35 Shot at Redemption . . . Lynn Klundt “I’m sorry, Rob, but you can’t stay here. You broke the rules,” the pastor of the halfway house stated with stern empathy. “Where am I supposed to go?” Rob asked, his words slurred. “I don’t have any money. You’re giving up on me?” “I’m not giving up on you, Rob, but there are women and children here. You can’t stay. You knew these terms when you moved in. There can be a place here for you, but you need to stay sober first.” “I didn’t drink today!” Rob exclaimed as he ran his fingers through his shaggy blonde hair. “You’re drunk now. And my wife found the empty bottle in your room,” the pastor continued as he nodded towards the door. “I can’t give you another chance, it wouldn’t be fair to the others.” Rob lost his balance and stumbled. “Shit!” he exclaimed. He turned and grabbed his bag from the floor and rushed out the door, letting it slam behind him. A cool breeze blew through Rob, which made him pull his hoodie shut. There was a storm gathering in the western horizon and trepidation overcame his dulled senses. The storm promised change, and he needed change. Rob was attractive with his sandy blonde hair and blue-gray eyes, but his alcohol abuse left his skin sallow, and his body undernourished. Rob was 21 years old and homeless. Rob tried to focus his muddled thoughts on a solution. He remembered the pastor had mentioned some AA meetings that were held at an old yellow house a couple blocks east of the halfway house. Perhaps someone there could help him. Rob stepped into the meeting room of the big yellow house; he swayed a bit as he took in his surroundings. Rob looked for a place to sit in the crowded room. He wanted to melt into the background, but the only spot that was available was a hard folding chair in a circle of already populated folding chairs. He took a deep breath and grabbed a seat next to a petite young woman who smiled warmly at him when he sat down. He waited until it was his turn to talk. He told his now well-rehearsed story to the group. Rob explained that his mother had grown tired of him and kicked him out of her home, sending him to a halfway house where he had recently lost his lodgings. “It’s gonna storm tonight and I don’t have anywhere to go,” Rob said looking at each face in the circle. The group seemed to be receptive to his story, but there was a long silence that filled the room with a heavy sense of apprehension. “I’m Katy,” said the young woman sitting next to him. “You can stay with me,” she stated simply. “My place isn’t big, but you can crash on my floor.” He wasn’t sure he had heard her correctly. “Excuse me?” he asked dumbly. “Are you sure?” “Are you trying to talk me out of helping you?” she asked, as her eyes made direct contact with his. He shifted his gaze to study her. She
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