68 HARPER’S MAGAZINE / MARCH 2020
guy was nervous. Maybe more, maybe
scared. “You could be saving my life.”
Jamieson considered, then sat
down, but as far from the other man
as he could while still keeping both
butt cheeks on the bench. “I’ll give you
a minute, but if you sound crazy, I’m
leaving. And put your money away. I
don’t need it, and I don’t want it.”
The man looked at the bill as if
surprised to find it still in his hand, then
put it back in the pocket of his sweat-
shirt. He put his hands on his thighs
and looked down at them instead of at
Jamieson. “I’m an alcoholic. Four
months sober. Four months and twelve
days, to be exact.”
“Congratulations,” Jamieson said.
He guessed he meant it, but he was
even more ready to get up. The guy
seemed sane, but Jamieson was old
enough to know that sometimes the
woo- woo didn’t come out right away.
“I’ve tried three times before and
once got almost a year. I think this
might be my last chance to grab the
brass ring. I’m in AA. That’s—”
“I know what it is. What’s your
name, Mr. Four Months Sober?”
“You can call me Jack, that’s good
enough. We don’t use last names in
the program.”
Jamieson knew that, too. Lots of
people on the Netflix shows had alco-
hol problems. “So what can I do for
you, Jack?”
“The first three times I tried, I didn’t
get a sponsor in the program—
somebody who listens to you, answers
your questions, sometimes tells you
what to do. This time I did. Met a guy
at the Bowery Sundown meeting and
really liked the stuff he said. And, you
know, how he carried himself. Twelve
years sober, feet on the ground, works
in sales, like me.”
He had turned to look at Jamie-
son, but now he returned his gaze to
his hands.
“I used to be a hell of salesman—for
five years I headed the sales department
of ... well, it doesn’t matter, but it was
a big deal, you’d know the company.
Now I’m down to peddling greeting
cards and energy drinks to bodegas in
the five boroughs. Last rung on the
ladder, man.”
“Get to the point,” Jamieson said,
but not harshly; he had become a little
interested in spite of himself. It was
not every day that a stranger sat down
on your bench and started spilling his
shit. Especially not in New York. “I
was just going to check on the Mets.
They’re off to a good start.”
Jack rubbed a palm across his mouth.
“I liked this guy I met at the Sundown,
so I got up my courage after a meeting
and asked him to be my sponsor. In
March, this was. He looked me over
and said he’d take me on, but only on
two conditions: that I do everything
he said and call him if I felt like drink-
ing. ‘Then I’ll be calling you every
fucking night,’ I said, and he said, ‘So
call me every fucking night, and if I
don’t answer talk to the machine.’
Then he asked me if I worked the
Steps. Do you know what those are?”
“Vaguely.”
“I said I hadn’t gotten around to
them. He said that if I wanted him
to be my sponsor, I’d have to start. He
said the first three were both the
hardest and the easiest. They boil
down to ‘I can’t stop on my own, but
with God’s help I can, so I’m going to
let him help.’ ”
Jamieson grunted.
“I said I didn’t believe in God. This
guy—Randy’s his name—said he didn’t
give a shit. He told me to get down on
my knees every morning and ask this
God I didn’t believe in to help me stay
sober another day. And if I did, he said
for me to get down on my knees before
I turned in and thank God for my sober
day. Randy asked if I was willing to do
that, and I said I was. Because I’d lose
him otherwise. You see?”
“Sure. You were desperate.”
“Exactly! ‘The gift of desperation,’
that’s what AAs call it. Randy said if
I didn’t do those prayers and said I was
doing them, he’d know. Because he
spent thirty years lying his ass off
about everything.”
“So you did it? Even though you
don’t believe in God?”
“I did it and it’s been working. As
for my belief that there’s no God ...
the longer I stay sober, the more
that wavers.”
“If you’re going to ask me to pray
with you, forget it.”
Jack smiled down at his hands.
“Nope. I still feel self- conscious about
the on- my- knees thing even when I’m
by myself. Last month—April—Randy
told me to do the Fourth Step. That’swhen you make a moral inventory—
supposedly ‘searching and fearless’—of
your character.”
“Did you?”
“Yes. Randy said I was supposed to
put down the bad stuff, then turn the
page and list the good stuff. It took me
ten minutes for the bad stuff. Over an
hour for the good stuff. When I told
Randy, he said that was normal. ‘You
drank for almost thirty years,’ he said.
‘That puts a lot of bruises on a man’s
self- image. But if you stay sober, they’ll
heal.’ Then he told me to burn the lists.
He said it would make me feel better.”
“Did it?”
“Strangely enough, it did. Anyway,
that brings us to this month’s request
from Randy.”
“More of a demand, I’m guessing,”
Jamieson said, smiling a little. He
folded his newspaper and laid it aside.
Jack also smiled. “I think you’re
catching the sponsor- sponsee dynamic.
Randy told me it was time to do my
Fifth Step.”
“Which is?”
“ ‘Admit to God, to ourselves, and
to another human being the exact
nature of our wrongs,’ ” Jack said, mak-
ing quote marks with his fingers. “I
told him okay, I’d make a list and read
it to him. God could listen in. Two
birds with one stone deal.”
“I’m thinking he said no.”
“He said no. He told me to approach
a complete stranger. His first suggestion
was a priest or a minister, but I haven’t
set foot in a church since I was twelve,
and I have no urge to go back. What-
ever I’m coming to believe—and I don’t
know yet what that is—I don’t need to
sit in a church pew to help it along.”
Jamieson, no churchgoer himself,
nodded his understanding.
“Randy said, ‘So walk up to some-
body in Washington Square or Cen-
tral Park and ask him to hear you list
your wrongs. Offer a few bucks to
sweeten the deal if that’s what it takes.
Keep asking until someone agrees to
listen.’ He said the hard part would be
the asking part, and he was right.”
“Am I ... ” Yo u r fi rst v i c t i m was the
phrase that came to mind, but Jamie-
son decided it wasn’t exactly fair. “Am
I the first person you’ve approached?”
“The second.” Jack grinned. “I tried
an off- duty cab driver yesterday and he
told me to get lost.”