Drink

I took a drink.

Mama always hated me. She never said it, but I knew. Rather, she told me I was why my father left. He left because he was scared to raise a child. He was a coward. But so was she. I suppose it was contagious. She gave up on everything when I was eleven. But I guess I’m hypocritical. She lasted longer than I will. Cowardice is contagious.

I took a drink.

My auntie was kind. She tried her best to heal the wounds Mama left. She nurtured me as much as a woman could nurture a child. I never understood how she and Mama were related. I guess my auntie saw all that darkness in Mama and decided to fill the world back up with light herself. I felt it every time I ate her home-made cookies, every time she told me “you’re the best thing to happen to me, you know that child?”, every time she helped me with homework. But eventually, the world stopped caring about her light. I learned at nineteen that a bullet is very good at extinguishing light.

I took a drink.

I worked odd jobs after graduation. The home I made wasn’t auntie’s. It never smelled like baked goods and fresh dirt like hers did. But it gave me shelter. At 21, I started as a bartender. I’ve always known a lot about the drink. Mama taught me well.

I took a drink.

My job was good. I met many different people. Some were pigs, but most were decent. Many had stories to tell me. I loved hearing stories that weren’t my own.

I took a drink.

Money was hard. I made decent tips, but they weren’t enough. I needed to start making more. My mother’s old “friend” heard about my situation. “You could help me out, you know,” he told me. Drug delivery wasn’t too bad at first.

I took a drink.

I was arrested at 26. Jail sucked. Though it was relaxing. Not relaxing. That’s the wrong word. It was stable. Stability was relaxing in of itself. I knew I’d always have food and shelter. That was nice.

I took a drink.

I was happy when I was told it was my day to go home. But once I got home, it took all of me not to go back. At least incarceration came with free food.

I took a drink.

That was when I met her. My sweetheart. She was so bright. She was kind. She wasn’t bright like my auntie, but bright in her own way. She was loud and would speak her mind, but never out of cruelty. She was a warrior for everyone else. Auntie was a warm fire that you could gather around and find peace. My sweetheart was a roaring flame that would lash out at anybody who tried to extinguish it. And I loved her.

I took a drink.

My sweetheart took me in. I barely even knew her at the time, not really. But she didn’t care. She took me in and made me happy. When I was ready, she helped me find a job again. She never expected anything in return, either. Only that I kept going.

I took a drink.

After a while, happiness became second nature with my sweetheart. She and I shared a home, shared the costs, shared a life. We took care of little plants around the apartment and grew a collection of books to escape in, accompanied by a fuzzy turquoise chair that fit us both. We even took a vacation once. I’d never seen the ocean before my sweetheart. Sitting in the warm sand next to her was one of the best feelings I’d ever had.

I took a drink.

When I was 31, my sweetheart left. She didn’t want to. But her light grew too bright, just like my auntie. Except her light couldn’t just be stomped out. It was too big a fire for that. Rather, cancer came and slowly took away her fuel and air. Soon, she was just a hot ember, clinging to survival. I took care of her like she took care of me during that time. At least I tried to. But soon, her little ember was smothered.

I took a drink.

I don’t remember too much after my baby. She was everything for so long. Her light blinded me into a happiness I’d never felt. When I had to turn back to the darkness, I couldn’t see. For so long, I just stumbled by. I went through job after job, many worked at the same time. Most of the money went to the drink.

I took a drink.

I tried to get back on my feet at 32. I really did try. I finally found a home again, one that was stable. I held a job that paid my bills. I quit drinking and instead spent time at a homeless shelter. I tried to help the people there the best I could. I liked it there. The people there had stories. I knew some of them before I ever started volunteering. I spent much of my free time like that. Helping and hearing stories of those who were like me.

I took a drink.

Their stories only held me for so long. I slipped. I fell back.

I took a drink.

It was like the world wanted me to have one last taste of happiness before taking my light too. It was dim for many years. Now, it was just all dark. No sadness, no despair. Just a numb darkness that refused to leave.

I took a drink.

Cowardice is contagious.

I took a drink.

I wonder if I’ll see her. If I’ll see my auntie, if I’ll see my sweetheart.

I took a drink.

I would know soon.

I took a drink.