Quitting is the Only Answer

When I was wheeled into the Intensive Care Unit (ICU) from the ambulance with my third heart attack before my fortieth birthday, I knew quitting was the only answer.

“What is your name?” The pretty nurse asked me when I arrived at the ICU station.

“Bill Gardner.” I croaked out as my throat was as dry as the desert near where I was living at the time in a trailer with my two cats. What I like about cats is that they don’t judge you as long as I feed them.

“On a scale of one to ten, how hard is the pain with ten being the highest.” She asks without looking up from her clipboard.

“Seven.” I say after some thought. Seven is right where my chest pains are after being administrated with some morphine. If you asked me when I dialed 911, it would be a solid ten, no doubt.

It was Nicky’s birthday and there was a big ta-do down at Knuckles Bar ‘n’ Grill. The whole gang was there from Curly’s HC, even Curly Donavan was there.

“We are going to do an EKG.” Some guy with dark skin and glasses tells me as he starts wheeling my bed down the hall. It’s like an instant replay of two years ago when I was in the same condition.

My mother lives in Bakersfield with her third husband. I tried calling her after my 911 call, but she didn’t answer her phone, so I figure she must be sleeping one off. She gets like that.

They stick me on this table and start sticking these pads all over my chest and arms. Nobody says a word as they attach electrodes to these pads. I begin to feel like Boris Karloff in Frankenstein. It doesn’t hurt, but if makes me wonder if they are programming me for evasive experiment. Nicky told me they brainwashed his brother at Edwards Air Force Base back in the 1960s. I’ve been here two times before and nothing weird has happened to me.

“Do you smoke?” The little dude with dark skin asks me as the machine is getting ready to takeoff.

“Yes.” I cough, “Two packs a day.”

He quickly glances at me, “Do you drink?”

“Sure. It’s hot our here. I get thirsty.” I smile because I am a wise ass.

“Alcohol?” He says through his clenched teeth.

“Sure. I can’t tell you how much. It depends.” I inhale.

“Well, according to the EKG, your heart attack was triggered by you in-take of alcohol.” He tilted his head and squinted at me. How could he know that? An EKG doesn’t point to the scoundrel. 

“Hello, I’m Dr. Evens.” He sat in the chair next to my bed. I had been here for three days, so like Jesus, I am getting ready to rise from the almost dead. “And you are William Gardner.”

“Bill, please.” I held up my hand as I shook my head.

“Bill, I am referring you to Cactus Can.” He smiled.

“What is that?” I tiled my head so I could look at him with my good eye.

“It’s a rehabilitation center.” He looked me in the eye.

“I’ll be like Amy Winehouse. I ain’t going to no rehab.” I chuckled.

“It’s a shame. Looks like you’re not getting released today then.” He shrugged one shoulder and stood up.

“Wait a minute, doc.” I held up my hand.

“Hmm.” He hummed.

“How long are we talking?”

“Normal program runs six weeks.” He shrugged both shoulders this time, “But it depends on your progress. It is a twelve-step program. You move at your own pace.”

“I will be out of there in a week.”

“We’ll see.” He stood up and walked out of the room leaving the referral for me to sign. I reached over and nabbed it. Holding it up so I could read it, I went over the referral. I had done rehab before. It didn’t work, but I would give it a shot before they found some other place to shove me into.

I was disappointed when I was not discharged later that day as promised.

“Good morning, Bill.” A lanky man wearing jeans and a t-shirt that read Cactus Can with a hokey white cartoon smiling Saguaro cactus.

“Who the hell are you?” I sat up in bed.

“I’m here to take you to our ranch out in the middle of nowhere.” He smiled, “I’m Brandon McKinsey, chief counselor.”

“Am I having an awful dream?” I coughed.

“I am real and I will drive you to the ranch.” He nodded, “Now get your things together and we will be on our way.”

“So, tell me Brandon, what do you guys do out there?” I asked asI walked next to him out door of the hospital.

“Get you sober. And then you stay that way.” He said as he opened the door to the van he was driving. On the side was that stupid cactus smiling with Cactus Can stenciled above.

Right away I could tell there were no shock absorbers on this ancient van. The roads out in the high desert were full of potholes from the torrential monsoons that washed through the arroyos.

“You like the Eagles?” He asked after ten minutes of being jostled around.

“Rather have George Jones.” I smiled.

“Sorry. Don’t have none of him.” Brandon shook his head as he put a CD into the player. “Love them. They remind me of the desert.”

“Hotel California” put an end to the silence.

You can check out any time you’d like, but you can never leave.

“Tell me Bill, do you want to give up drinking?” He asked before Fedder’s guitar solo.

I glanced over at him. Was he playing me for a fool? If he was, I’d have him drop me off at my trailer, but he just kept his eyes on the jagged road ahead as if he had not asked me that question.

“Whadda you think?” I turned the question on him.

“I have no idea.” His let air run through his clenched teeth. “I don’t know ya, Bill. I was hopin’ you tell me, so I know what your chances of success are.”

We drove for over an hour; down roads I had no idea even existed. He played the CD four or five times as we rode through the empty scenery. When he turned onto the driveway to the ranch, as he called it, I saw people who appeared lifeless tethered to the fences. The men had their shirts removed, but the women were tied fully clothed, sweating through their blouses.

“What’s that?” I pointed to them.

“People who are learning.” He did not even turn his head to look at them. A couple of them appeared to have passed out from exhaustion.

What the hell was I getting myself into.

“You’re back Brandon.” A face appeared in the open window, “I’m Reverend Herman. Glad you decided to come to our ranch.”

“Glad to be here, Reverend.” I gave him a sloppy salute from my left eyebrow.

“You will be in Bunkhouse Seven.” When Reverend Herman he looked at me, it creeped me out. His eyes seemed to reach into my chest and poke at my healing heart. “Brandon, talk him to his new home.”

The smile plus the strange look in his eyes told me I’d better start looking for a way home. As Brandon drove me to Bunkhouse Seven, I could not get those folks tied to the fence out of my mind. When Brandon opened the door he walked in to the square room. A couple men sat on their bunks with a book open on their knees. Nobody looked up as Brandon led me to an empty bunk.

“What are they doing?” I asked in a low voice.

“Reading.” He shrugged.

“I can see that.” I was getting tired of the lack of information I was being given.

“Here’s you book.” Brandon shoved the heavy book against my chest, “I suggest you read it.”

I looked at it. AA was stenciled in big gold letters in the middle of the hard cover with Alcohol Anonymous written in smaller letters beneath. On the title page was the names Bill Wilson and Dr. Robert Holbrook (1935). I was quite familiar with this book’s twelve step program, but I never made it past the first step, “We admitted we were powerless over alcohol — that our lives had become unmanageable.”

When Brandon left, one of the men reading looked up at me as if he was sizing me up. He shook his head and sighed, “So, you’re the new guy, huh?”

“Yeah, I’m Bill Gardner.” I smiled, but he continued staring at me which made me feel a bit uneasy.

“I’m Josiah Welch.” He finally spoke, “I wish you the best while you’re here.”

“Josiah, can you tell me why those people were tied to the fence?” I asked.

His face became like stone once again, “They are being punished.”

“Punished? For what?”

“Who knows?” He exhaled. “We are under surveillance at all times. Any infraction will be punished determined by a staff review.”

“Are you kidding me?”

Josiah just shook his head slowly as he continued to read.

I read the book until it was time for dinner. We filed out of Bunkhouse Seven and marched silently to the cafeteria. After being served on metal trays buffet style, we sat down at a table marked “Bunkhouse Seven.”

Reverend Herman stood at the podium on the stage. Talking into the microphone, he said, “Good evening, let us bow our heads and pray.”

Everyone bowed their heads in silent prayer.

“Alright, Cactus Can.” He said and paused, “If a cactus can grow in this lifeless desert, can we not do the same?”

“Amen.” Everyone muttered.

“Are we not better than the cactus? Are we not more deserving then the rattlesnakes that crawl on their bellies? And yet our will is laid to waste by drugs and alcohol. If we rise up and close the door on the substances that do us harm, will that make us stronger?”

“Amen.” Came the response.

“Here we sit every night. Here we sit with God’s light shining down on us and we still refuse to take His hand and walk with him. Take His hand. Walk away from what makes you weak.”

The stew on my plate began to move. When I looked at Josiah’s tray, his stew was also moving. It took everything I had to choke my first meal down. There was nothing in the gravy that was alive, but just the thought of seeing my meal move as if it was alive, was a lot more than I could handle. Just the thought of it made me queasy.

What also made me uneasy was how people just accepted all this bullshit without saying a word about it no matter how strange it was. During my orientation which lasted five days, I learned about some of the punishments. Much to my horror, I found an electric room where they would put anodes on some of the members and run as much electricity as they could stand.

“Are there public executions?” I asked one of the instructors.

“I will not answer that question since it will not help your recovery.” She glared at me for having the nerve to ask such a thing.

“I will take that as an affirmative” I mumbled to myself but found out someone had reported me.

“Bill Gardener, you are on probation.” Reverend Herman informed me after calling me into his office. While I was sitting on of the small chairs to restrict my movement, I glanced at walls covered with certificates, but upon a closer look, I noticed they were all fake. I left with a sinking feeling in my gut. That feeling would not go away.

Probation was no big deal while I was in orientation, but Josiah told me that I was now a target.

“They will make up stuff just so they can make you stronger.” He rubbed his face while he told me this, “Torture is supposed to make you stronger, but all it does is make you afraid of the authority they have over your life.”

The next day a member named Mary began screaming for mercy in the hallway. I watched three big men wrestle her to the ground and take into a room. I never saw her again. It was then I made up my mind, I was going to have to get out of this place even if was truly in the middle of nowhere.

When orientation was over, I was assigned to the cleaning crew who worked ten hours a day, seven days a week, keeping the facility spic and span. The idea was with work came spiritual peace, but this was a joke to me. Endless scrubbing and sweeping did not make me very spiritual. Tired, yes, spiritual, not so much.

I guess the cafeteria was the worst job since we had to clean the kitchen and all the grease traps. If the job was not done up to standards, our crew would be called back in to do it right.

Josiah told me about the point system. If you accumulated enough points, they would promote you, but if you did not do a good job, they would deduct your points. If you received enough deductions, you’d be punished. Depending on how many points were deducted would determine the punishment.

After failing three rehabs, I felt that this place could ruin me as it appeared to do to Mary.

“Josiah, what happened to Mary?” I asked him at bed check.

“How should I know?” He shook his head as his face burned red.

“You do know, don’t you?” I grabbed him by the collar of his work shirt.

“Let go of me.” I struggled to relinquish my grip, but I had been in enough bar fights in my life to develop an iron grip. “Alright, they put her in one of those boxes out by the fences.”

“Those boxes are tiny.” I shook my head.

“Most last one maybe two days before the sun gets them.”  He said in a weak voice as I loosened my grip.  

“Holy crap.” I gasped as I let him go.

This changed my perception of Cactus Can. This wasn’t a twelve-step program. The program was designed to remove the member’s free will, turning them into something short of an obedient servant. People who give up their free will for acceptance from someone promising salvation or even a better life is leading you down a dark path. It’s best to close the door and find your own path.

Two days later, Josiah was confronted by a supervisor who began hitting him with a club. Watching the small man fall to the floor his face bleeding, I ran up to the supervisor and ripped the club out of his hands and began clubbing him. As the man screamed, I was surrounded by half a dozen brutes.

When I regain consciousness, I was in a small box with the sun beating down. I felt my strength slipping away. With all I had left, I pushed on the top of the box. With all the anger and fury I had left inside me, I broke the lock and the lid flew open. I knew someone was watching, but I saw a truck over in the yard. My Uncle had taught me how to hot-wire a vehicle in three seconds. I figured that was all the time I had left. I ran toward the truck.

“Halt!” I heard someone yell followed by the crack of a rifle and the ricochet off the fender. The engine started and I jumped into the driver’s seat. Another bullet shattered the passenger’s window. I was gone before they could get another shot off.

I would never look back, but I swore I heard Josiah shout, “Go Bill! GO!”

“Good to have ya back Bill.” Nicky grabbed my elbow and I grabbed his.

“It is so good to be here.” I shook my head.

“To Bill!” The others raised their beer mugs as we sat in Knuckles Bar and Grill.

“Can I buy ya a beer?” Nicky asked.

“I guess I just not thirsty.” I shook my head. Nothing seemed to be calling me. Nothing alcoholic that is.

“So, what was that place like?”  Jesse, Nicky’s brother asked.

“Nothing that we’ve ever seen, I can tell ya that much.” I shook my head. “I wanna give up drinkin.’ Doctor say if I don’t, it’ll kill me and I’m too young and pretty to die.”

Everyone laughed.

“And I don’ wanna go back to that place ever again that’s for sure.” I slapped my hands on the bar. “Coke please.”

As I sipped my Coke, I got this strange feeling that I was being watched. When I turned around, there was Brandon sitting at the table behind me.

“Hello Bill.” He held up his glass of Coke.

“If you’re comin’ to take me back, I ain’t going peacefully.” I put my hand palm down on the table he was sitting at.

“Don’t worry, I’m not taking ya back as long as you walk away from drinking booze.” He nodded, “Remember, I’ll be watching. I’ll be watching.”