He sits there silently in a half lotus position. He is the only one in the room who is not on his phone. A thick hardcover book lays on the floor underneath his chair. I'm not close enough to smell him but I'm sure he smells like he showers daily. It's strange, I can always remember the first time I see them. My first impression, my first memory. Recalling a distant memory of when hope floated in. He is seated next to an elder statesmen of this group. The meeting will start soon and people begin to take their places in the room. The fold up chairs are fumbled around. Plastic rubber casings muffle the screeching sound of the aluminum against the floor.
I like to sit in this particular chair, on this side of the room and concentrate on the book. The written words don't sink in as much as the stories and fundamentals from others do.
The meeting begins and the he gets up to talk halfway through the meeting. He talks for seven minutes and returns to his chair. I now know what brought him here. It's strange to know so much information about someone. To cringe and say silent prayers, while they explain their predicament, all while seated in a hard chair in a chilly meeting room. The elder statesmen begins to cry when he goes up to talk. They are father and son. They don't look a like but their stories mirror one another. Their lives are in anguish because one can not forgive the other and the other can not forgive himself.
So, the attractive guy has daddy issues. Isn't that why we are all here?
