2014 Katey Lehman Creative Writing Award
Alcoholic, Anonymous
by Holly Pritchard
Six days. That’s all he could last before he gave in to the urge,
to the need. He reasoned that this would be his last drink and then he
would be done—done for good—and this time, he meant it. The past
promises he made to his wife and his kids were attempts to appease their
concerns, to control their nagging. This time was different because no
one asked him to quit. Now everyone just accepted drinking as part of
his personality, much like a dry sense of humor or a charming attitude.
This promise he had made only to himself. And if a man can’t keep a
simple promise to himself, well then he really isn’t a man, is he?
The whiskey bottle clinks loudly against the low-ball glass as his
hand shakes violently, struggling to control the pour. His first drink in six
days and he can taste the liquor before it even touches his lips. All other
signs of alcohol are gone. This is the only bottle that remains, a bottle he
has hidden away from plain sight—his emergency stash. No one knows
about this bottle of Maker’s Mark except for him. It is in the same place
he has always hidden his stash through countless attempts at sobriety,
lodged behind a row of old records in the bottom cabinet of a lopsided
entertainment center that holds no television. Aside from him, no one
has opened that cabinet in years; the perfect hiding place for a man who
likes his whiskey served neat.
He drinks the double whiskey in one long gulp, leaving little time
to savor the flavor before he is pouring a second. Then a third. A fourth.
By the fifth, the shaking has lessened and he waits for the full effect of
the liquor to hit. He has managed to down five doubles in less than seven
minutes; a normal person couldn’t drink this much in one night. He slips
the whiskey bottle back into the cabinet before stumbling to the couch
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