matty says no, but he’s hungry and if he don’t get some gosh darn food soon he’s going to go fricking crazy. Ted just shrugs and says he has no idea.

Lincoln walks into the Unit, looks around and speaks.

Everyone here?

The men look at each other. A voice I don’t know replies.

Miles isn’t here.

Another Voice.

And Leonard isn’t here.

Lincoln speaks.

Anyone know where Miles is?

I speak.

In our Room. I don’t think he wants to be disturbed.

He nods, speaks.

Anyone seen Leonard?

The men look at each other.

Anyone?

They shake their heads.

Anyone?

Lincoln smiles, raises his voice.

Leonard.

He does it again, but louder.

Leonard.

He yells.

LEONARD.

Down one of the Halls, music starts playing. It is the theme song from a famous boxing movie about an unknown Palooka from Philadelphia who almost wins the Heavyweight Championship. All of the men smile, a few laugh. The music comes closer, gets louder, and everyone turns toward a doorway through which Leonard, in a bright white suit, comes bursting out. He has a small boom box in one of his hands, the other is raised in a fist above his head.

There is cheering, laughing, a few men throw candy wrappers or pieces of paper at him. He stands next to Lincoln, turns off the boom box, motions for silence. When it comes, he speaks.

We have cause for celebration, my friends.

There is more cheering. Leonard waits for it to stop and he speaks again.

Early yesterday, I was told by our friend Lincoln that tomorrow, I will be set free. In honor of that, and in honor of all of you, and in honor of this place, tonight we feast.

More cheering. Leonard and Lincoln smile. When the cheering stops, Leonard speaks.

I’ve had steaks and lobsters brought in from Minneapolis, we’ll have apple pie and ice cream for dessert, and in between, we will watch the World Heavyweight Championship.

The men go wild, cheering and yelling and clapping. They start rushing down to thank Leonard and Lincoln and shake their hands. As they do, the sliding-glass doors open and the Caterers start bringing in large plates of porterhouse steaks, boiled lobsters, baked potatoes and huge bowls of Caesar salad. They set them on the banquet tables and lines form immediately.

I stand on the Upper Level and I watch the madness. I watch men get food huge piles of food. I watch Leonard work the Room, saying eat all you want, have a good time, this is a celebration. I watch Lincoln observe like a proud Father. I watch the men devour the food as if they haven’t eaten in year. They are all Addicts and Alcoholics and the food is their fuel. I watch some go back for seconds, I watch some go back for thirds. I want food myself but watching this is beautiful.

For the first time since I have been here, and it feels as if I have been here forever forever for fifty fucking years forever, everyone on the Unit is smiling and everyone seems happy. Men are talking and laughing and interacting with each other. Not one word of what they are talking about and laughing about has anything to do with addiction or Alcoholism or the loss of Job and Family. Men are moving around, breaking down the barriers of the small groups we congregate in, the small cliques that exist within the Unit, and the movement has nothing to do with anything other than having a good time. Our pasts are nonexistent, our futures but a distant fear. Our anger and our hatred, our failure and our shame, our regret and our horror and the humiliation we all live with has been forgotten. The fact that not a single one of us is healthy in mind or in body or in any identifiable way is completely ignored. Right now we are like men all over the Country all over the World eating and having fun getting ready to watch the fight. We are not in a Treatment Center and we are not fucked up. We are men eating and having fun and getting ready to watch the fight. I want food myself, but watching this is beautiful. Beautiful.

I hear someone call my name once twice. I look over at one of the couches Leonard is calling my name. He motions to an empty place next to him and tells me he’s been saving it for me, I should get some food and enjoy the night. I smile and I start walking toward the banquet tables. As I pass a table just before the stairs I see the Man with No Arms. There is no one near him. He is sitting alone.

Hey.

He looks up at me. His eyes are dead.

You want me to get you some food?

He stares at me.

I’ll bring you a plate of whatever you want. Help you with it if you need the help.

He laughs.

Fuck you, man.

What?

This is all bullshit, man. This whole fucking thing.

What’s that supposed to mean?

This is all pretend. Most of these fuckers are going to be dead or using within the next six months. This all a fucking joke.

You want some food or not?

I want some fucking smack. You get me that?

Sorry.

I start to walk away.

I want some fucking smack, Motherfucker. You get me that?

I walk down the stairs. I ignore him. As I get in line to get some food, I hear him push his chair away and say fuck you, fuck all of you. I get a plate and a huge porterhouse and a bright red lobster and a baked potato. I cut the potato open and I cover it with slices of butter and a spoonful of sour cream. I don’t bother with the salad. At the end of the table there is a cooler filled with soda and I take a can of root beer. Root beer will be fine.

I sit down next to Leonard and I start eating. As I do, I listen to him and Matty and a Pediatrician who is Addicted to Xanax and a Corporate Lawyer who is a Crackhead talk about the fight. Matty is still rooting for the smaller of the men, Leonard for the bigger. The Doctor talks about the blows to the head that both men have taken and the seriousness of the blows relative to their size. He predicts the larger man will win. The Lawyer says the smaller. He feels it in his gut.

I eat slowly. I start with the steak, cut it into pieces, cut those pieces into smaller pieces. I eat the pieces one at time, occasionally putting some potato on top, occasionally dipping my fork into the butter and sour cream. I hold each bite and I let it dissolve. I let the flavor of the rare red meat sink into my tongue, I let the juices fill my mouth. It is a fight not to eat more, to eat three or four pieces at a time, to eat five steaks or maybe ten or as many as I can get, but it is not a difficult fight. What I am eating is better than any meal I can remember having eaten at any point in the distant past. What I have is all I need. I am happy with it.

I finish the steak, start breaking apart the lobster. I pull off its upper shell, pull the tail away from the torso. I cut open the soft underbelly of the tail and remove the meat in one thick piece. I hold it in my hand and I dip it into what remains of the butter. I take a bite. I hold the bite and I let it melt and I swallow it. I do it again and again. When I’m done with the tail, I break apart the claws. I pull out the meat and I eat it. The claws are as good as the tail.

I finish and I am happy and I am full. I stand with my plate and I look at the banquet tables there is more food on them. I don’t take any. I will resist my urge to eat everything I see, to eat myself into a coma, to eat so that I no longer feel anything, to eat until I’m beyond feeling anything.

I clear the scraps from my plate put the plate in a bin with other plates. I get a new plate with a new steak and a new lobster and a new potato. I want it so bad goddamn I want want want it. I walk to my room. I knock on the door, there is no answer. I open the door and I step inside. Miles is lying on his bed with his face in his pillow. I don’t want to disturb him. I set the plate on his nightstand and I walk out. I close the door behind me and I go back to my seat.

I look around me. I look at the other men, the bulk of whom are still eating. Most have food spread across their faces and down their shirts, most have forgotten their forks and knives, most are eating with their hands. They are tearing the steaks apart and stuffing them into their mouths, tearing the lobsters apart and stuffing them into their mouths, holding the potatoes in their fingers and eating them like apples. As they chew, they keep their mouths open and they stuff more food in before they swallow what they are already chewing. In the brief moments between bites, they wipe away the mess with the sleeves of their shirts, with the backs of their hands, with paper napkins so covered with stains that they are starting to disintegrate. They lick their fingers and their lips, lick the backs of their hands, lick the bones of the steaks, suck on the broken shells of the lobsters.

I laugh at what I’m watching. It is like something from Rome. An orgy of food and an excess of need and desire. An orgy of gluttony and greed and hunger. No one cares what they look like or how they are acting they just want more more more. No one cares about their addictions the addictions they are here to deal with and learn to control. The addictions have been unleashed. The food is a drug, a drink, a chemical, a substance. No one cares that they are getting all they can handle, that they have more than they need. If they could, the men would eat the furniture, the bookshelves, the plates, the napkins, the banquet tables, the coffee machine. They would tear up the floor eat the carpet, the glue, the nails, the floorboards. If it wasn’t going to broadcast the fight, they would probably eat the television. No ones cares what they are eating. They just want fucking more.

Leonard checks his watch. He stands, his white suit covered with stains, and he announces that it is getting close to fight time. The men rush down to get whatever seats are still available near the television, they rush to the banquet tables for a final frenzy of food. Lincoln walks over and he tells Leonard that he has to go Home. Leonard stands and thanks Lincoln for allowing this to happen and then announces Lincoln’s departure to the rest of the men. Lincoln walks out to a chorus of cheers.

As soon as he is gone, Leonard pulls out a huge roll of cash and a notebook and he announces that he is open for business. Men rush over and start placing bets, so many bets that Leonard can’t keep track of them. Fifty bucks, ten bucks, a pair of shoes worth fifteen bucks, a watch, a gold necklace, a bracelet, the orgy continues. One man wants to bet his wedding ring, but Leonard won’t let him.

I turn my attention to the television. Various experts are making predictions about the outcome of the fight. Matty, who is sitting on the other side of Leonard, talks to the men on the television in his way of pseudo cursing, calling them either smarty-pants Mofos or pantywaist Fruckers. Someone tells him he should give it up and just start swearing again and he tells them no way no way, I ain’t ever gonna fricking’ swear again.

The Commentators announce that it is time for the fight and the Room becomes quiet and all the men focus on the television. The fighters make their way to the Ring. The larger man, who is the challenger, enters first. He is about six foot five, weighs around two hundred and forty pounds, and has a body like a bear, which has thick layers of muscle and a thin layer of fat. The smaller man, who is the current Champion, is six foot three and two hundred and twenty-five pounds. Unlike his opponent, there is not an ounce of fat on his body and his dark skin glistens as if he’s been carved out of polished steel. Both of them are covered with beads of sweat, which indicates that they are warmed up and ready to fight. It is going to be a fun night.

After the National Anthem and the introductions, the bell rings, starting the first round. Rounds in boxing are three minutes long with one-minute breaks in between each of the twelve rounds. In most fights, the fighters spend the first two rounds feeling each other out for their respective strengths and weaknesses. They then spend the rest of the fight avoiding the other’s strengths and exploiting his weaknesses. There is none of that bullshit in this fight. The fighters rush toward each other and immediately start throwing huge dangerous punches. The only apparent strategy is to try and destroy the other fighter as soon as possible. About thirty seconds into the fight, the smaller man lands a right hand directly on the larger man’s jaw. The larger man’s legs shake and he stumbles backward. The smaller man pursues him, traps him against the ring ropes, and spends the next minute mercilessly pounding the larger man’s ribs, stomach, shoulders and jaw. When the smaller man’s arms tire, and he can no longer throw punches, the larger man starts his counterattack. He pushes the smaller man back and starts beating him in the same way that he was just being beaten. At the end of the round, both men stumble back to their corners. I am on my feet cheering and yelling the entire time, as are most of the men on the Unit.

The next four rounds follow the same pattern as the first. The bell rings, the fighters meet, they try to knock each other out. There is no defense and no strategy. Both of their faces start to swell, both start bleeding from their mouths, from their noses and from cuts above their eyes, both start to accumulate welts from the ropes and leather burns from the gloves on their chests, backs, and shoulders. Nobody in the Unit sits down the entire time.

Whether they will admit it or not, all men love fighting. Watching it or engaging in it ignites in us our true selves, the selves that have been diluted by thousands of years culture and refinement, the selves that we are constantly told to deny for the greater good. To stand alone in front of another man and to either hurt him or be hurt is what men were built to do. Boxing allows us to live with the most base of those instincts, and to still feel a sense of what it is like to fight.

The sixth round starts. Both men look exhausted, as if their bodies don’t want to fight anymore, but their minds and their hearts won’t let them stop. They walk methodically to the center of the Ring and start slowly circling each other. They each a throw a couple of harmless jabs, straight punches with their weaker arm designed more to keep an opponent away than to hurt him, and then the smaller man strikes. He throws a wide, winging left hook that lands directly on the larger man’s jaw. The larger man goes down, as if his legs have been swept from beneath him, and he lands on his back, his eyes straight toward the ceiling. The Unit goes crazy. Men are screaming and shaking their fists, some yelling stay down, some yelling get up, and above all of them I hear Matty hollering he’s gonna do it, my man is going to do it.

The larger man sits up, shakes his head, and at the count of nine, he stands. The Referee asks him if he’s okay and he says yes, though it is clear he is not, clear that he is barely conscious. The Referee motions for the men to start fighting again and they both warily step forward. Matty is screaming for the smaller man to hit him to knock him out one shot will do it just knock him out, but the smaller man can’t do it. It is as if his last punch, that last beautiful hook, took as much out of him as it took from his Opponent. For the rest of the round they paw each other, both too exhausted to throw real punches.

In between the rounds, Matty stands and he starts pacing. Leonard tells him to sit down but Matty can’t do it. He is shaking his head and kicking the floor, imploring the smaller fighter to come out and ruin the larger fighter. When the bell rings, he’s screaming come on, you Bastard, come on.

The round starts slowly, but about thirty seconds into it, as the fighters stand in the middle of the Ring, the larger man throws a straight right hand that connects on the smaller man’s nose. There is an explosion of blood as the nose breaks and the smaller man falls to his knees. From there he falls facedown on the canvas.

The Room erupts. Most of the men are yelling get up get up, a few are high-fiving each other and saying it’s over. At the count of eight the smaller fighter struggles to his feet and the Referee asks him if he’s all right and through the blood on his face and the blood in his mouth he says yes. The Referee steps aside and the larger man steps forward and drills another perfect right hand into the smaller man’s nose. The smaller man falls backward, through the ropes, and onto the Ring apron. His eyes are closed and he is not moving. The fight is over.

Men cheer yell swear throw empty soda cans at the television get up and walk away. Amid all of the noise, I hear one thing above everything else. It is Matty screaming fuck fuck fuck fuck. He is staring at the television in utter disbelief, just staring and screaming fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. Leonard stands and he puts his arm around him and he says it’s just a fight, it’s not a big deal and Matty stops screaming and he says I know, but when the guy I want to win doesn’t fucking win, it breaks my fucking heart. Leonard says he knows the feeling and he gives Matty a hug. They separate and Matty says fuck at the television one more time and Leonard starts walking around the Room settling his various bets. He had most of his money on the larger man, but in a gesture of goodwill he waives all the bets that he has won, and he pays on all of the bets that he has lost.

I stay up late talking with Matty and Ted and Leonard and other men who come and go. We talk about the fight and we let Matty do most of the talking. Any pretense of him not swearing is gone gone gone. We eat apple pie and ice cream, we smoke cigarettes and drink coffee. We watch the highlights of the fight on the News and we relive the experience of watching it again and again. No one goes to sleep. The Unit is crowded at two o’clock in the morning. Tomorrow we go back to reality. Everyone stays awake because no one wants the night to end.

At about four in the morning, I get off the couch and I walk to my Room. I open the door it is dark and quiet Miles is asleep. I climb into my bed and I put my head down and I think of Lilly. I think of her sleeping in the Medical Unit and I think about how close she is to me and I think about how far away she is from me how far away. She is in the Medical Unit and it is close, but a World away. I miss her. I miss her.

Tonight was one of the best nights of my life. Food and friends and a fight. Things I love with people I love. It was almost perfect.

Almost.

I miss Lilly.

I miss Lilly.

I miss Lilly.