First Drink, by Jeffrey Griffiths

After the funeral I saw Aunt Doris smoking in the parking lot. Uncle Bert had looked fine when they closed the lid, sober for a change. I went back to Doris’ house with mom and dad in our rusty Chev Impala. All the adults drank until they loosened up enough to laugh and make some jokes. Aunt Doris slipped me a glass, “You’re a teenager now, go ahead.” I didn’t hesitate. It was my first drink. It burned my stomach. I snuck another glass and Aunt Doris winked at me. I felt smoother inside than I ever thought was possible.

From: Friday Flash Fiction

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