Chapter 21

*Just a little warning there is a possible sensitive subject mentioned in this chapter so read with caution*

Chapter 21

The following night I set up the living room in what I pictured to look romantic, of course I didn't know, but every placement and setting was just right in my head. I had placed the comforter on the floor and tried to light a few candles although coming away with a few burns. I had placed some ready made meals in the oven and had the ice cream ready in the freezer. All I needed was Frankie to come home.

Home. I loved that. This was our home. A feeling fluttered up in my chest at the thought, it was warming and made my hands shake in nervousness.

I sit waiting, breathing loudly and trying to calm myself down. I can do this. I can do this.

"Hey." I hear against my ear and I jump at the sound of the soft voice, the soft hum as he breathes in my hair and his arms wrap around my shoulders from behind. I don't know how I didn't notice him come in, especially jumping over the back of the couch to envelope me in his arms.

"Hey." I say back sharply on an intake of breath, I release it and smile resting my head back onto his shoulder as his perches on my own breathing into my neck and the soft prickles of his five o'clock shadow tickling my cheek.

"And what's this? Don't tell me you did all of this for me..." he says as he turns to sit next to me, since last night falling asleep together so close and content, we had been more in sync- it's like we had been together for fifty years... But you're not together Gee, not officially, and you won't be if you get that eye procedure.

Embarrassed I turn my head down to my lap, I twiddle my fingers and fiddle with a stray thread on my jeans. I had even dressed up in a black shirt with my black jeans, my hair was a mess and my feet were bare but I felt informal and stiff in the shirt.

"Hey... It's okay, I love it thank you," he lifts my chin and kisses my cheek as I blush. "I'll freshen up and why don't you get us some glasses?" He says and I nod.

Glasses. Yes, that I can do. Glasses. I huff as I guide myself into the kitchen, I stumble against the wall a little as the bright light of the kitchen burns against my eyes. I had forgotten my glasses in hopes to build confidence in showing off my eyes, I know Frank likes them but I was still shy, the plastic had began to rub the bridge of my nose as I was drawing earlier. Yes you heard me right, drawing, I had started off small with just some simple bird like shapes and hopefully I would build it up to more complex things.

By the time we are back on the comforter Frank had gotten our meals out of the oven and I had began to loosen up.

"Thank you for the macaroni, I haven't had it since I was a kid." He says as he places a hand on top of mine.

"Wait macaroni? Damn, I was supposed to give you soup." I mutter faking hurt and confusion jokingly. My cooking ability didn't reach any higher than that.

"Very funny, as first dates go this is by far the best." I'm not expecting it but I feel warm soft lips against my own leaving a slight taste of cherry lip balm behind.

"Hopefully it isn't the last." I surprise myself and I feel him nod in reply. "Oh no! I completely forgot to pour our drinks. Here let me do it, I want to surprise you." he giggles and I smile as I feel him fluttering around beside me.

I was now getting used to moving with sound, before I used to stare into open space but now I had someone to talk to on a daily basis I was begging to open up, tilting my head and moving as if I could see. It made me feel almost normal again. I didn't need my eyes where Frank was concerned, we were like clogs- we just fit together and made it work.

I feel him press a glass into my hand and I hold it up as he speaks; "Three cheers."

"For sweet revenge." I finish and hear his glass clink against mine before taking a sip only to be met with a taste that made panic rise in my blood and a distant dream flash in my head.

*Flashback*- Age 11

“Here son, try this it’s fresh out the bottle- stored since the year your ma and I got married.” My Pop handed me a glass of white wine- I copied him as he swirled it around in the glass making it look like a whirlpool however mine just sloshed about and rose over the side dribbling it down my hand, I could hear my father laugh at my bewildered expression and how the thin stemmed wine glass looked stupid in my hand; it was thin and delicate which made it hard to handle or keep from up-tipping. He placed a hand on my shoulder as he inhaled the ‘aroma’ from the glass- I copied but in my opinion it didn’t smell so great- it smelt of alcohol most of all but also like the desert- it was dry and tangy making my nose wrinkle and tickle. Then he raised the glass to his lips poured it back showcasing his awkward pinky jutting out from his hand holding the stem and took delicate sips from the liquid; my pinky was more awkward having a mind of its own and spanning out bolder than the others making the glass wobble as if it would tip from my grasp like a see-saw moving in a gust of wind I watched as it tried to settle itself with a grimace on my face expecting it to spill over my new Doom Patrol t-shirt. I took little sips just as my father did almost choking and withdrawing from the bitter taste the liquid had as it coated my lips, teeth and tongue before the small amount slithered down my throat with an unwelcome burn. The wine was unpleasant, not sweet at all like I thought it would, grapes were sweet and juicy- wine is like grape juice for adults because of the poison in it but I would have preferred the children’s version especially if it was Kool-Aid.

My Pop’s coy little smirk at me made me raise my glass again in a little cheers motion, I took another sip trying to stop from spitting it back out or leaving it in my mouth too long to avoid the taste but from the corner of my eye I saw Pop chug the whole glass back and down it in one- well if Dad did it so could I- I was gonna be a real man like him, I wasn’t a kid anymore, I had ‘the talk’ and I had been subjected to early puberty so why couldn’t I have a drink with my dad like I saw lots of people do on TV shows with their acting dad’s.

With a burst of courage I closed my eyes and tilted my head back allowing the tart dry liquid to run down my throat draining the contents of my glass; I pull the glass away from my lips as I splutter and cough followed by a shiver down my spine before looking at my chuckling father.

“What was that fiddly stuff for anyway?” I ask setting my glass down on the kitchen table as he poured another glass for himself chugging that down before another.

“I have no f*cking idea, kid.” He almost cackled and I knew he had done it for his own amusement not for some ‘man to man, father- son’ bonding.

“I think I’ll stick to Kool-Aid.” I grumble as I grab my notebook before stomping to my room to write some Star Wars fan fiction.

In the middle of the table was a big pitcher of red wine, I had seen Pop filling it up earlier pouring bottle after bottle of the red stuff followed by another bottle of clear stuff which my mom always said was ‘the lonely man’s water’; I guess Pop was lonely because he drank a lot of it this year- it was for a good cause though; Nana always made use with the broken bottles. Pop poured me a glass of red wine passing it to me my mom shot out her arm to swat at him, “Honey you can’t give him that, you have 10 more years before you should introduce him to that sort of stuff especially what you drink.” She had said which made the glass hover in front of me in my grasp.

“Donna he’ll be fine, he’s not so keen on the white but I know he’ll love the red- he’s a Way we were brought up on fine Italian wine, right Ma?” He says slinging an arm over my shoulder and looking at Elena who was sat on my other side across from Mikey, Pop had the head of the table whilst the other end would have been where our grandfather sat.

“Oh Donald, wine is fine but I think this pitch was a too watery, maybe pour him a fresh glass or he’ll be toddling.” My Nana always used funny words when I was younger but as I got older I was informed more on which was which- ‘toddling’ meant being drunk or tipsy.

“It’s fine, I’ll take a sip, if I don’t like it I can go back to Kool-Aid.” I say trying to stop something before it happens as I shrug and take a sip of the dark purple liquid, it’s a lot stronger than the white wine but it has a Christmas aroma I picked up from mulled wine stalls on the main-walk outside the restaurant, it tasted like cherry and was a lot more rich than the white wine- I like it- it was a lot more like grape juice but I could still feel it burning my throat and lips, it felt like I was having an allergic reaction but I actually liked it. I felt more grown up- I felt sophisticated and I knew I could get used to this. Maybe one day Pop and I will share a beer watching a football game one thanksgiving.

“I like it.” And that one statement made my Pop smile with the adoration of a proud father, the rest of the time around the table he kept his arm around me and even allowed us to take pictures.

*EF*

As I got older I got to know the look in his eyes more personally, the hunger I saw there, I knew it a thousand times because after a while, after his death- I began to see it in the mirror. The way they would sparkle maliciously greedily, it was as if they knew what my body feasted for. Drink. Alcohol. The burn of it on my tongue and down my throat, the tickle in my cheeks as they loosened, the scratch in my veins and I gulped it. I didn't slowly nurse drinks, I couldn't sit with a warm dark scotch spilt in the glass for taste, no- I would fill the glass, slick it back as if it were water and go to fill it up again.

I was just like my father. My conscience loved to remind me of that. How he would be proud of me now.

I knew my mistake. I had just taken my first sip of alcohol in 3 years.