Not this Sober Since Fifteen

Moonlight waltzed 

on the river's ripples.

Steak drifted from Bill's Grill,

a soft haze settled, 

gentle and slow—

a brisk breeze cooled my skin.

Bottle in hand, label peeled,

avoiding relapse.

I open beers, hold them,

but I'm done drinking.

I sat on the cabin deck, alone.

Pine from evergreens filled the air.

Loneliness flowed 

in vacant rooms.

“Sober” by Blink 182 played

on the radio.

I bounced my knee, 

humming the lyrics.

I was sober now—

at least, I was supposed to be.

I tell everyone.

And I am.

A tear fell.

Marlina, my best friend

since kindergarten, 

helped me end 

my thirst for the liquid beast. 

We both fight the shame.

A year sober, 

each of us hoping we don't crack.

Marlina couldn’t catch me 

drinking again.

Then, like a thief,

the phone rang. 

Marlina wrapped

my car around a pole.

Sober at the hospital,

chewing peppermint gum,

I paced, raked my hair.

Not this sober 

since fifteen.

Tears and laughs 

hit differently 

sober.

She laughed 

in a neck brace.

My lips drooped. 

"This isn't funny," 

I said, brows scrunched.

“Whoa,” she said, woozy. 

“Look at you, Mr. Responsible.” 

“Get some rest,” I whispered, 

brushing her cheek.

“Could've killed yourself.”

“Are you crying, bro?” 

A single tear trailed.

She stayed a few days in the hospital

three more in jail.

A year later,

a voice flowed into the evening.

“Hello?” a voice said.

I twisted.

"Marlina?"

She stood,

dark sundress, 

bleached hair pinned,

pale skin glistening.

“I’m sober,” she said, 

smoothing her dress,

sitting beside me.

“I’m glad."

I tabled the bottle.

“Got lint," she said,

picking at my shirt.

"I couldn't sleep 

without thinking of you."

"I know the feeling," I said.

Marlina sighed.

“I know that car was—”

“I wanted you sober,” I said.

“Nothing compares to you,

not even Grandad’s expensive…”

I leaned in. 

“Did I mention expensive?”

She folded her lips, tucked her bangs.

"Yeah."

“I want to focus on us, 

not material possessions.

You jailbird, you.”

Her eyes glittered.

“Hey.” She punched my arm.

“I’m a law-abiding citizen.”

“Not wanted, are you?”

“Would you stop it.”

She slapped my hand.

She looked at the bottle.

“I’m—”

“It’s sparkling water, dude.”

A faint lips.

“You changed labels 

so I wouldn’t relapse.”

She shrugged.

“I didn’t break in. 

Your sister—”

"You're the best thing 

that’s ever happened to me," 

I said, pulled her close.

Our lips touched—

drunk off another kiss.

"You're better, 

I'm better, 

we're together," 

she said, 

eyes bloodshot, 

tipsy on love.

By Andy Cooper

X: AC0040