I stepped across the threshold, exiting the Anderson Recreation Center. There was a chill in the night air. I was dressed in my Sunday best. A brown three-piece suit that used to belong to my father, a pair of polished up dress shoes, and a pair of wire rimmed sunglasses. Tonight was all about me and my accomplishment.
I screwed a Marlboro into my lips, lit it with my favorite Zippo, and tossed the lighter in my pocket. I took a long drag off the cigarette and reached my hand back into my pocket. My fingers fished around the lighter until I felt the coin like medallion. I rescued it from the depths of my pants pocket.
The gold and black coin shined in the florescent lights protruding out to the darkness, where I stand, from inside the double glass doors of the rec center. I read the words "To Thine Own Self Be True" that circled the golden triangle in the middle of the coin. Inside the triangle sat the number "1" staring right back at me.
Had it been a full year already? Had all 365 days flown by this quickly? The medallion was proof. This AA meeting meant so much to me. Not exactly how you think.
I'm not an alcoholic. No seriously, I've never been an alcoholic. I chose AA because they don't have clubs for my addiction. You see, my addiction is sick. It's morbid, disgusting, and a down right crime against God. I'm addicted to the taste of human flesh. Yes, I know, I am a cannibal.
Ricky interrupted my train of thought when he exited the rec center in his usual fashion… loudly.
"Hey, there's the man of the hour!" Ricky was more happy about tonight then I was. His fat ass got to have some free cake. "Got a light?"
I reached into my pocket dropping the medallion inside and retrieving the lighter. As I handed it to him I couldn't help but stare at his chubby sausage-like fingers attached to his fat, sweaty, delicious looking hand.
"So, how you going to go celebrate? Want to get a few brews?" Ricky's fat chin jiggled with his laughter. "Just funning' you, pal!" He laughed some more and slapped me on my back.
I smiled and thought to myself about the few beers that I was going to drink once I got home.
Ricky is my AA sponsor. I can't stand that tub of lard, but I put up with his B.S. out of pure morbid curiosity. He is always calling me at all hours of the day and night, yapping about his personal issues and how much he wants to go off the wagon. So, just in the spirit of going along, I talk him down. Funny thing is, I'm usually doing it while swallowing down some beer.
Ricky starts into a loud coughing fit.
Doesn't he know that smoking is bad for you? Especially when you're chasing four hundred pounds. He needs to join cupcakes anonymous.
"Thanks for the light. I've got to get going. I'll call you tomorrow." With a nod of my head and a wave of the hand, Ricky walked off into the darkness of the parking lot. I tossed my smoke onto the asphalt. With a twist of my shoe, I extinguished the butt. Moments later, Ricky drove off in his minivan.
Man, he looks delicious. I bet he tastes like a Christmas ham. All he needs is a honey basting, a few pineapple rings, and some cherries. I'd definitely go with a red wine with him. Great, now I'm hungry.
I entered my car, started the engine, and stared at the Anderson Recreation Center. I knew that this would be the last time I would be leaving this building. I backed out of my parking space and exited the parking lot.
You see, I made myself a deal when I moved here one year ago that I wouldn't kill and feast for one solid year. It was sort of a test of wills I placed on myself. It was rough in the early stages, but as you can see, I won.
I moved here from across the country as a precaution for my own safety. I needed to eat. I needed to kill and eat. I was addicted. Problem was, the police were getting close. I had to get out of there. So, one transfer request from the plant where I worked and here I was.
The police kept finding the inedible scraps that I would dispose of once I was done picking a body clean. That wasn't a good thing. The local press even had a name for me, The Bloody Beast. I hated that name. It's such a dumb name. If I could give myself a cool name it would be The Eater or The California Cannibal. Way cooler I think. Don't you?
Anyway, I high tailed it across country. I stopped to eat in Barstow, Boulder, Des Moines, and Chicago. Ah, nothing like a meaty Chicago style deep dish. If you catch my drift.
It was after my pizzas in Chicago that I had finally realized that my appetite had become more then just eating to live. I was living to eat. I enjoyed the hunt, finding a tasty man or woman, the kill, usually your basic tied upside down and gutted just like a deer technique, and the feast. It was exhilarating. It was my high, but I knew that I had to stop. At least for a little while.
That's where my AA idea came in so handy. I need a support group for my times of need in the very beginning. It was rough, I drooled at the thought of gnawing on my neighbors, my coworkers, and even my mailman. Over time, I eventually learned to control my urges.
I bet you're saying, "hey you want to eat Ricky. You said so yourself." Yes, I did say that, but after a year of wanting to, I haven't. By controlling my urges, in no way means I don't get them at all. I get them all day long. I just don't act on them.
I drove my car around for about an hour in the "wrong side of town." I was looking for someone to help me celebrate now that my year has come and gone. I wanted something different. Something new. I wanted… her.
I pulled up to the street corner and waved an Asian prostitute over to my car. I rolled down the window as she stuck her head inside.
"Need a date, baby?" The hooker asked.
"Yes I do. Hop in." I told her with a smile from ear to ear.
She got into my car and I drove off. I played her game and handed her a hundred dollar bill. She was happy about the money, but I was even more happy than she. After all, I've never had Asian food before.