A Glass of Wine

A toast, a uniting spectacle intertwining spirits and spirit. Swaying bubbles that flow just enough to lick the rim of glass. The opaquest deep burgundy couldn’t hide a grin wider than glasses in front of faces. Exuding cheer looks like every single one of my artisanal teeth breaking free from mutism. I was always hyperaware of the way they crooked right and not down and both gaped and squished all at once. Rose had told me it was cute, ‘artisanal’ she’d correct whenever I’d bash them. Not physically though, they had gone through enough.

Crisp chimes echo forward, back and all around and I wonder if it’s Rose’s clink I can hear. Only she sits furthest away in a ring of friends, 6 o’clock, why can’t it be 12? Then maybe our hands could overlap.

‘Tight grip you’ve got there,’ Franc winked, his laugh so rich and abundant. I hadn’t even noticed the firm grip I had locked in. They always found it funny the way I choked my wine glasses, their class gave them a little more grace. I was never met with judgment though. They were rich enough to use a charger plate; kind enough brush it off when I mistakenly used it.

Fingers spread out, tips balancing the bulb. She tilts it slightly, letting the rim graze the softness of her curved cupid’s bow. They’ve shot me with the double arch of Cupid’s bow. She glances at me with that crescent of moonlight that contours her cheeks. Just enough to be shot again.

Franc, lowering his glass, places a faced down playing card. Chuckling in broken spurts to himself.  

‘Amused?’ Cher scoffed, a sardonic smile tugging at her lips.

‘No, not at all. One king.’

Cher, looking over at me quirks a brow in scepticism. I shoot back a look of ‘it’s not worth it’.

‘Bullshit?’

There’s a quiet, hush tone in Rose’s voice. Following by confusion, maybe regret?

Widening and growing in a glow of excitement, Cher’s whole body darts toward Rose. Shaking a little, there’s a light rumble of loose floorboards that follows to the centre table.

‘Say it again.’

‘Bullshit-’

Groaning, Franc barged his large frame to the centre table, picking up the disordered stack of cards. Cards separate at his touch as paper thin cards escape his bulky fingers.

‘I knew I’d seen kings already.’ Declared Rose, the triumph followed her as she knocked the centre table a little placing down two cards.

‘Two kings.’

‘Hogging all the kings now, are we?’ I tease.

‘That’s if they are kings, want to test your luck?’

My cheeks fill of something light as the puff in my cheeks cause a lopsided grin to tug at the corner of my mouth. Tugging like a puppet tied to string, except my puppeteer keeps pulling my eyes to her face. Her cheeks fill too, as glow only emits from the brightness of her cheeks. No centre lit candles could subvert my gaze. Dearer than wine she was. Only softer than aromatic champagne was the sweetness that the vestige held.

➴

Shoulders drooped in a downward slope, melting in a way four glasses gets you.

A deflation of limbs that extend into collision, interwoven at the fingertips. Reclining against faded timber of light oak, carrying the burden of two. The little ricochet that rumbles the wall as she pushes back. I can feel it. I push a little in hope she feels it too.

Candles still glowing as if no one ever left.

From a light weave of fingers to a grasp, that suffocating squeeze lightens the irregular rhythm that beats in my heart.

‘Tight grip huh?’ She squeezes back harder.

‘That’s what Franc says.’

‘Oh Franc’ she laughs ‘should I be worried about him’

‘Hey not like that.’

I set down my wine glass, the angle a little off as the little jitter I give out causes it to topple back and forth.

‘So, when are we going to do this again?’ She asks.

Catching her eye, her warmth seeps and swirls in my mind. An iris like a bronze- green beetle wing that caught in mesmerise, flutters a little. And I flutter, the kind that runs from your head to your heart. It stays there a bit and hurts in the way nervousness does.

‘The dinner party?’

‘Well yes, that or just us hanging out together is what I actually meant’.

There’s a little fantasy in the air, a feeling of unreality. Confusion it is, or maybe insecurity? Her soft melodical giggle echoes through the velvety ambience of an empty apartment.

‘You know I like hanging out with you.’ She smiles.

‘Wouldn’t I hope so?

If you liked me as much as you say, you let me take you out.’

Pausing for a second my bravery shocks me. Tipsy confidence. There’s small lipstick stain sitting on the edge of her glass that I let myself notice. A faint powdery mark that matches the curve of a mouth. Eyes in a gravitational flow follow up to her lips, tracing rose petal arcs amidst a loss for words. Trailing to and from her eyes to her lips as playfulness wore off and the air in her eyes softened into darkness. Inching closer felt automatic, as distance dimmed into nothing.

‘Careful.’ She teased with a playful smirk sitting on her lips.

‘Any closer and you’ll actually have to kiss me.’

Lingering in front of puckered lips, our breaths come heavy and uneven.

We’re so close now.

Silence stretches between us, heavy with everything neither of us is willing to say. Neither of us moves. Neither of us pulls away.

Long enough I begin to mourn the moment before it ends. A drift of thoughts that starts at Rose, wanders to Franc and finally Cher. To our little friend group. I think of all the ways we have become intertwined and how this could unravel it all. And for their sake, for the sake of all of us.

I pull away.

➴

There’s something so sinister about waking up. The way there’s silence, the kind that pierces. The way my eyes keep shutting, so I have to pry them open. Waking up early meant less sleep. Not that I was going to sleep anyways.

I wasn’t made for funerals. Only the pungency of wine this time missed my tongue and hit my eyes.

Glasses are just confinements of opportunity. The arched groove of a whole bottle tolerates grip, runs quicker down my throat. Clouds the mind in a variant of comfort that tastes a little more guilty. Sweetness doesn’t sit on my tongue; it wraps around and chokes any relic of life. I stop before there’s too much wine in my stream. I respect Rose enough to not get drunk at her funeral, I hope she understands I can’t be sober today.

Black’s hollowness doesn’t match the dark burgundy of her favourite wine. Or the ruby red flowers her name suggests.  

Three heavy frantic knocks. Enough to make the floorboards feel cheap. Rattling a little, they shiver, feet ricocheting in loafers too large. Movements of shadows scrambling booming the echoes of footsteps.

When I let Franc and Cher in, I can’t look at them. Not properly. Cher’s arms wrap around me, folding into a tight embrace. When Franc joins us there’s a tenderness to him, I’ve never seen before. Something unguarded.

No one is crying. Everyone is sobbing.

Franc’s breath reeks of wine in the same bitterness I know it clings to mine. Cher has a linger of Rose’s perfume, that faintly familiar scent weaves between thought and reality.

I don’t mention it.

I step outside and pull the door closed behind me.

Cher descends the stairs towards a comically oversized black car waiting at the curb. Franc follows, then catches the back of my shirt. He tugs me towards him and leans close, his voice barely audible beside my ear.

“Don’t regret anything. Don’t think about anything now. It’s not worth it.”

I stare at the pavement.

“I could have.”

“Yeah?”

A silence.

“I regret it.”