I bought my first bottle of scotch yesterday.
15 year old and aged in oak and I can’t help but think:
when it was being distilled in Scotland
you and I were riding the school bus
being picked on by the older kids in town.
We were collecting bugs in the summer
and trying on our Halloween costumes in the fall.
Riding our bikes with helmets down the alley
behind the house we grew up in.
We slept over Grandma’s house that Christmas
because the furnace in ours was broken.
I guess we had to grow up
learning life’s lessons the long way.
Through broken hearts and hard times,
we somehow turned out more than ok.
But blond girls aren’t supposed to drink scotch
and we’re supposed to go out for your birthday on Friday
but we all know that life never turns out how we plan.
It’s gray and raining early this morning
as I drive over to see you one more time.
I call my professor to let him know
I won’t be in class this Wednesday afternoon.
This black dress is becoming my funeral staple
but after today I won’t be able to wear it again.
The guy at the dry cleaners asked what happened
and I just told him it was an accident,
thanks for asking.
So it’s Laphroig for breakfast today
as everyone gathers at Mom’s house
they ask how I am and I fake a smile,
take a long sip and tell them I’m fine,
thanks for asking.
Sitting in the front row, hands folded
I don’t look anyone in the eyes.
Just solemnly staring at you
but your eyes are closed forever.
I held your hand so long I thought
it was becoming warm again.
Sorry my breath smelled like scotch
when I leaned in to kiss your forehead
for the very last time before saying goodbye.
Twelve hours later and darker
as I walk these familiar streets
I’m sure you’d laugh if you could see.
It’s still raining but I don’t feel cold
wearing your pajama pants and scarf
and sipping scotch keeps me numb
to the bitterness of this October night.
Still have some left in this plastic mug
and there’s still some tears left to fall
but they just mix with the rain
and I want to believe the sky is crying too.
