Seasickness

          It goes down smoothly. It always has,
at least for me it has. But, who am I to talk? I'm an alcoholic. It's supposed to. That's how it works, right? Boozers love booze. I'm looking at the bottle now, and it feels so strange. How a little glass idol could just take over everything. It provides with maybe five or so minutes of pleasure, in conjunction with the daysweeksmonthsyears of despair. I guess I wouldn't have it any other way.

The horizon is clear today. Not much different than any other day here. The great divide between sea and sky. The only time you can see any color is during the sunset. (I guess you could during the sunrise but who the fuck gets up that early these days anyway?) Everything is so clear here, the sky, the sea, the horizion, my mind, but most of all is the bottle everpowerful bottle allconsumingbottle.
I like it here.

I rip off the label. It goes smoothly this time. Not any of that adhesive crap still on there just the glass, covered by a reflection of a face. It's an old face,
tired too.
It's the face of someone who has done too much.

The waves pick up for a minute. I sit up and look around.
Shore is about two miles or so away, and I knew I couldn't swim it. I'd say I got this boat about... a year ago. Yeah, that's it. Fred's funeral was in the summer, I remember, we had to make it short so the body didn't bake. I always thought that sounded like something out of a bad movie, but I guess the worst stories are truth.

Frankly, I was looking to get cash. I was a good stepson, never a little snot with "You're not my REAL dad!" I knew he was taking care of my mother, and because of that, I owed him. But when they read the will, I got left with the boat. I guess that was the first time I came here, was to first see the boat. Within the season, I was renting a house up the street. It's not like I had anything keeping me there. My wife had left me....after I had been laid off....and evicted.
Typical story of the drunk.

I remember when Fred had died. We hadn't talked too much after Mom passed. I called maybe once every other month. We were still on good terms, though. There was just...nothing really to say. We only had one common factor,and that was how much we missed her. And neither of us wanted to talk about that. I got the call on a Wednesday. I was hung over, and that was not the thing I wanted to hear.

"After I lose something, it always gets solved the same way"
I said that once. I don't really remember the context
Or even who I was saying it to. I just remember the words.I always have the same solution. The one that's in my hand.

I lost Mom
Go to the bottle.
I lost Fred
Go to the bottle.
I lost my job
I lost my house
I lost Her.
Go to the bottle.
Go away from the situation. Run away. Be a coward.

I hate this. So much I hate this. I took a look at the label on the ground of the boat, and picked it up. In my pocket there was a pen. It took a little while to think of the words. Eventually I wrote it down:

"Alcohol/Desire"

I shoved it into the bottle and twisted the cap back on. What to do next?  I figured I should throw it. I put my arm behind me. It was weak.

3..
2..
1..
throw.

and the clear bottle fell into the clear water and I sat back down and as I closed my eyes I could feel the Want come into my mouth. I still had two beers in the cooler.

Actually, I'll nap instead.