She was getting a divorce. And to think that she had married a man who fights for human rights. His lawyer had a cast on his arm and spoke with a lisp. He said, “thith cath is an open and thath cath!” And she had asked him, “I’m sorry, what?” And he had repeated, “open and thath cath!” Her soon-to-be ex husband had sighed and said, “open and shut case, Mildred!” And she had laughed and said, “you cant even be trusted to get a lawyer who speaks English!” That was mean. But divorce is mean.
She was 28 years old and getting divorced. Married for slightly longer than the time it takes to defrost chicken. On her honeymoon he woke up to find her sitting by the window, legs folded under her, drinking straight from the bottle of complementary champagne. She was drunk. Propped on his elbow he said, “do you plan to stay sober long enough to experience this moment?” She imitated his voice; “do you plan to stay sober long enough to experience this moment?” He had chuckled because it was especially funny because she was naked, save for her tiara.
Now she lies at the beach in Watamu. She’s smoking a cigarette after reading this book about a Drunk man and she’s weeping. She’s not weeping because the protagonist in the book reminds her of herself or because her marriage has ended before she even shaved, but because she just remembered how unnecessarily mean she was to his lawyer. How that spoke to the person she had become inside, a person her dead mother would have frowned upon; someone who makes fun of people who can’t say the words “open and shut case.”
Pouting, she sips her champagne and sniffles. A waiter comes and stands above her and says, “are you okay, madam?” Blocking the sun with her forearm to get a better look at the waiter she says, “thith thampagne is now warm.” Then she starts laughing. And she doesn’t stop.
For details on how to purchase Drunk, see bio :)