Only the Good...

Years ago, I worked as Executive Director for one of the largest educational theater companies in California.  At any given time, we had multiple performances in production, ranging from San Diego to Sacramento, as well as repertory companies and an international touring group.  In as such, I did a lot of traveling.

It was during one such production in San Diego (I believe it was "Annie") that I met a young group of actors who held a tight bond of friendship both on and off stage.  One night, after rehearsal, this group of kids invited me to go for a midnight swim up at the local reservoir.  Of course, I asked if this activity was illegal, which garnered a speedy "YES" in response.  Without hesitation, I agreed to participate.

We arrived under the cloak of night, parked our cars on a secluded dirt road, and humped up the hill to the edge of the reservoir.  Straining to see through the darkness, I could make out what looked like a guard tower jutting out of the water, about 100 yards from the shore, with power lines webbing out in all directions.  My guides informed me that said tower was to be our ultimate destination.

We stripped to our shorts and dove in.  Upon reaching the tower, we climbed up a ladder to a walkway which circled the circumference of the structure.  Mike, a tall, dark, good looking kid, put his hand on the rail and walked me through the process.  "Here's the deal," he explained.  "Climb up on the rail and use the wall to balance yourself.  When you're ready to jump, go for it.  Just one word of warning..." His tone dropped to serious levels as he pointed to an overhead wire, "Whatever you do, DO NOT touch that wire.  It's live.  You'll be dead in an instant."

"Good to know," I replied.  I climbed as instructed (avoiding the wire, of course) and leapt out into space, performing what can only be described as a "magnificent swan dive."  As I surfaced, the kids atop the tower were going nuts, not because my dive was so impressive, but because my foot came about an inch from grazing the live-wire.

"Oh man, dude!"  Mike exclaimed.  "I told you to watch out for that wire!  You almost got fried!"

We all shared a laugh then continued our illegal water-romp well into the warm summer evening.

A few months later I received the unfortunate news that Mike had passed away.  The circumstances of his death turned out to be a bit disturbing:  The group had returned to their favorite swim-hole for yet another midnight excursion.  Mike climbed atop the rail and steadied himself.  Just as prepped to jump, he lost his balance.  Instinctively, Mike reached up and grabbed the nearest stationary object to steady himself.  Unfortunately, the object he happened to grab was the live-wire.

Mike fell limp into the water below, not breathing and no pulse.  The others jumped in after him and performed CPR until the paramedics arrived.  Alas, there was nothing to be done.  Mike was gone.  The news of Mike's passing took the wind out of me.  He managed to do the very thing he warned me against and lost his life for it.  A tragic loss.

Sobriety is a minefield.  As newcomers, we rely on those who have gone before us to point out the hazards and keep us away from relapse.  All too often, those same people, who know the hazards, wind up inadvertantly stepping into lethal territoty themselves with disasterous consequences.  I have seen brothers and sisters with nearly 20 years of sobriety fall into relapse time and time again.

So often we recognize the wrong road, the path not to take.  We even warn others away, utilizing our own experiences.  Yet time and time again, we reach up and grab that live wire, even though we know it will bring about certain demise.

Somehow, over the past 10 years, I have managed to steer many people away from that wire and avoided grabbing it myself.  Many have heeded the warning, many have not.

Every time one of them falls, I hang my head and utter, "There but for the grace of God..."