I was cleaning out the fridge today and I found it— a cold one with your name written all over it.
It was the brand I never liked.
So, I popped it open and sniffed it.
It smelled like your breath. It reminded me of your laugh. It made me think of dancing with you barefoot in the grass with fireflies dancing around us.
You had written your name on it in that Detroit Tigers logo orange permanent marker you loved. As if you needed to write your name on that putrid tasting beer.
It made me think about you.
And so I thought about you over and over.
Over and over.
Until I just couldn’t take it anymore.
I stood with that awful beer in my hands. It was cold in my hands. Some of it dribbled down to my hands. I could feel it scenting my skin.
I yelled and threw the beer can at the wall. It hit the wall with a splatter and a splat! I ran over to the can and stepped on it. I stomped on it. I yelled as I crushed it flat.
It was so flat.
My shoes were wet.
My feet were cold.
And my wall smelled like the cold beer that had your name on it.