BooksBarbecue
Back Side by Side Save as PDF
Chapters (50)
  1. Cover Page
  2. Half Title Page
  3. SIDE by SIDE
  4. Dedication Page
  5. Epigraph
  6. Part I: Fall
  7. 1.
  8. 2.
  9. 3.
  10. 4.
  11. 5.
  12. Part II: Crawl
  13. 6.
  14. 7.
  15. 8.
  16. 9.
  17. 10.
  18. 11.
  19. 12.
  20. 13.
  21. 14.
  22. 15.
  23. 16.
  24. 17.
  25. 18.
  26. 19.
  27. 20.
  28. 21.
  29. 22.
  30. 23.
  31. 24.
  32. 25.
  33. 26.
  34. 27.
  35. 28.
  36. 29.
  37. 30.
  38. 31.
  39. Part III: Rise
  40. 32.
  41. 33.
  42. 34.
  43. 35.
  44. 36.
  45. 37.
  46. 38.
  47. 39.
  48. 40.
  49. Acknowledgements
  50. About the Author

No matter how she wants to hide in shame, she can’t turn away from the parts of herself that have been revealed tonight. Or pretend she has been handling things well on her own, or that she isn’t desperately lonely, or that she knows how help herself. As she hugs her knees, shaking, she prays the still, small voice won’t abandon her. Maybe it knows a way out of the darkness. Maybe if she listens to it closely, she will be able to hear its whisper ahead of her, a sound like the soft glow of a candle, she can follow, up and out of this place.

Part III: Rise

You save yourself or you remain unsaved.

—Alice Sebold, Lucky

32.

Kavita’s boots squeak as she descends the stairs to the church basement. Yet again, she has the vague sense that she is back in high school, just as she had last fall when she had only made it as far as the bottom of the staircase.

She hovers to one side of the doorway and peers around. At the front of the large room, close to the stage, there are several rows of metal folding chairs arranged to face a tv and VCR that are set up on a trolley—yet another feature that reminds her of high school and watching outdated videos in Social Studies. A dozen or so people are scattered among the rows—couples, small groups, and some who are alone like she is. Adjacent to the seating there are a few long tables piled with reading material, photocopied sheets of white and blue and yellow, punctuated by several boxes of Kleenex. A couple of people peruse the literature.

At the back of the room there is a small kitchen where people are busy preparing snacks. Already, a juice station—a few cartons and a tower of clear plastic cups—has been set up along the service window. In front of the service window sits a small table with refreshments: a fruit tray, a cheese plate, a box of Ritz crackers, and what looks to be sliced pound cake.

“Can I help you, miss?” asks a cheerful voice. Kavita looks to her right. The woman seated behind the table appears to be in her late sixties. Or perhaps her seventies—it’s hard to tell these days. Her short white hair is coiffed in soft curls. She wears a peach sweater. “Come in, dear. We don’t bite.”

Kavita’s stomach kicks, as though urging her to run back up the stairs, like last time. Squashing the impulse, she waits a beat, then approaches the table.

“Hi,” she says with a dim smile.

“Well, hello there,” says the woman. “I take it this is your first meeting?”

Kavita nods.