The Lunch Club

  The snow was starting to fall, but I had already made up my mind to go. I needed this. I needed to get his monkey off my back, talk to someone. I needed others that understood—that felt my pain, that used this crutch to get through the long days.

For years I didn’t realize it was a problem. I buried it deep and threw myself into my work, my acting, numerous Boards I was on. Whatever I could find to do to forget about this void in my life that I just couldn’t seem to—no matter what I tried—fill.

So I put on my navy wool peacoat and a red knit beret and trudged out to my car. Can I do this? Can I leave myself so exposed? I’m not sure. I’ve never actually tried before. Admitting there is a problem is admitting failure— that there are things in your life beyond your control. And that is just not me. I’ve always lived by the creed that if I didn’t get something, it wasn’t because I wasn’t pretty enough or smart enough or talented enough, it was because I didn’t want it badly enough that I was willing to do whatever it took to get it.

But this, this represented a failure—not only a momentary lapse of reason, but a failure in my entire chain of logic. And who am I if that is gone?

Yes, this was my internal monologue the entire drive. And if I’m being completely truthful, which I suppose I need to be—that monologue was not only internal in nature. I was…talking to myself. A full freaking conversation. Lovely.

As I pulled into the Barnes and Noble parking lot, I felt the twinge of irony that this group would choose to meet here— Over Readers Anonymous.  I suppose the name is ironic in and of itself because what is so anonymous about people you are actually meeting?  But meeting at a book store about reading too much? Well, whatever. I found the notice about the group meeting here—although that makes sense—like when you put the numbers for where to call if you have a gambling addiction all over a casino or in front of the Keno machine…

My senior year of high school I worked the Keno table in a diner. The sign was there. I wish more people had used it.  And maybe that is why I decided it was time for me to address this problem.

But here is my second problem. I am a lot more introverted than people actually know. I get intense anxiety in social situations. Even when I know people, I’m still always afraid I said something wrong. That I was too loud, too long winded, too excited, too EXTRA. I don’t get out much…I talk to people even less…so when I do, sometimes I over share. I’m just so happy to have an actual spring board for discussion. 

This occasion, I was in full panic mode. I dressed in a nice pair of Mother Jeans, a cute crop tank top and leather jacket. I wanted to give cool, fun girl vibes. My resting bitch face making sure that I looked like I couldn’t care less. How I wish that was the case…

But I walked into the cafe section and I saw a few people sitting around a table with a sign that just said ORA. So either this was some cult that was hella in love with Rita Ora, or I was in the right place. I narrowed my eyes straining to see the people better and then remembered that time that a woman at my apartment complex thought I was giving her a mean girl’s “I hate you” look and started going off on me when literally I was just trying to see who it was. They weren’t paying attention anyway.  One of the women was a blonde who was pretty well endowed in the breast department—she had a Venti sized drink and a piece of the Pumpkin Cheesecake that the Cafe sells. Another woman, who had brown hair pulled back in a low pony, was buried in a book and even seemed to be taking notes. There was a blond haired guy with a well groomed short beard seated at the table scrolling social media on his phone—I think it was social media, I mean I couldn’t see the screen. He could have been scrolling through a text convo.

As I got closer to the table, the tension seemed to grow—for me anyway.  None of them even acknowledged me. They didn’t seem to be interested in me in the least. I, on the other hand, was all butterflies. In the pit of my stomach. Thank whatever god, goddess or gods are up there that I didn’t eat anything for lunch or I probably would have thrown it up. Right there. On the floor of the Barnes and Noble Cafe. Maybe I should just leave. But I just got here and I came all this way. Well, it wasn’t that far—not even ten miles, but still, I drove here. I made an intention to put in the work. And if I had to be the one to introduce myself, well, then so be it.

“Hi.” I said. I could feel the tremor in my voice. Damn it all. “Is this Over Readers’ Anonymous?” 

The blonde had been taking a sip of her Venti drink but when I spoke, she froze mid sip and moved the cup from her mouth still keeping it close enough to her face to cover the bottom half of it. 

“Yeah,” she said.

“Oh good, I’m in the right place. I’m Aisling—the Old Irish spelling, with a “g” instead of a second “n” like a lot of people do now. My great grandmother was from the old country and my parents really just—“ Oh my god, I’m babbling—someone please shut me up. They’re all just looking at me and…come on Ais, get yourself together. “Sorry. I tend to…” breathe, girl. “I’m Aisling. Are we supposed to give last names too?”

“I don’t think so, that would totally mean the “anonymous” part means nothing…It doesn’t mean much now.” From the guy who continued scrolling. 

“Jay?” The brunette said looking at the guy, then turning to me, “Ignore him. Girlfriend issues. He has spent the last ten minutes scrolling his ex girlfriend’s Insta.”

Social Scroller a.k.a. Jay finally looked up long enough to leer at the brunette. He glanced at me on his way back to staring at his phone and—wait. Did he do a double take on me? 

Hey, me, FOCUS.

“Is there an open seat?” I asked to try to get things moving, I wasn’t really getting the please sit next to me vibe from anyone, but then the blonde pulled out the chair between her and Jay.

“Aisling, right? With a “g”? I’m Kelsey. With a “k”. You’ve met Jay.” Kelsey said motioning to Jay. “Veronica over there is the one buried in the book.”

“Ronnie,” she said.

“You don’t really look like a Ronnie,” Kelsey retorted.

So now I’m afraid I started something, but is that egocentric of me to feel that way? What about me would really make the dynamic of the group change? And is this the group, the whole group and nothing but the group?

“Are we waiting on anyone else?” I asked as I sat down. “I thought I was on time, I’m sorry if I got the time wrong. I was kinda proud of myself that I got here when I was supposed to so—“

“No, this is when we were supposed to be here. Ronnie and I are friends—we got here together a bit early—we were expecting the weather to be worse…and Kelsey was here when we got here. Kels, you aren’t facilitating this, are you?”

“NOOO. I would guess other people should be coming?”

“We’ve kinda waited long enough though, haven’t we? Can we leave after ten minutes?”

“This isn’t school Jay. And it’s snowing.”

“It took us no time at all.”

“Just keep scrolling.”

“Well, we could just start.” I don’t know why I said it. Maybe the anticipation was finally getting to my brain. I made the effort. I got here. I was going to do this. And everyone just looked at me.

“How should we start?” It was Kelsey that said it, but they all looked at me. Me. The one that was terrified walking over here. The one that has known them for not even enough seconds to be counted in minutes. Well, I’ve gone this far—in for a penny, in for a pound as they say…

“Well, I’ve never been to any anonymous help group before, but I think someone just gives their story and why they are here, right?”

“Yeah, that sounds about right. Go for it! Start with ‘Hi, I’m Aisling’” I don’t know, but I feel like I might have sensed some sarcasm in Jay’s tone there, but Kelsey and Ronnie gave me a nod of approval.

And my hands began to shake, for the second time in mere moments I was very happy I didn’t eat lunch because the butterflies were having a rager in my stomach, and my trembling is probably measurable on the Richter scale.

“O.K.,” I sigh deeply, and try to get the tremor out of my voice. “Hi, I’m Aisling.”

“Hi Aisling,” the three of them say almost in perfect unison.

“And I’m here because I read far too much. It’s my love for books, really.  Everything about them—The glue that is used to hold the pages together, giving that new book smell—noticed most strongly in those work books we had in grade school. I love the covers of books, and will go through all the available copies of one book to make sure to get the cover that is in the most perfect condition. I love seeing how far I have come in the book by seeing how much I have left to go versus how much I have read. And that is just the physical aspects of books I love—I haven’t even gotten to the actual reading—“

Things were coming faster for me—it was easier to speak. Now that I had started talking, it just was pouring out of my mouth—my love for the worlds created by the written word. How people could rise up and make every dream come true. They could fly. They fought for what—and who—they loved. They didn’t choose mediocrity because it was easier. The beauty that could be, the life imagined. No one has to get old—no one has to die…

“—but lately, I feel that authors have veered away from the hard parts. They change the perspective to someone who is only watching the agony, instead of plowing forward, instead of delivering. My heroes should be better than I am. They should make the better choice. I live my life all the time—I need to see that there is something else…and mediocrity in the writing has made me lazy. I focus on my Goodreads book count—quantity over quality.  My To Be Read piles used to be all classics and fantasy—but lately they have been 300 page thrillers that I don’t have to think about—and certainly don’t need to purchase. I could borrow these from a library.  But instead I’m in the poor house because of my need to buy books and books I probably won’t read more than once if I actually get to them. And this isn’t even getting into my need to prepare for everything in life by reading every book imaginable. I even read a book on making better book purchasing choices. I BOUGHT THAT BOOK ON AMAZON.”

Yeah, that last part I may have been a little too loud with. As the words came faster, my voice got louder too and with this exclamation. I finally looked at my audience. Ronnie was nodding her approval. A glint in her eye. She just raised the book she was ready so I could see the title. It was the same book I had read about making better book purchasing choices. It felt so great that I found my people. MY PEOPLE. MY PEOP—

“Um. Lady, you sure you did the assignment right?” I was so excited by Ronnie’s reaction that I hadn’t notice Jay giving me the hardest side eye to ever side eye. “This group is for people who read too much into everything.’

So maybe they aren’t my people. “Wouldn’t that be Over Thinkers’ Anonymous?”

“No, it’s this group. Hi, my name is Jacen and I just spent the last hour on social medial scrolling my girlfriend’s--"

        "Ex girlfriend," added Ronnie. 

        "Ex girlfriend's," corrected Jacen quite angrily at Ronnie, "feeds on Facebook and Insta looking for evidence she’s falling apart without me. Every song she covers on the guitar I see hidden messages or slights about me and us.”

“Well, I agree with Aisling,” Ronnie said.

“How could we be in the same car, drink together talking about this shit pretty regularly, blah blah blah, and you NOT KNOW it was about reading into situations?” Jay said.

“I guess that may be because you only hear what you want to hear? Reading into EVERYTHING? Not even. You only read into things when the answer isn’t what you want it to be. When you can’t control it.”

“This is ridiculous,” Jay said.

“Is it?” Ronnie continued, “Let’s see what Kelsey thinks.”

“I actually thought it was code…I mean who holds a meeting about reading too much in a book store? It’s like holding an AA meeting in a bar.” Yeah Kelsey, I had that thought, too…

“Well, Kelsey, what did you think it was?” I asked.

“I thought it was a chapter of Over Eaters’ Anonymous that was advertising in a way that was non judgmental and all inclusive.”

And then it hit me…

“You know, I can’t help but think this is like one of those ads where people are fighting and this weird guy comes in and is all—stop fighting—you’re both right! Or ALL right in this situation.”

Everyone just looked at me very strangely…maybe they thought I had gone crazy.  Maybe dangerously so…

“It’s just we’re all over thinking—reading into things.  Like Ronnie pointed out with Jay—seeing what we want to see—or maybe even need to see—to be right with the way things are.  Because the world is fucked up. And maybe the biggest lie we were told when we were little was that it would all make sense when we were adults but I gotta say, I’ve been an adult for a while now and it still doesn’t make sense. And I haven’t gotten past my teenage rage—in fact I’m even madder now. And I think we all look for comfort where we can. Sometimes its enough. Sometimes it works out. Or maybe more to the fact we trick ourselves into believing it’s all worked out and we can continue on however best we can.”

“But if it’s like our actual reading?” Ronnie asked, like I was trying to take away her puppy—or rather her TBR pile…

“I guess maybe it isn’t our love of books that is the problem, it is finding out why we make our love of books such an obsession—why we feel we need to lose ourselves in it to feel anything. Until we figure that out, we’re just trying to cure the symptoms, but not touching the disease I guess? And maybe that is the same for you guys too—just not with books.”

“Huh, well, looks like no one else is coming, places to go,” Jay said, getting up. 

“Yeah,” Kelsey said and then made a grabby hands gesture, “phone numbers!”

We all exchanged phone numbers and everyone left—except me.  I decided to get a Cafe Americano and write it all down—the whole strange afternoon meet up. I feel so on the nose with this shit, but it just felt right to get it down—like maybe we came here for different reasons but maybe we aren’t so different after all…

It’s kind funny, it had a Breakfast Club feel to it—all different people struggling through things as best we can. We just didn’t need a Mr. Vernon to figure stuff out…But then again, neither did they…