“What are you looking at?” I ask giving a glare at my whiskey glass. It was 3/4’s full of liquid gold. The bottle of JD rested beside it. Old No. 7 looks up at me.
What are you waiting for? Drink up my boy.
I resist, but I smell it and the warm comfort it promises.
Lies.
It calls to me, Come on, Larry, it gets easier from here. Johnny never lies.
“Fuck it”
My hand is aquake as I reach for it, and I bring it up to my lips. I take a long haul and consume as much as my mouth can hold. With a hard swallow, a shiver runs down my neck and down my back, punching me in the kidneys.
It burns.
I stare up at the ceiling, ashamed.
There we go. That’s better, isn’t it? You’ve had a bad day. I will fix everything.
“Ya, much better” I sniff. My eyes well up, and I stare at my empty house through the prism of tears that, eventually, fall down my cheek.
I know you miss her, pal. I can make you forget, I promise, says John.
I drink again, emptying my glass.
Fill it up, Larry, make a night of it.
I do.