The First Time                                                                

  So it goes like this. A 4 year old gets up in the early morning, gets out of bed and wanders out of his room down a very short hall and into the 12 by 10 living room. The room is furnished in 1960’s mod. Pale pink couches with an almost corduroy, but stiffer, texture. Tables, blonde shiny tables with sharp angles and fake wood grain, straight tapered legs, three for each end table. There had been a party the night before and the pale blue carpet held the remains of crushed chips, cigarette ash and spilled drinks. There are cigarettes, always on the table in the glass cigarette holder. There are no ashtrays or half empty glasses or bottles, the place had been picked up. Past the console TV stereo and into the kitchen goes the lad.
  In the kitchen, about 10 by 8 with an asbestos tile floor, the table with the glossy black metal legs and the gold tipped feet and the refrigerator with the large chrome handle you pull down like a slot machine arm.
  The toddler climbs up on one of the black vinyl coated tubular steel chairs and finds some fruit floating in a bowl. He eats it. He has several pieces. The fruit was floating in the spiked punch bowl from the night before.
  That was the first time I got drunk.



  
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