BOUNDLESS (Mama's Story) by Lexie Ray Read Free Book Online Page A

to make you go to a meeting with me,” she said. “Whether you wanted to or not. I’m still supposed to get you to go to a meeting, but now I don’t have any leverage.”
    “What kind of meeting?” I asked, my suspicions—and curiosity—raised.
    “AA,” she said. “Alcoholics Anonymous. Of course, we’re not terribly anonymous here in prison, but it doesn’t much matter. We don’t get much privacy anyway.”
    “I don’t have a problem with alcohol,” I said, my hackles raised.
    “Says the woman who spent the first two days in prison in solitary because she binged on so much hooch that it made her have screaming hallucinations,” Marlee said serenely. “That’s denial, Wanda.”
    “You know, I’m pretty tired, sugar,” I said, having to fight to keep the acid out of my voice. “I think I’m going to lie down for a while.”
    “You’re avoiding your problem,” Marlee said.
    “There’s no problem to avoid!” I shouted, at the end of my rope. I didn’t like these suggestions and innuendos. I didn’t have a problem with alcohol. I didn’t. I flopped down on my bed and rolled over to face the wall, away from Marlee. One little incident with prison hooch and I had people assuming I was alcoholic. It made me defensive and irritable.
    Then again, I had lost the memory of two whole days because of it, some voice inside me whispered. I’d thought I had sex with Johnny French again. I thought I was explaining myself to my son. I thought I was talking with Cocoa, whom I hadn’t seen since she left the nightclub. What had all of that been?
    “Wanda, tell you what,” Marlee said, putting her arm on my shoulder gently. “I’m sorry we got off to the wrong foot. If you promise to just go to one meeting with me, I promise to never mention this again to you. I know that it can be a sensitive subject. I know that very well.”
    “What if I don’t want to go to a meeting?” I asked, my pillow muffling my voice.
    “Then I’ll keep bugging you about it,” Marlee said cheerfully. “What do you think is the root of your alcoholism? Family troubles? Men troubles? Women troubles? I started drinking shortly after the rape, so there’s no mystery there. It’s a lot easier once you pinpoint what made you start drinking. You want to talk about it?”
    No, I didn’t. I didn’t want to talk about anything related to drinking unless it was where and when I could get my next buzz.
    “One meeting,” I said. “One meeting and you won’t bother me again?”
    “That’s the deal.”
    “And I don’t have to talk or do anything stupid?”
    “You can sit there with your eyes closed, if that’s what you want to do,” Marlee said.
    “Fine,” I said. “I’ll go to one meeting. Is that enough to get you to stop talking about it?”
    “Yep,” she said happily. “The next meeting is Tuesday afternoon—you just missed today’s. You have a week to figure out if you want to say anything. A week to look forward to learning more about your disease.”
    “Super,” I lied. “Let’s stop talking about it, now.”
    The next week passed by in fits and starts. I felt extremely irritable, like Marlee or Pitt were about to assault me at every turn with accusations of alcoholism, but they both stayed blissfully silent on the subject. I wondered if Marlee told my corrections officer that I’d agreed to go to a meeting.
    Instead, I had a meeting with Pitt to talk about the activities I could get involved with.
    “Tell me about yourself,” he said, folding his hands over my file as we sat in his office. “Not about what you’re in here for, what you did or didn’t do. About yourself. Your past.”
    That made me uncomfortable. “There’s not much to tell,” I hedged. “Pretty typical upbringing, I guess.”
    “What’s a typical upbringing to you?” Pitt asked.
    I shrugged and shook my head, thinking about it. “I don’t know. There just wasn’t anything special about it. I did the best I could for