Whiskey Embrace

There was a silence that filled the room. It was deafening and overbearing; the type of silence that made one scream out. Despite the longing to fill the room with sound, Steve remained silent. His mind slowly stopped being distracted by the quiet atmosphere, and instead, his eyes focused on the glass of whiskey that was before him. It arrogantly stood on the coffee table that was a few inches away from where his hands were clasped together. The dark liquid sat in its crystal glass with one giant circular ice ball giving it more mass. Contrasting against the very light wood of the table, it taunted him.

He closed his eyes and instantly he was reliving the confrontation with his family from earlier.

“Why can’t you just admit that you’re wrong”, his mother had asked him.

“Are you kidding me,” his sister interjected, “how can he admit to being wrong when he’s never had an example of that in his life?”

His mother, Lily, looked at Sarah, his sister, with a mouth agape.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Sarah continued, “you’re the only one that’s allowed to be perfect right? God forbid that your imperfect children inherited that trait from their imperfect mother!”

Those words stung. He could see the tears begin to form in his mother’s eyes. There was a pain, and anger at hearing those words. At hearing the truth.

“Okay, okay, let’s just take a-” his father began, but Lily immediately jumped back into the fight. She wasn’t going to take that, not from her children.

“You always fought us at every turn. You were convinced that we had it out for you and that you had to prove us wrong. Well guess what? You ruined your life. You did that. You made your choices, despite the advice your father and I tried to give you. You made all your decisions, and yet you still blame us. But let me tell you something,” she walked towards Sarah, pointing her accusing finger at her face, “your divorce wasn’t my fault, and your miscarriage wasn’t my fault. You want someone to blame, go look in the mirror and you’ll find the culprit responsible for all your bitterness!”

Everyone stayed silent.

Then as Sarah raised her hand to smack Lily, Steve caught his sister’s hand. He moved himself to stand between the two, no longer feeling it would be safe for him to be off to the side. He gave his sister a soft look, before letting go and turning around towards his mother.

“How dare you?” his words burned through the air as his gaze sharpened on his mother. “How dare you throw that in your in her face? You were there. You saw how broken all of that made her. Yet you just casually throw that back in her face?” he asked in disbelief.

“Well she-” Lily began before being cut off.

“Shut the fuck up!”

At this point his Dale, his father, must’ve felt he had to defend his wife, so he took a step towards his son. “Watch your mouth, that’s your mother”, he warned his children. Emotions were high, but he would not have them use that as a license to disrespect their mother.

“Fuck you too, dad!”

“Hey, don’t you dare sp-”

“Or else what? What are you going to do about it? Hit me?” he got closer to his dad, so they were almost nose to nose. This was not how things were supposed to go today. It was meant to be a time of celebration. A time to celebrate him, celebrate his sobriety. Instead, years of anger and resentment burst out.

Amid reminiscing about the day, he didn’t realize that his left hand had reached for the glass of whiskey and held it. The cold perspiration of the class felt good in his hand. It felt like he was holding the giant ice cube in his hand, rather than it floating in the dark liquid. It was a different feeling to the fire he felt burning in him when his family was fighting. He knew that while the glass felt cold, what awaited in the glass was a different type of fire—a slow burning fire down his throat.

His mouth felt dry with that thought. He had experienced a fire that burst out of his chest with his family, but this one threatened to drown him as it slowly made its way down. It was a tempting thought.

A tempting thought. That’s what the idea felt like when he thought of hitting his father. Very tempting.

“I’m warning you”, Dale wasn’t going to back down. He and his sister might’ve inherited their mothers temper, but now they were going to come face to face with their father’s wrath.

Steve was stubborn, however, and didn’t back off. “I’m tired of you defending her. She is toxic. She can never be wrong. She is always the victim and I’m sick of it.” He threw his hands in the air. “Are you seriously going to stand there and let her disrespect us, and then have the audacity to chastise us when we defend ourselves?”

“Ever the loyal lap dog” Sarah sneered. “Why should we be surprised, you’ve always let her get away with being like that. You’re a hypocrite, and she’s a bitch.”

Their father moved, with a fire in his eyes that hadn’t ever been seen. Then he fell as his son’s fist connected with his jaw.

“If you touch her, I’ll kill you.” Steve looked to his father and then to his mother, “I swear to God, you will never lay a hand on any of us ever again.”

Lily looked stunned. There was a delay between seeing her husband getting punched across the face by their son and rushing to him to see if he was fine.

“Holy shit,” Sarah remarked. She had frozen up, waiting for whatever punishment might’ve come her way. She knew that her words would piss her father off, but more importantly, they would hurt her mother even more. Still, given the look on her face, she hadn’t expected her brother to hit their father.

“I want you two to leave. Don’t you ever come back. You’re a bunch of ungrateful children. Always whining and leaving a mess for us to clean. Get out!” As tears streamed down her face, her words were acid, as if trying to burn away her children.

“Finally!” Sarah cheered, “we’re finally free of you! Hallelujah!” She moved to gather her small leather purse. She moved gracefully through the room, as if she were at a dance recital instead of a family fall out.

Lily, now oblivious to their existence, tended to her husband. He slowly rose from the ground, rubbing his jaw. “Let’s put some ice on that dear. Come on”, she led her husband into their kitchen.

There was no goodbye. There were no apologies. His parents disappeared into their home, while he and his sister let themselves out.

They walked toward their respective cars, his tiny black Toyota Matrix and her red Honda Odyssey, triumphant with a sour victory. As he reached for his door handle, Sarah called out to him.

“I’m sorry that it turned out like this. This was supposed to be your day and instead we made it a free-for-all fight. Being sober for a year isn’t easy, and I just want you to know that I’m proud of you.” She smiled weakly as she got into her car.

He lingered just a little bit. Pride wasn’t something he was feeling right now. He made his way into his car, and the drive home was a blur. It was like the city was throwing a wave, as the traffic lights passed him by. Though his body moved out of the car when he got home, there was no one guiding it. It was pulled to something in the house. He didn’t remember getting a glass and putting a single giant ice cube. He didn’t remember pouring the whiskey into the glass.

The smell was intoxicating. At some point, while reliving the moments before being home, he had moved the glass closer to him. He had it close to his chest, as if the whiskey could comfort him and make him feel safer than what he felt now. This was the pull he felt earlier. This was the aching in his chest. Or perhaps this was the remedy for the ache?

Slowly, very slowly, he lifted the glass closer to his mouth, stopping it from touching his lips but still allowing the scent of the whiskey to assault his senses with ferocity. “God,” he mumbled to himself, “it smells so good.”

He knew he shouldn’t tempt himself. It had been a year since last drinking, and he had fought this battle time and time again. Each time would prove to be a messy battle, but he always seemed to endure and prevail. Today was different. His mind was filled with images of his past. The icy cold father that allowed an infinite space to grow between him and his children. A mother whose opinions were often voiced callously; she didn’t realize she was picking away at her children’s joy.

Then he thought of his sister. She was damaged and broken, but she was sweet and protective. She always comforted him, knowing he’d find a way to blame himself. She was a light in his life, but that light was being choked out by the void his parents left in him.

He looked back at the whiskey. There was a seduction to the drink that wasn’t normally there, and it only got stronger as he thought about his family’s fall-out. It was his fault for trying to open up and get closure. It was his fault for trying to atone for his past mistakes, while also extending forgiveness to them. It all backfired. Today was meant to be the day that he was able to fill in the void he so often felt at night for the last thirty-four years.

As he wrestled with the fall-out of the night, he noticed his sobriety chip on the table. He must’ve placed it there without realizing it. As he stared at the chip, the images of his sister came back to him. It was painful to see such light in his life, when it felt grim and dark. It was like staring into the sun.

In that moment, he found the strength to consider putting down the drink. He considered calling her, or his sponsor, and confess what he was going to do. But that strength was quickly replaced with the suffocating feeling of disappointment. The shadows his parents cast in his mind were much like the drink in his hand. All consuming. All present in his mind.

He slowly inched the glass to his lips, and as his thoughts were consumed with the pain of the night, his taste was consumed with the sweet flavor of honey and fire.

He didn’t notice the next few drinks he had; all he could focus on was the warmth the whiskey made him feel. Almost as if someone wrapped their arms around him.