BOUNDLESS (Mama's Story) by Lexie Ray Page B

him the go ahead to do whatever he wanted. I made myself the victim.”
    Marlee’s face twisted. Karla raised her hand, but Marlee shook her head at her.
    “No,” Marlee said. “I know that we’ve talked about this. I know that it was this boy who made me the victim, who plied me with alcohol and didn’t listen when I told him no.”
    Karla nodded emphatically, and Marlee continued.
    “He raped me,” she said. “He raped me that night, held me down, had his way with me. Looking back, it stuns me that I wouldn’t have steered clear of alcohol from that incident forward, but it became the only thing that numbed the pain. My reputation at school turned from good girl into drunken slut, and all the boys tried to convince me to go out with them. If they knew how to get booze, I did it. Even back then I started taking advantage of guys, just like I’d been taken advantage of. If they had something I needed, I’d get them to give it to me. It was just a simple thing to do. I used my body as currency.”
    I jumped a little in my seat. I’d just thrown that at Marlee the day before. I’d had no idea at the time that it’d ring so true for her. I felt a stab of guilt. I hoped I hadn’t made her feel bad when I’d said it. It was simply my reality.
    The more I listened, the more I realized that all these women were the same. None of them were unique. They all shared the same problems. Maybe that was what gave them power—the knowledge that they weren’t alone.
    “And, of course, taking advantage of the men I didn’t respect landed me here,” Marlee said. “I’ve been sober for a year. I’m still working through the steps, of course, and I think I always will be. There were a lot of amends to make. I don’t mind. I can do that now. Everyone deserves a chance. You can’t just write someone off for something as silly as gender.
    “I’m like all of you,” Marlee said. “I’ve been right there in that same bottle, drinking from the same glass, throwing back the same shot. I’m so thankful for this group of strong women. We can all get through this. We can all do this. We can all be sober.”
    Everyone was on their feet, applauding Marlee as she left the podium. Inmates pounded her back and gave her hugs as she made her way back to the seat. I wanted to stare at her as she approached, but I stared at my lap instead. Who were these people? What was this program?
    “Let’s end this meeting by standing up and reciting the Serenity Prayer together,” Karla said as Marlee returned to her place beside me. I stood numbly, not sure what the Serenity Prayer was, not sure what I’d just witnessed, not sure of myself anymore.
    “God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I can not change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference,” the inmates all said together, many of them closing their eyes prayerfully.
    When it was over, they all opened their eyes and cheered. Some were weeping openly. Others broke off in twos and threes, talking quietly.
    “Well, what did you think?” Marlee asked, taking my hands and turning me toward her.
    “I don’t know,” I said honestly. “It was—powerful. I’ll give you that.”
    “Would you like to come back next week?” she asked.
    “Maybe,” I said. “But sugar, I just don’t know about myself.”
    “Talk to me,” Marlee said. “Tell me about it. I’m listening.”
    “You have to want to stop drinking to be a part of this,” I said.
    “That’s right.”
    “I don’t want to stop drinking,” I said, biting my lip. “I crave it even now. When everyone was up there, singing their guts out, all I wanted to do was drink all those cocktails they were talking about.”
    Marlee laughed. Of all the reactions I thought she might have to this bit of news, laughter was the most unexpected.
    “None of us thinks she wants to quit at the beginning,” she said. “And there are always urges—there will always be urges. That’s