I poured her a Diet Coke as the sun went down in the living room,
already dusk at 6:00 p.m., the last of the light light filtering through the
open window way it does when summer winds down to a close and
the air becomes crisp and cool. And the sense of mystery is in the air.
The fizz filled up the cup, as I turned but kept the bottle in my hand with the intention of filling her up once the bubbles came to a rest.
For a brief second I was in a bar, in the fall, and could smell the pungent smell of beer rising off of the foam, already feeling it go down down my throat, sending it’s warmth into my insides, filling me with a sense of home and a feeling of mild euphoria. I could smell the fusion of aromas; rot of wood that had been wet, dried, and wet again, ad infinitum. That, and a mixture of Murphys oil soap. And there was the smell of smoke, as if from a bonfire burning somewhere in the distance.
Evenings in the fall when school would begin and parties would start and the longing stirs in me for a place of cozy comfort that I mistakenly searched for at the bottom of a bottle, a beautiful brown Carafe of Canadian whisky, it’s smoothness offering sweet respite from the world and all of its problems. All of the feelings threatening my insides; insecurity, anger, fear and resentment, instantly replaced by that gentle calmness.
I think this thought through, as Janet says, until I have awakened in a dark room, sweating and nauseated, and wondering where I am. I think this thought through as I look at my feet, reminding myself that I am standing here, in the present, with the great expanse of years between me and that last drink. Several lifetimes ago and many, many seasons. I redirect my feelings towards the canvas that sits in the middle of my living room floor
waiting to be painted and a Max laughing at me for forgetting her glass.
