Marked: A Mindspace Investigations Novel by Alex Hughes

Author:Alex Hughes [Hughes, Alex]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780698138209
Google: McrwAAAAQBAJ
Amazon: 0451466934
Publisher: Roc
Published: 2014-04-01T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 14

Selah answered the phone. “Hello?”

“It’s me. Is Swartz around?”

Her voice seemed bleary. “Adam, it’s eight thirty on a Sunday.”

“Don’t you have church at eleven?” I asked.

She took a deep breath. “Not today. He’s sleeping. It’s been a hard week for him. He already came out to meet you Friday.”

“Can I come by later?”

A pause. “I don’t think it’s a good idea. The doctor says he needs to rest. His heart is still struggling to adjust. Adam?”

“Yes?”

“If you need something, maybe you should go to a meeting.”

I thought about that. “Is there one on a Sunday morning?”

She sighed. “I guess I can look it up for you.” I heard footsteps, a cabinet door opening, then the rustling of papers. “Here it is. Higher-Power-based meeting, heroin focus, ten a.m. Sunday in the East Atlanta Community Center.” She read me an address, which I wrote down. “Or there’s one at noon in Tucker. That one’s faith-based.”

“Thanks, Selah. I really appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome,” she said. “If you can, send a card or something this week. He’s feeling pretty isolated.”

“You got it,” I said. “If you decide I can visit—just to say hello—let me know.”

“Okay.”

We said our good-byes and hung up. And I was left with the address of a meeting in East Atlanta. Assuming the buses ran on time, I should be able to make it a little early, even.

• • •

The East Atlanta meeting was held in a brick building that smelled of old sewers, with industrial carpet that hadn’t been changed in decades if not before. But the feeling in Mindspace was like a well-loved sweater, worn over and over until it sat like a hug. Children’s art projects were displayed proudly in the lobby. Even a little dirt couldn’t take away from that.

A printed sign pointed down a hallway to the right, and I followed the smell of coffee. People greeted me warmly, but when I didn’t want to shake hands, didn’t push. Looked like it was a men’s-only group, and the overall feel of the group was like the feel of the building, well-worn and comfortable. This room had framed leaves up on the walls, somehow still green, and of course the ubiquitous display of program leaflets. Maybe I should poke through those to look for survival techniques while juggling two jobs—the program probably had a brochure with the topic. They had a brochure on everything.

I settled in with a cup of coffee to my preferred place about halfway back, where I could see everything but not be the center of attention. The leader, an older black man with a calm personality and nearly white hair, opened us up with the usual readings for the month, words that washed over me like a balm.

Selah was right. I was feeling better already.

Men told stories, funny stories, tragic stories, everyday stories, around their recovery and their struggles. Like Selah had said, they were mostly heroin addicts here, but some of my best friends on the street had been in that category, so it felt as familiar as anything else.

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