The Sponsor

Fred

It had been a little over three months since he checked into the facility. His migraines had ebbed and his schedule had changed. He woke up at 4am, took a shower, brushed his teeth then dressed in his grey overalls. At 5am he was having his morning prayers at the facilities chapel.

After prayers he would go back to the dorm and wake up the new recruits he was assigned. He would make sure they showered and had a change of clean overalls and head out for breakfast. After, he would go to the kitchen and help with the dishes. Beside supervision dishes was another task he was allocated. The institution was self sufficient and it lived on the mantra that, 'An idle mind was the devils workshop.'

He would freshen up and head for his first session at 8am which he was chairing. His recruits, ten in number, in red overalls formed a circle around him in the sanatorium. All of them had blank looks on their faces; One or two were trying, about three of them looked at him and saw a gateway to their next hit and cozied up to him, the rest resented him, they saw him as the big brother who kept them from the cookie jar.

"Remind yourself that you are here by choice, to reclaim your life, to be the person that you want to be," he would start with a phrase he had rehearsed over and over again till it felt stale. The recruits looked at him with vacant eyes, bored. The words falling into one ear and falling out the other.

"The first journey to recuperating is sharing. A problem shared is a problem half solved," he would continue with another rehearsed phrase. "Now who wants to go first?"

Nobody ever wanted to go first and he would have to press them.

"I was where you are too, there is no hole you can't crawl out of."

A chap would pick up the green rod, tall and lean, with an uncombed afro and missing front teeth.

"I hate this place."

Another chap would pick it up, wide of frame as if when not doing drugs he spent every other minute in fast food restaurants.

"You suck, Fred."

The green rod would find a lady, emaciated, like a stick that could break any minute.

"Your face looks like scrotum skin, Fred."

The first few days with new recruits were the hardest. They were still trying to adjust from the world they had known and the withdrawals were not helping. They usually manifested through rage and insults.

After the exhausting session. Fred would go to the second session in the afternoon with his therapist who met him with a wide smile. He was very proud of his progress. Continue like this and you will get green overalls in no time at all.

The third session was his favorite. It was alone on a bench in a secluded part of the facility where he would remove the pictures his mother left him and stare at them until his eyes hurt. The jet, the office, the hotels. He would stare at them his mind racing, saliva almost breaking from his mouth into a drool. 'It won't be long now,' he would mummer to himself over and over again.