Bitter. An after-taste that remains an hour or so later.
To be honest, I’m not a natural wine
drinker.
But for the past while, I’ve been sipping
some of hers.
To make her laugh.
I noisily slurp, smacking my lips just for
the sheer theatre of it.
She likes a dram of red wine with her
evening meal.
A meal that seems to be getting smaller
each passing week.
Twenty Bees – that’s her choice of wine.
Red. Never white.
Canadian, I’m pretty sure.
Only twenty bees were harmed in the making
of this wine.
That’s not on the label.
I pour from the large bottle into a small
crystal tumbler.
Two inches in the bottom - for her.
Another inch on top - for me.
I swirl it around, giving it air. I think
air adds flavor. But I don’t know for sure.
I bring it to the dinner table.
Hunched over, she peeks from under a fuzzy
fringe of white-gray hair.
‘Your wine,’ I say, holding the tumbler in
my hand. ‘Twenty Bees. Your favourite.’
She smiles.
Then, I slurp it. Loudly. Pretending to
like it.
Sometimes I get carried away with the
slurping. My shirt front blossoms red.
She laughs.
I remember that special laugh, but now a
soft giggle’s thrown in.
‘Oh. My. God,’ she says.
It’s her favourite saying these days.
Except for ‘You’re weird,’ which she says
quite often.
At least to me.
‘Not too much,’ she says.
‘No worries,’ I say.
I set the tumbler down.
Another smile.
A hand, brown freckles in abundance, eases
out, slim fingers surround the glass.
‘Ah,’ she says. ‘You’re weird.’
She sips - like a tiny bird from raindrops puddled
within a leaf.
‘Ah,’ she says again.
Thin, pale lips smacking, just like me.
There’s an after-taste that lingers long
after dinner.
It isn’t the wine.
It’s the memories of what once was.
Forever lost.
‘You’re weird,’ she whispers.
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘I am.’
First Published. In CommuterLit, June 17, 2021.
The Backstory. This story is about my life in the year of a pandemic. Serious illness has come to my family - unwanted, life altering and challenging to everyone. I write about some parts of it, just to gain perspective. Occasionally, I share a story with a wider audience beyond family and close friends. This is one of those stories.
Legal Rights. I own the rights to this story. Please don't 'borrow' it from this blog and publish it somewhere without my permission. Ask me. Tell me what you want to do with it. We probably will be able to work something out.
