Fourteen

Life

At fourteen, I swiped a jug of my grandma’s

potato peel hooch, then led my friends to

a forest that started up behind an old quarry

road. The forest went on forever, and we

had botanicals to sniff, so we bled into

the tree line, heading for the swamps.

I yanked the cork, THUNK, and tipped

the jug to my lips. Jim and Todd

looked on in amazement while I forced the 

notorious stuff down, staggered sideways, and 

watched the treetops spin like pinwheels.

“I hate my old man,” I wheezed, wiping my mouth

with the back of my hand.

Todd reached for the jug and glanced at Jim.

“So do we,” he said with a laugh.