George

When I first got sober here there was a fellow named George who was hanging out at the meetings, always riding his bike, wearing a hawaiin shirt, the same shirt, and painter pants. He was usually friendly and upbeat, with his scraggly hair and glasses, he was always popping up where I was: at work, at Fellowship...
 One day I was going to Fellowship and outside the door was a sleeping man. This is on the sidewalk on a semi-busy street. He was curled up in a ball, his shoes off.. he was using them for a pillow. Attempts to rouse him failed.
 It was George. He was drunk and sleeping it off, his bike no where in sight.
Shortly after that I saw George at my work. He came in, not too peppy, asking if anyone knew the number for the Shuttle (which is what they call the local bus system). He said he was going to Florida. He said he wanted to go lay on the beach and drink beer and forget it all. he said he had a job there.
 Well... George left. I missed seeing his smiling face around. It had seemed like he was always there wherever i went.. the coffee shop, work, fellowship.. and I would miss seeing his smile and receiving his hugs.
 The other day, at Fellowship, I saw a man sitting across the room, hair cut neat and combed, the man was thin, and his clothes were preppy.
 It turned out to be George. I did not recognize him. He came up to me and gave me his smile and the hug I'd missed for so long...
 And told me that while on the beach drinking beer he found he could not breathe. He ended up in ICU for weeks. His lung collasped. George almost died in Florida, among strangers.
 He's a lot thinner and weaker but he's working again for the same person he was before, but he's really got a new look on life. He's glad to be alive. He doesn't think it's a good idea to go to Florida and drink beer on the beach.
 I'm glad George came back. So is he. I saw him today at work when he came in to eat. I showed him what the inside of a papaya looks like. He thought it was beautiful. I thought so too.