He Will Always Have His Memories...and His Gin.

• Yolanda Van Wijk, Grade 12
• Short Story
• 2008

Tears filled his eyes. A waiter noticed that his glass was empty and gave him the rest of the gin bottle, three quarters full. It seemed that no matter how much he sat in that depressing bar, and drank so much that his eyes were swimming, he could not stop thinking about the mistake they had both made. He took a swig from the gin bottle.

As he gazed around at the bland and lifeless people in the bar, he wondered why they were drowning their struggles. What went wrong in their lives that led them to drink? Was it as regrettable as his problems? Twenty-eight long years of marriage was destroyed because of him. He took another swig from the gin bottle. The gin made his tongue dance and caressed the back of his throat. He thought to himself, “If only life could be as satisfying…”

The tear that trickled down his face felt warm against his unshaven cheek. His successful career as a mechanic bought his family a profusion of security and opportunities, so was this not sufficient enough to keep them together? He took another swig from the gin bottle. It was his only escape from reality he had. He didn’t have a hobby, he didn’t have a job, he didn’t have a home to go to, but he had his gin.

His eyes were scarlet from tears. Wiping them on his sleeve, he questioned if the decision to separate was the right choice after all. He took the very last swig from the gin bottle. The alcohol ran through his veins and pierced the pits of his gin lined stomach.
The bar was getting empty, and the air was getting crisp. A waiter drifted by and offered him another bottle. He held up his hand and shook his head because another swig of that gin bottle would’ve made him sick. She kept saying that his drinking was one of the main problems in their relationship. Until now, he never realised it, she was right. “You’re a changed man when you drink!” was the defence she would retaliate with. Drinking is what defined him, it was his life and it was the only thing worth waking up for. It seemed that everybody went through difficult times and the only way for him to cope-was with alcohol. The very odour of it would bring his pale face to a pink-y, lively colour.

He arose from his bar stool and stumbled through the door, tears still brewing in his eyes. As he stumbled home and fell onto his bed, he peered through his soggy eyes and saw the smiling faces of his family staring back at him. He smiled in return and fell asleep with the warm tears falling down his cheeks, memories forever in his heart.