What I Learned From A Month Without Alcohol

First, you take a drink. Then, the drink takes a drink. Then, the drink takes you.

~ F. Scott Fitzgerald

I was 17 years old the first time I got drunk.

When I recollect it, odd memories stick out. My friend’s cousin owned two hamsters; the smell of wood shavings and Bacardi rum permeated her tiny one bedroom apartment.

I took a drink

Some people hate their first shot, but to this day, I don’t think I’ve ever had one so smooth.

To every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.

The spirit went down my throat, and up came a single word: “More.”

The drink took a drink

We laughed and poured another. And another. I wanted to impress my friend’s cousin — she was 23, after all. She had red hair. Her tattooed boyfriend smoked menthol cigarettes.

I felt good.

The drink took me

I put my hand on the countertop. I peeled it away and felt that sweet, sickly, boozy film; a foreshadowing of so many kitchen counter libations to come.