Page 117 of One Step Too Far

I’m suddenly so thirsty. Ravenously thirsty. I’m in my parents’ backyard, watching my father bob and weave his way back to our ramshackle tent. I’m a little girl, licking bourbon from my fingers in the privacy of my bedroom. Trying to know. Trying to understand.

Trying to discern the flavor of love.

“No more rainy days,” Miggy exhales. “No more hellos. No more goodbyes.”

“No more pain, no more sorrow,” I contribute.

“A drink for the brave.”

“A drink for the fallen.”

“Goodbye to the past.”

“Goodbye to tomorrow.”

Toast complete, he tips back the flask and swallows deep. I watch his Adam’s apple bob. I imagine the smooth whiskey burning down his throat, warming him from the inside. Even with our little fire, it’s so cold, we are so cold.

Soon enough, we will each fall unconscious. The fire will fail. The cold will take over. And our shivering will cease altogether.

Miggy coughs harshly. Spits up blood. Studies the fresh red drops on the palm of his hand.

“Goodbye to tomorrow,” he repeats.

He extends the flask toward me. I inhale once more the beguiling scent of whiskey. My greatest desire, my deepest fear.

I take it.

CHAPTER 40

Have you ever pictured your own death?

Are you old and frail, tucked in a sea of plump pillows, surrounded by the ones you love? Spouse, children, grandchildren?

Or do you prefer a blaze of glory? Young and stupid as you plummet down a cliff, crash into a barricade, slip under a bull’s thundering hooves?

Do you imagine a clinical hospital room or the comfort of your own home?

Are you alone and desperate?

Or holding the hand of that one person who made your entire life worth living?

Do you pray?

Do you beg?

Do you think, This is nothing like I ever imagined?

I don’t have the answer to any of these questions. Maybe I am loved, maybe I’m alone. Maybe I made it to old age, maybe my questionable decisions have finally caught up with me. But I have one single desire:

To die sober.

I think, as I return the flask to Miguel to finish alone, at least I got that part right.

The fire dies down. The cold digs deeper. We curl into each other. I stroke Miggy’s dark hair till his eyes close and his shivering ceases. I kiss his temple. I assure him he went down fighting.

Then I close my own eyes, and let the freezing night have its way.

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