So, I gave up the drink for two months. A challenge, of sorts. Up to last night, my biggest challenge was myself. And, quite frankly, I've handled myself rather well. Last night, though, I was in the company of drinkers. I figured at some point they'd beg me to drink.
I actually handled the situation nicely. My brother Dan said he was making drinks for his wife and himself. He gave me a tour of his pantry. He was proud that he had nearly every kind of booze I might want. "There's even beer in the refrigerator," he said.
"I'm good," I said. I imagined making a real drink. For a brief moment I pictured myself putting a can of beer to my lips and taking a sip. I imagined the cold fizz running down my throat. I imagined the cool, refreshing feeling it would have on my mind. But, the picture was fuzzy. It went away. "I'm good." I repeated.
It was odd hearing myself saying this. "I'll just have a Coke."
I opened the refrigerator. I grabbed the cup he gave me. I opened the 2-Liter bottle. I poured some into my cup. Then I picked up the whiskey bottle.
"That's mine!" he said. "Jen's is the bottle of Rum. "You can have whatever you want," he said, as though anticipating I'd give in and have a drink.
On his cue, I picked up the bottle of whiskey. I mocked pouring it into my cup. "Is this what you want me to do?" I asked Dan.
"Yep!" he said. "Do it!"
"Nah! I"m good."
And that was the end of it. I was impressed that he didn't pressure me. And the urge didn't hit me. I passed my first real test. This was a moment I typically would have had a drink. I didn't. I was, in a mild way, proud of myself.
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