I have a lot of time on my hands and sometimes get lost in old memories. The one that just came sweeping through with a small smile was about my seventeenth birthday.

Actually, the birthday party was a disaster. However, what followed was quite amusing and I treasure it smugly. I had never had a birthday party before. I was always a rebellious loner with a chip on my shoulder and a ready fist for anyone who got in my face. That did not make for friends, especially in a female. (We're always supposed to act like ladies. But then, I've never acted like or felt like a lady)

We had just moved to Texas where most of Mama and Papa had family. For my birthday they invited a shit load of the female cousins over for the party. Papa, god bless him, was a weekend alcoholic and after he retired he drank even more heavily. It didn't stop me from loving him. But he decided to sit down in the midst of the young girls and make a fool of himself, thus embarrassing me horribly.

Mama did not like him drinking, but there wasn't much to do about it. He generally hid his bottles. And once he spent his allowance he was sober until the next batch. Well Uncle Joe was over there with him. As the party was winding down and everyone was going home, I started watching him and Joe close to see where they kept going because I figured the bottle had to be there. I quickly zeroed in on the detached garage which was very clearly visible from my bedroom window. After a bit of watching I saw the bottle come out and go back. I figured I had them both then.

I used to give my dogs a dose of cod liver oil each day because the label said it would make their coats shiny and I had a very large bottle. The cod liver oil was close to the same color as Papa's Jim Beam. I waited until they were back inside with Mama and Aunt Mable and stole outside with the oil. I quickly poured out the whiskey and refilled the bottle with the cod liver oil.

Then I waited again. It was full dark on a glorious October night and I heard the garage door open. The two men stood there with the bottle.

Joe tasted it first and said, "It doesn't taste right. Someone poisoned it."

Papa ridiculed that as the paranoid drunken attitude it was and then he took the bottle and swigged half of what remained down before offering it to Joe again.

So Joe must have decided "what the hell" because he finished it off. That made it very hard for me to keep silent. Then I pulled the blankets up around me and went to sleep secure in the knowledge that I had had my vengeance for the ruined party.

The next day Aunt Maple, who was a very sharp old woman, called up and talked for a long time with Mama. Seems both men were sick with the runs and throwing up. They were being forced to puck in the sink while sitting on the toilet. While a hang-over might account for the latter, it could not for the former and not in both men at once. She drove over and confronted me, (I always swore she must have had a sixth sense about things) "What did you put in the bottle?"

At that point, Mama nailed me and I admitted everything, throwing myself on their mercy and expecting the worst. They took it with a bit of wry humor, but warned me not to do it again because they were always the ones who ended up doing the bathroom cleaning afterward.


Currently Reading: American Gods by Neil Gaiman; Manchac Swamp by Julia Sims

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