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His father didn’t drive his mother to drink. He hit her to it. And left her to it. There was another woman, of course. The last time he saw his mother, she was yellow and bloated in a hospital bed. His lover knew this because he told her two months after they met—the second time they saw each other, second time they touched other, second time they shared a bed. The last time she saw him, he left bruises on her arms that turned yellow two weeks later. I didn’t hit you. I shouldn’t have shoved you, but I’d never hit you. fuck that distinction, she texted back. I love you, even if you don’t love me. She didn’t reply. She had three-quarters of a bottle of whiskey left. She drained it. Down the sink. She knew it would kill him if she drank like that. |
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Drink by Elizabeth Kate Switaj
Filed under Elizabeth Kate Switaj
Nice switch in pov, and it still spells out a history, a family script.
Stunning in its bleekness; ‘fuck that distinction’ indeed. Sounds like the kind of distinction my father would have made.
I like the subtext as well; he insisting he is NOT like his father, she not willing to accept what his mother had (am I reading this correctly?). Not sure I get the last sentence, though.
Would it make more sense to you if the sentence “I won’t do to you what my dad did to my mom.” were added to his first text, ie just after “…but I’d never hit you.”?
Actually, I got that; it was ‘She knew it would kill him if she drank like that’, but that’s okay.
Right, I thought it might be a piece of missing information that would help with the interpretation of the last sentence. Thanks though!
So in the end she wanted to make him suffer. Loved the way he tried to justify himself as being different from his father, and the girlfriend didn’t take it.
This was very well done.
Wow. You got in two families histories in such a short space, and what a story! Leaves me breathless. Peace…
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