Onsite (part two) A Change in The Weather

The weather was about to change. Life as I knew it was about to change. You could feel it in the air.

More people began arriving for the one week session at Onsite. The first thing we got to do as a group was take a historical tour of the old mansion. It is called the Drouillard House and it has a fascinating history. (If you are into that sort of thing check it out at www.drouillardhouse.com )

While we were taking the tour a severe thunderstorm suddenly appeared out of nowhere. The thunder was deafening. The rain was intense. The walls of the old mansion were literally shaking. (Or, maybe it was just me) I remember wondering just how many of these Tennessee thunderstorms this old house had experienced and survived over the past 150 years. I wondered what the worst of those storms would have been like. Luckily, the storm disappeared about as quickly as it had arrived. I didn’t know it yet, but I was about to face one of the worst storms of my life – and it had nothing to do with the weather. I kept hoping that I would hold up half as well as that old house had.

The shuttle from the airport arrived shortly after that. I made my way back to my cabin to settle in and meet my roommate.

Ralph was a jolly fellow about my age. He was from Akron Ohio. He was obviously accustomed to the treatment routine. He quickly and confidently introduced himself and starting right in telling his life story. He told me the good, the bad, and the ugly, just like we were old friends. I liked Ralph. I could relate to most of what he was telling me. But if he thought I was going to tell him my struggles and my problem, and reveal my secrets, he was sadly mistaken. I was in no mood to talk to anyone - yet.

It was about then that another guy walked into the cabin. He obviously knew the treatment routine as well. He politely listened as Ralph finished his story, then looked at me as if to say, “your turn”.I suppose he could tell by the expression on my face and my tightly folded arms that I was not talking. He didn’t miss a beat. He quickly, confidently, and unashamedly launched into his story.

He said his name was Rusty. He said he was from West Virginia. I wasn’t buying it.

Something was terribly wrong with this guy’s story. I listened in horror as this ”Rusty” fellow started telling “my” story. He changed a few little details to make it believable, but it was obvious that I was being set up. This guy had been strategically placed into the bed right next to mine to tactfully twist a full confession out of me.

The number one rule at Onsite was, we were not, under any circumstances, allowed to tell anyone what we did for a living. Rusty never said what he did for a living. He didn’t have to. I had heard enough. I was steaming.

“I’m not that stupid” I said angrily. “I came here for help, and I don’t appreciate being lied to”.

Rusty and Ralph are now looking at me as though I had just grown a third eye.

I felt the walls shaking again. I was hoping that my voice wasn’t shaking too.