From above the refrigerator I heard you shuffle around the kitchen. I sat, tucked far-reaching, with my back against the wall. As the 1:00 p.m. hour drew near, I could feel the energy in the room shift from busy-busy morning farm chores to after lunch slow down.
You reached above the wide appliance below me and opened my cupboard door. I saw you glance nervously as you wrapped your fingers, then palm around my clear, plastic neck. You set me on the cupboard. Quickly, you reached for a short, beverage-neutral drinking glass. Click. Clank. Clack. The ice was music to your ears. As you stacked the clear, frozen cubes, they mounded full enough to cool, empty enough to swallow the vast amounts of gin you were about to pour. Then, affectionately you took your calloused hand and wrapped it around the thickness of my waist. The plastic ridges were as sensual as a lovers touch. You lifted my cap off quickly, methodically, and poured fully, leaving no room for water or mix. In a flash you replaced my cap and hid me back in the darkness of the cupboard.
For all they know, you are drinking ice water. You’ve worked all morning, after all. You deserve a break. You’re thirsty. You need to relax. Just one you tell yourself. But you always grabbed me from the darkness multiple times each day.