Me and a Glass of Whiskey

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Young Adult  |  House: Booksie Classic


Whiskey is my drink of choice


The day had been promising, with the sun smiling down on the ground below as it sent warm and happy rays of sunlight. saw children playing together and enjoying the rare sunny day while their parents chatted amongst themselves. The mother's saw me passing by and waved at me. The little ones noticed my silhouette and ran towards me with their arms spread open for a hug. I admit, I have a weakness for children, so I played and laughed along, even though my eyes lacked the happiness that my smile radiated.  

 

All in all, the day was the complete opposite of what I felt. There was a desperate need to get away from everyone. Shivers would run down my spine when someone was too close, the skin where they lay their hands would burn and the desire to have a drink made my hands itch. 

 

When the day came to an end and the sun hid behind the horizon, no longer gracing us with its presence, I sat at my table with a glass in my hand. A bottle of amber colored whiskey stood in front of me. As a child, I could never understand why anyone would want to drink alcohol, but I now realize it's an acquired taste. My slightly shaking hand reached out to the bottle, I took off the cap and filled a quarter of my glass with the drink.  

 

Staring at the whiskey I made no move to pick up the glass but gazed upon my reflection in the liquid. I saw a woman in her forties with a messy head of long brown hair, skin so pale that all little imperfections are seen clear as day. I found my brown eyes a sea of emotions, underneath which rested dark blue bags that told the tales of many sleepless nights. A large nose which my best friend so loved to poke and prod, an elegant mouth which has told so many lies and broken so many hearts.  

 

Overall, I saw a pathetic shell of a woman with a weary soul. My past is ridden with alcohol, sex and drugs, my present is no better, however the drugs are absent from the equation. My future is quite clear to me. 

 

Alcohol poisoning is an old friend of mine, the first time we met I was a reckless teenager with enough fire in my soul to burn down a house of stone. I remember the guilty face of my father and the heartbreak I felt at the self-hatred burning in his eyesAlcohol and I have been companions through thick and thin and only death will do us part. The few close friends that have been at my side for years despite my hurtful words and self-destructive tendencies have urged me to seek help so many times I have lost count. They foolishly believe that I will live a long and happy life if I get rid of my alcoholism. However, I am under no illusion that I will die in a hospital bed with my loved ones holding my hand and whispering reassurances at the age of eighty. My alcoholism, greed and vanity will be my undoing. Undoubtedly in a few years' time I will drink myself to death, my friends will knock down my door and find me with my head on the table surrounded by empty bottles of my favorite whiskey. A pathetic death for a pathetic excuse for a human being.  

 

A bitter, unladylike snort escaped my mouth and I lifted the glass to my nose. The whiskey had an aroma that brought a nostalgic feeling and a smile to my face. The smell of spices with a wood-like tinge reminded me of my father's study. As a child I would walk in and see all kinds of things like a magnifying glass, my grandfather's flask or all the novels from some old book collection. The promise of answers to my many questions and interesting objects which my father would tell me all about tempted me to enter the study again and again.  

 

My father was a tall, muscular man with tanned skin and warm brown eyes. After years of hard work his hands were calloused and rough, so was his touchHe may have not been a rich man, but he showered me with gifts that I asked for and didn't. As I grew older I realized that those presents were all apologies for the bruises on my skin and soul, for the missed birthdays and Christmases. Those gifts stopped being so heart-warming after that. 

 

My father's work was stressful and weighed heavily on his aging shoulders and his always short-tempered nature would get the better of him more and more frequently. Hurtful and sharp words like acid, ate through our parent-child bond, backhanded slaps that knocked me off my feet were a shock. How could my kind-hearted and gentle-eyed father hurt his only child? Alcohol was the answer to that question. My visits to his office became less frequent over the years until they stopped completely. My relationship with my father lay in ruins, long beyond repair and our stubbornness stopped that fragile connection from forming again.  

 

I took a tiny sip of the whiskey. The liquid burned my throat and I had the urge to cough, so I did. Even after the drink went down, the spicy taste of the whiskey remained ever present. There was a hint of vanilla and I thought of my mother. She was a beautiful woman with short, blond, vanilla-scented hair and emerald green eyes. My mother was a lady all around, from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. Her walk was elegant, and her face was always schooled into a serene expression that would calm even the most enraged bull. My mother's touch, unlike my father's, was always tender and light like a butterfly's wings. 

 

She tried to make a lady out of me, to change my walk, my speech, my laugh and how I sat but I was not like her. So, when everything I did was a disappointment in her eyes I tried to be the best at school and I was. That wasn't enough and even her gentle nature could not dampen the shame that flickered across her face whenever she would see me. Moments when I saw pride in those emerald eyes were rare, but as I would see joy in her face my heart would soar, and I would choke on tears of happiness. 

 

As I sit and drink my whiskey I remember my mother's caring hugs and my father's affectionate pats on my head. Whiskey is my drink of choice because it never fails to make bitter tears flow down my cheeks and a dull ache appear in my chest at the reminder that sometimes, love is not enough to keep a heart from breaking apart. 

 


Submitted: February 11, 2018

© Copyright 2021 iicupcakeii. All rights reserved.

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Comments

Oleg Roschin

Very well-written and uniquely enchanting! You've been obviously perfecting your writing skills, Polina. The writing here is more polished and more precise than ever before. As in your other stories, there's a unique melancholic, dark atmosphere here. The descriptions are also remarkably realistic, I can see the entire scene materializing in front of my eyes. Excellent work, keep it up!

Mon, February 12th, 2018 6:39am

Author
Reply

Thank you so much! You have no idea how much you comments brighten my day! :3

Mon, February 12th, 2018 6:22am

Ever A. Darling

Love your descriptions about the whiskey drink, and how it's become such a huge factor of her life. The nostalgia, the memories of her past, and just how closely knitted she is with whiskey that parting with it is not a choice. Amazing job, dear.

Mon, February 12th, 2018 7:34pm

Author
Reply

Thank you so much! :3

Mon, February 12th, 2018 1:20pm

hullabaloo22

Well, this is wonderfully descriptive, both of the whisky and of the personality of your main character. Sad, moving and very well written.

Tue, February 13th, 2018 8:38pm

Author
Reply

Thank you so much! :3

Tue, February 13th, 2018 12:47pm

MissFedelm

Very well written and a story that pulls you. Makes you want to keep reading. So many stories of this type don't do that.

Wed, February 14th, 2018 2:42am

Author
Reply

Thank you for taking the time to comment on this! :3

Tue, February 13th, 2018 9:52pm

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