The Annuals...

She watched the drop of water slowly make its way down the side of the glass of beer. It was slow and lazy. A perfect drop for such a hot day.

Beer wasn't her favorite and it normally wasn't her choice but today it just seemed like a good idea. And the idea of it had been a good one, but she had been reminded after that first ice cold sip why it wasn't her favorite. Oh well. There was always next year.

It had only happened a small handful of times but it was always a disappointment. When you only had one drink a year you wanted to enjoy it. But it was a good lesson for her, she would tell herself to try and make it better, it was a good lesson in not getting too attached to that one drink. Or a good lesson in why not drinking wasn't a big deal. Because really we don't drink.

We don't drink.

The first time she heard her husband say that to someone it had made her a little mad. And then more than a little ashamed.

There was so much shame back in those days. So much shame.

We didn't drink because he couldn't. Well he could. That was the real problem. He could drink like nobody's business. And it was nobody's business that he drank like he did.

Until he couldn't keep it private anymore. Not and keep drinking like that. Not losing entire weekends of time and weeks of pay. Not and scaring her and the baby so badly they ended up trying to walk back to her parent's farm. That night was the last night. From that point forward we didn't drink anymore.

Right after that they moved for his new job. Never talking about how he came to lose the last one. Just a new job, a new town, new friends and when the wine was passed at dinner with his new boss he waved it away, "Thank you, but we don't drink."

And honestly she hadn't had a drink since he quit. She didn't want it in the house. She didn't want to tempt him with the smell. It even turned her stomach a bit to smell it on anyone else. The fear was tied so strongly to that smell. But he hadn't asked her or talked to her about it at all. Just we don't drink.

They never talked about it to each other. They never mentioned it to the children. Back then people didn't understand that alcoholism was a disease. That it wasn't just some weakness in moral fortitude. That drunks weren't just the bum on the street in some movie. But that your neighbor, your father, your mother, any one of them could be waging a war with old demon rum. Or beer. Or wine.

She regretted not talking about it with the children. Maybe it would have made them more cautious. He oldest son was a card carrying member of alcoholics anonymous. Which her husband had sniffed at with more than a little pride (and that underlying shame) some people might need meetings and others to tell them how well they did but other people just didn't drink. She had tried to explain to George why his father would say such a thing but he waved him away. "Some people are angry about what happened when I was drinking, I can't control that. I can only control what I am doing, Mom. It's okay."

It wasn't okay. To leave him thinking that he just somehow had a problem when his parents didn't even drink. But that's the way they left it at the time. Mostly because she was so ashamed she hadn't warned him that it was in his blood. But back then they didn't know. Nobody really understood that if your daddy was a drunk and you became a drunk it wasn't just because that's what you saw but there was brain chemistry involved. Addiction centers in your wiring that would light up differently. It's why some people could have a drink every day and be fine while some people have a drink and then three days later there is no more drink to be had.

She knew it was probably their fault that George hadn't been prepared.

Even though his son and daughter both had drug issues and they knew that their father was an alcoholic. Lisa had been clean for 10 years, but her brother hadn't ever made it there. They found him three days after his grandfather had passed. He never even knew. It had not been an easy time for any of them, and George and Lisa had gone to their meetings together and alone to make it without trying to dull the pain.

Living with the pain. That's what they all had to learn.

And the shame.

She felt so much shame.

But she still had her one drink a year.

When she started selling Merry Housewives Cookware her aim had been to be the top regional salesperson so she could get an all expenses paid trip to the SuperStars of Selling conference. It took her two years to get there but she finally outsold Betty McPherson by $50. Betty still went to the conference, but she went for free. Which was the only way she was going to be able to go. Money was always tight, even with her sales. Betty said there was no hard feelings at all and offered to buy her a drink to celebrate.

We don't drink.

But we weren't there were we? Just her.

She took her up on it and it was the best glass of wine she had ever had in her life. She drank it so slowly that Betty was convinced she didn't like it and tried to convince her to complain. She had told her oh no, she was savoring it. And she did. And the next night she thought about having another but then remembered...

She remembered all of the times he would come home with the smell all over his breath. Then how for the next few days it would seep out of his pores. Stale beer smell filling the house. Eau de Jack Daniels on the porch. She didn't know how much it would take for him to be able to smell it in her sweat but she didn't think one glass two days earlier would do it. So she didn't have another.

Until the next year.

It became her little ritual. The first night of the SuperStars of Selling Conference she would have a drink. Just one. Usually a glass of wine. Sometimes something fancy that caught her eye. She would savor it and enjoy every drop. Except, of course, for the years where she ordered something that wasn't good. Either the wine was off, or the new drink wasn't as tasty as he had imagined it would be. Or like the beer today, it seemed like a good idea but it wasn't. But her rule was one drink. Only one. If it wasn't good well there was always next year.

And then when Merry Housewives Cookware had gone out of business she had switched her yearly drink to the weekend he went fishing with his buddies. She would farm the kids off to various friend's houses and she would drive two towns over to have dinner by herself and enjoy her one glass of wine. Then she would sit in her car for an hour before driving home. She didn't feel like it would have been a problem, but she would had died from embarrassment if she ever got pulled over. After all we don't drink.

And then when Edgar passed. Well she was free to do whatever she wanted to wasn't she? But those first few days when they were all desperate to find Allan and then when they did...and how hard George and Lisa were working to hold on to their own hard fought sobriety. And how ashamed she was when Edgar's old buddies had told stories about his younger days and how he could win any bar bet you put in front of him. And George had looked at her in stunned silence. And later when he said, "But I thought you didn't drink?" The pain in his voice was there.

She told him about the night she packed him up and walked two miles down the road, the tears streaming her face. Her dress torn at the sleeve. Her wrist swelling.

She told him about when his brother and sister were born and how she found his father crying over their crib saying over and over that they would never cry because of him.

She told him about when his youngest brother had a beer at a party when he turned 18, which was perfectly legal at the time, how his father had thrown up from the smell.

Then George shook his head, why didn't they ever tell them.

She tried to explain about the shame. About what they didn't know. And then when they did know it just seemed too late.

She didn't think he ever truly forgave her.

The drop finally made it all the way down the side of the glass to coaster sitting on the bar. She took one last sip of the beer. It seemed such a shame to waste it all. But it really didn't taste as good as she thought it would. Oh well, there was always next year.