White Space Season 2

can’t swallow us whole. But that relief is fleeting, and once faded, we know in our hearts that the next time won’t last quite as long. Though we long to stop, desperately craving an end to the madness, we don’t know how, or secretly believe it will be too hard, and that we’ll never be able to do it. We believe we’ll eventually slip, and because we know we will one day fail, we refuse to postpone the inevitable, surrendering to the slip, letting go, and falling down that same spiral where we’ve tumbled until bruised so many times before.”
    Cassidy blinked to keep from crying, managed her voice to keep it from cracking, then continued.
    “I’m tired of not trusting, exhausted from not believing in myself or others, and terrified that I’m going to be an addict for the rest of my life, sabotaging the good days I know I could have.” Cassidy looked out at the crowd. “I need you, all of you, and know I can’t do this alone.”
    Cassidy managed to make it through her share without losing a tear, dipped her head and stepped from the front, returned to her row at the back, sat, listened through three more people traffic their stories, then stood as the room scattered to leftover donuts and awkward crumbs of conversation.
    Cassidy had been going to NA meetings at the back of the Hamilton Library on and off for years. Themes varied from book study to newcomers, Q&A, participation, single speaker, AND topic discussion. Meetings stretched from an hour, but often ran to an hour and a half. There was never any surveillance, an extra blessing in a place like Hamilton. Community was easier to build when members felt safe, and community meant everything to recovery. Because Jon didn’t want to distract the meeting with his appearance, and Roberta couldn’t make the meeting, Cassidy’s community was waiting outside.
    She muscled her way through several exchanges, then dropped a half-eaten donut in the trash and went outside to Jon.
    “How was it?” he asked as she slammed the Blacklander’s passenger side door.
    “OK, I guess,” Cassidy said. “My sponsor couldn’t make it, but I survived. First time I spoke in a while. I really hate that shit. Always feels like I’m saying a slightly different version of the same crap, not just bullshit I’ve already said, but bullshit I’m tired of hearing from everyone else.”
    “It’s helping you get in character,” Jon said.
    “What?” Cassidy spun on Jon, unsure whether she should be offended.
    “Character,” Jon repeated, then, probably because he sensed her defensiveness added, “it’s like practicing lines. I’m not a lawyer, and could never be a lawyer even if I wanted to — no way I could sit still long enough to make it through law school. But people believed me in Hung Jury . That’s because I believed it myself. And the only reason I believed it was because I repeated Murdock’s lines out loud until they finally felt like they were born inside me.”
    He put his hand on Cassidy’s knee. “You’re human, Cass. With human responses. If you think about it, we’re like organic robots — machines with skin around us. We only change our behavior through reprogramming. Think of your NA meetings — standing up in front of the group like you did — as writing yourself some new code.”
    Cassidy wondered who wrote Jon’s newest code as she found herself loving him more than she already did.
    She held up her chip, “My one week chip,” she smiled. “So what is this then, like an update to my app?”
    Jon laughed, took the chip from Cassidy, studied it, then flipped it in the air and caught it in his hand, and passed it back to her.
    “Yup, this definitely looks like a software upgrade. Congratulations,” he said, then pulled her into a tight hug across the console. “I’m proud of you.”
    Cassidy left her head against his chest, drawing his scent for several silent moments until Jon broke the quiet. “Ready to go home?”
    She loved that home meant his place, their place , together. “I was ready before we got to the library,” she said.
    Jon started the Blacklander, pulled from the lot, then turned into the street, heading toward Chateau Popcorn, as Cassidy had taken to calling it.
    The drive was silent, but never uncomfortable. One of the things Cassidy loved most about Jon was that he never felt a need to swap words for comfort. It wasn’t his millions or fame that made him special, it was knowing he could shut the fuck up and