Sunnydale Survivors Support Group

2005

The Sunnydale Survivors Support Group met every Tuesday at 7:30pm in the basement of the community center. The members and their group therapist drank burned coffee and ate stale cookies. No one was ever really hungry but some of them were empty. So, they sat in the plastic folding chairs, balancing their cookies on paper napkins, and tried to fill up.

The ancient lighting was a pale, sickly yellow and the room smelled of generations of scout meetings, addiction support groups, and on one memorable occasion, a funeral reception. Which ended abruptly because the corpse ambled into the room, grinning at the shrieking mourners.

And while it might seem unpleasant to hold a survivors support group meeting in a room where six people were ripped apart by a zombie, it didn't matter. Death was everywhere in Sunnydale.

But some were closer to it than others.

Tonight, coincidentally, there were six members, instead of the usual five. Staring out the single tiny window at the oak branches scratching against the glass, the group members told their stories.

The Therapist

"Hi, everyone," I said, once they were all seated. "Welcome, familiar and new faces." I smile at my five regulars and the new girl. She doesn't smile back. Inwardly, I sigh. Off to a great start.

"Since we do have someone new joining us, that means -" I start to say.

"Sharing is caring," Cameron pipes up.

I nod. "That's right. It's a tradition that each of us shares our stories so a new person will feel comfortable telling their own."

"You don't have to, though," Becca says quickly, glancing at the new girl, who doesn't look back at her. 

"True," I say. "You're not required to say anything, or do anything, except listen." I take a breath. "Who would like to begin?"

Tony

"I'll go first. Um, hi, everyone." Mid-thirties, fit, blond, and well-dressed, Tony looks like he should be on his way to the country club for a round of golf/business meeting.

"Hi Tony," the group says, but not in unison, so a few people say it late and make it weird.

"I've been coming here for about...five years, I think?" He glances at the woman next to him, his gaze moving from her rhinestone studded platform heels up her bare legs. "Welcome to our new members, by the way."

He manages to say it without a full-on leer and I'm proud of his progress. I wish I was being sarcastic. "Please continue, Tony."

Tony breaks off a piece of cookie that we all know he's not going to eat. He sets it back down on his napkin. "You know, we should really bring something that's not all fat and sugar. A healthy alternative."

"Yeah, yeah, we've all heard you say that refined sugar is the ultimate evil," Becca says, rolling her eyes. A heavy silence falls. Then she adds, "Okay, maybe not ultimate."

A few giggles and awkward chuckles break out and I smile. "I think our stories win against the cookies."

The group laughs, even Tony. I nod at him and he goes on.

"Yeah, I was seventeen when it happened. I snuck into a frat party with my girlfriend, thinking we could score some jello shots and maybe hit the hot tub. The place was packed, the music was so loud the walls were vibrating. I remember I held my jello shot up against the wall to make it jiggle. That made her laugh." He pauses, blinking up at the light. "For the last time."