Big S was quiet today. He had just eaten lunch when I came walking by down at the shopping center. A empty to-go box from the hamburger place in the shopping center sat next to him. I moved it to the side and sat down.
"Feels like spring," he said, looking up at the brilliant blue sky overhead.
"It is supposed to break some records today," I replied as the temperature was already in the mid-seventies.
Most of the morning was spent cleaning house. Vacuuming. Dusting. All the various sundry things it takes to keep a house in order. I was glad to be finished and out of the house. I was also very glad to see Big S and him continuing his usual routines.
"Gonna camp out behind the cotton mill tonight," I told Big S, trying to drum up a conversation.
"You going to be drinking?"
"Oh, no!" I replied, emphatically. "I've given up drinking I hope."
All it took was that one little sentence Big S said and I started to fantasize and romanticize my past drinking. One of my favorite times to drink was when I was camping out. I would buy a bottle of Southern Comfort and slowly drink it until I became too drunk to stay awake. I left Big S feeling shaky in my sobriety.
"Dammit!" I exclaimed over my radio as I walked home. "I don't want to go through these cravings this afternoon."
I decided to come home and write about it, and I already feel better. It, the drinking urges, hit you when you least expect it though. Just when you think you are cured, they grab a hold of your will power and give it a good shake and stirring up.