speakeasy

Yesterday we got some news from the doctors, not life-threatening, not dream-killing, but depressing and sucker-punching and annoying news from the doctors yesterday, which seemed to make for a sad, mad day today for everyone in my house.

So I was glad, so glad, I had already planned to have a drink tonight, a drink at a speakeasy, but not really because there is a sign on the door, and no password, and anyone can go there. But it serves martinis and it is small and not well lit and it used to be a tunnel under the railway tracks. And I go there with my sister, who lives where I live, and the arch of the ceiling and the white tiled walls reminds me of the IRT in New York where we grew up, and the wood molding along the walls makes a little shelf that reminds my sister of church as she tucks the martini menu into it like she is tucking a hymnal in the back of a pew.

I order a sidecar, because there are deep leather chairs and like I said it feels like speakeasy and that just seems right, while my sister gets a champagne cocktail and that seem right too. And we talk about birth, birth, birth, and death also, plus why is our father vacationing in Bogota, and will our children turn out to be nerds? It feels good to speak, speak, speak and the sidecar loosens my tongue and makes it easy to speak easy after some difficult silences in my house today. I cannot have another drink, but oh we can share one, and we order a Gone With the Wind which has something to do with peach schnapps.

Only a 2% chance of getting pregnant again? That can't be right.

I am gone with the wind three hours and a drink and a half later because I never do this, so we walk to the center of town to get a cream tea, and then back at my sister's place her husband is up late creating art and he stops and makes us nachos. So that at 1am I can drive home, I have to drive home, because in six hours I have to wake up and go to a workshop all day long and learn how to can and freeze and dry and store my greens and squash and how to reap what others have sown now that I live in the country. I have to go because I have wanted to go for a while now and now the class is tomorrow and we will just see how I do with five hours of sleep, now that I am 38 and drunk after one drink and have a 98% chance of no other baby ever. We'll see how I do with an almost all nighter.

It is cold in my living room but I won't go upstairs. Brian is sleeping now, he slept badly last night, and no wonder why: no one likes bad news. So I won't wake him, instead I will layer three blankets on the couch and drink three big glasses of water like I was taught in college and hope for some sleep and no hangover-y feelings in the morning.

It's not all bad. I have a sister and a man and a couch and some money to go to a speakeasy and some money to take a class, and I am doing better than most people. But there are times, you know, when I think we should be cut a break, that we've had enough, that we've learned our lesson or earned some peace and quiet. But life's not like that, no guarantees, so we have to get stronger, and we have to grow closer, but before I get stronger it's nice sometimes to get a little drunker. And to float a bit and laugh a bit and speak speak speak a bit of everything, a bit of secret nonsense. Even if there is a price to pay in the morning.