Drowning Lessons

To This It Should Concern:

I can’t stop. I can’t stop thinking about it. It’s plaguing my thoughts like a drug. Well… it is a drug if you’re going to be technical.

I was always aware of it, ever since my grandpa gave me a sip on that Fourth of July. I was four at the time. My mom, older sister, and I were visiting him for the holiday in North Carolina. I assume it was this because that’s the way it’s always been. After all a child needs stability and my life was a routine.

The single image that stands out in my mind is still as fresh as it was the day it occurred. Fireworks illuminated the navy sky above as my grandpa towered over me. We were standing beside the tailgate of his SUV. It was forest green, I recall. Bouncing on my toes, my arms were outstretched in front of me and my fingers rapidly beckoned my way.

“Please, please, please?” I begged, my eyes fixated on the shiny, aluminum can in his hand.
With my mom nowhere in sight to object, he frowned and soon after shrugged. “Well… okay,” he said, handing it over. I eagerly took the can in both hands. The weight and icy, wet chill from it being knocked around in the cooler instantly froze my hands numb. “-don’t tell your mom,” he quickly added.

I studied its appearance for a moment. The blue, white, and yellow swirl made up the words, “M-m-mil-le-ler… Li-it-ite.” Poking my nose over the opening, I sniffed it… Buttered bread? I got excited; Bread was one of my favorite foods at the time along with chicken nuggets and chocolate anything, so I brought the rim to my lips.

“You probably won’t even like it.” His weary eyes glanced up at a red explosion in the night sky.

My attention was elsewhere as I tilted the can forward and didn’t recognize a taste until the liquid filled up my mouth. With my lips pursed tight and my cheeks swelled to the resemblance of a chipmunk, I allowed my tongue to absorb flavor of what I believed to be liquidized Wonder Bread. The look on my face said otherwise to that assumption. It was flat yet filled with a taste I can only think to call, “Dull Delight.”

It was gone in one hard gulp with droplets dribbling down my chin. Dull Delight stained my taste buds and my mouth felt incredibly dry.

“I told you, you wouldn’t like it,” he commented, taking the can from my grasp. Pouting my lip and cocking a brow, I was confused by what he said.

I did like it.

The years following were long and grueling. I occasionally crossed paths with Dull Delight, but I never did care for it much as the name suggests. “It’s an acquired taste,” I was told but that didn’t faze me much. I tried to acquire a taste for it. Every barbeque with my parents, the celebration of my eighth grade graduation with my sisters, and my step dad’s idea of a birthday gift were all attempts to develop a liking for it; Each and every one failed after a few sips when I got that sick feeling in my stomach. As a result, I gave up my quest for adulthood. That is, until wine coolers came into the picture.

My mom first introduced them to me. I originally thought a wine cooler was a fruity soda by the way she gulped them down and their amusing names like, “Fuzzy Navel” (That still makes me giggle). She didn’t mind me having a bottle of my own now and then, because it only contained five percent of alcohol. One dose of five percent couldn’t possibly do any damage. Maybe that’s why people usually have more than one.

By the age of eleven, I was always grateful to the sips I was given from adults. That was never more evident on my fourteenth New Year’s Eve. To give you a brief background, my family and several others we used to go camping with would usually check in at the Drury Hotel and rent their party room. The kids would run the halls wild playing pranks, while the parents ate and drank the night away. After hours of South Park episodes and late night shenanigans, I had grown tired of throwing M&Ms into the lobby’s fountain and wanted more, so I ventured into the party room and sought out my mom. She was happy to see me and gave me a taste of her Jack and Coke without protest. I admit it tasted horrid. If I wanted to drink watered down soap, I would have already raided the hotel bathroom and snatched our free travel sizes. Later I discovered champagne didn’t impress me as much as it did on the silver screen.

Subsequently, my cell phone rang a half hour before midnight. It was my boyfriend at the time. I found privacy to talk to him in a stairwell.

“My family’s having a get together tomorrow. Can you come?” He asked.

“Um…” I bit my lip. “I can’t. I have to write an essay before we go back to school.”

“Well, it can’t take the whole day.” His excited speech dropped a tone.

I shrugged, hoping he would somehow see me and I wouldn’t have to talk, but I had to. “… it’s supposed to be long, and I have other homework I have to do.”

“You can at least stop by.”

“I don’t know how busy I’ll be.”

“You’re lying,” he said. The workload was true, but I knew his parents didn’t care for me much; His mother, particularly, scared me.

“I’m not lying.”

“You know this is so typical. For the last time my parents don’t hate you. Why is that so hard for you to understand?” I sensed the mounting anger in his voice, and I decided to match it with my own.

“Gee, I’m pretty sure it was when she called me a ‘Seven Minute Whore’ knowing I was only in the next room, or maybe it was the time she called my mom just to tell her to ‘Fuck off.’ Oh, I can feel the love.”

A headache was beginning to stir.

I could hear his heavy breathing on the other end. What could he possibly have to say? I’m right. He’s wrong.

Seconds went by until he sighed, “Fine, whatever.”

My chest constricted annoyance. “No, that’s not-” I was cut off by a beep. I looked down at my phone in disbelief.

The screen read, “Call ended.”

I must have paced back and forth on the landing for twenty sum minutes, cursing him and at the same time trying to carefully construct an apology for him. The alarm on my cell went off, alerting me I had five minutes until the start of the new year, so I hurried to be with my mom since that was what she wanted. She was camped out in front of a TV with all our family friends, watching Dick Clark intently. I don’t know what I looked like, but my appearance must have suggested my phone conversation hadn’t gone well. My mom asked me what was wrong and I told her in few words.

“Here, you deserve it.” She handed me a very small plastic cup holding a thick, purple gelatin.

I took a whiff; The scent stung my nostrils, and I quickly withdrew. “What is this?”

“A Jack and grape jello shot. It’ll help-”

10...
She cut herself off and watched the screen.
9...
People were counting down in a huddle around the TV set.
8...
The singles were searching for their kiss.
7...
I sniffed the jello again. This time, it wasn’t as strong.
6...
Kissing partner found.
5...
I shot a glance at the dark ball descending down the twenty inch.
4...
Men tried to chug down their last drink of 2004.
3...
He popped into my head.
2...
Someone’s streamer accidentally went off.
1...
I gripped the cup tighter in my hand.

Happy New Year!

Everyone cheered and hugged their loved ones.

I stood alone in a bustling crowd, choking down the god awful dessert I was told would help.

Soon after I was racing through Midori Stone Sours like there was no tomorrow and no boyfriend I had to deal with the next day. They, too, don’t have a great deal of alcohol compared to let’s say a Rum and Coke, but I was drinking enough for a cause. I needed to be happy on such a special occasion, and what’s a more happier word than, “Buzzed”?

However, I did not reach my goal like I had intended, because my mom decided enough was enough. I’m not mad at her for it though. She was just being a good mother. Besides, I didn’t know what I’d be like when I reach that inebriation. Wonder if I was a big mouth? The last thing I wanted was for her to know the things I had already done. So that was for the best, but I didn’t feel my best until last May of this past year.