The Weight of Dreams

“Yeah, well it doesn’t.” Beth’s mood was obstinate and boiling.

We wandered back along the road to the grove where we sprawled out in a circle. The sun was on its way down, the day cooling. Benji had brought back out the halfempty bottle of gin. Benji was the only one of us that had drank gin before. Beth sipped nervously and then scrunched her face at the taste.

“You gotta drink it faster,” said Benji. “It’s not like beer.” He took the bottle and swigged quickly, throwing the gin straight to the back of his throat. “That’s what my brother told me. You taste it less, but feel it more.” Benji handed the bottle back to Beth, whose face was still pinched in disgust. She looked at the bottle, unconvinced, and then attempted to throw back the gin as Benji had demonstrated. I watched the clear liquid slosh forward in the bottle. Beth coughed and sputtered, spraying gin over the ground.

“Don’t waste it,” cried Richie, taking the bottle from Beth.

“I think I like beer better,” said Beth.

“Yeah, but you have to drink way more beers to get drunk,” said Benji.

Beth shrugged. “So?”

Benji raised his eyebrows but didn’t answer. Richie tilted his head back and gulped at the gin. I could see that it took e ort for him to keep himself from coughing as he handed the bottle to me. His eyes were wide and diamond-glinted. I reminded myself not to sni the bottle as I brought it up to my face. I tilted the bottle up quickly and liquid rushed into my mouth, hot and unpleasant. I forced myself to swallow, but the taste remained, a glowing thing. I handed the bottle to Benji and waited to feel the things I was made to believe I would feel. I waited to experience whatever vital component alcohol seemed to provide. I felt a smile spread on my face as I watched Beth attempt to take another drink from the bottle. She held the gin in her mouth, shaking her head.

“Do not spit it out,” said Richie.

I laughed. Beth swallowed and stuck out her tongue. “I’m done,” she declared. “I don’t want anymore.”

“That means there’s more for us,” said Richie, taking the bottle.

WE WENT OUR separate ways as the sun hit the edges of things and turned the sky orange. To us, the night felt like the world of high schoolers and adults. We didn’t want to be caught in it. Sometimes, when it got dark, we went to the roller rink or to the movies, but usually we went our separate ways. When I stood to leave the grove, I felt the gin moving in my body, I felt the sky moving in its oceans overhead. I felt an excitement at the idea of being drunk. I felt a ection toward my friends and I was smiling as I walked home. Things were transitioning, lights going o or coming on, people heading out or going home. The heat was being sifted out of the air. A stoplight

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