The Tattoo Guy (MCR FIC)

Chapter 19: Age 11

Chapter 19

Age 11

“Here son, try this it’s fresh out the bottle- stored since the year your ma and I got married.” My Pop handed me a glass of white wine- I copied him as he swirled it around in the glass making it look like a whirlpool however mine just sloshed about and rose over the side dribbling it down my hand, I could hear my father laugh at my bewildered expression and how the thin stemmed wine glass looked stupid in my hand; it was thin and delicate which made it hard to handle or keep from up-tipping. He placed a hand on my shoulder as he inhaled the ‘aroma’ from the glass- I copied but in my opinion it didn’t smell so great- it smelt of alcohol most of all but also like the desert- it was dry and tangy making my nose wrinkle and tickle. Then he raised the glass to his lips poured it back showcasing his awkward pinky jutting out from his hand holding the stem and took delicate sips from the liquid; my pinky was more awkward having a mind of its own and spanning out bolder than the others making the glass wobble as if it would tip from my grasp like a see-saw moving in a gust of wind I watched as it tried to settle itself with a grimace on my face expecting it to spill over my new Doom Patrol t-shirt. I took little sips just as my father did almost choking and withdrawing from the bitter taste the liquid had as it coated my lips, teeth and tongue before the small amount slithered down my throat with an unwelcome burn. The wine was unpleasant, not sweet at all like I thought it would, grapes were sweet and juicy- wine is like grape juice for adults because of the poison in it but I would have preferred the children’s version especially if it was Kool-Aid.

My Pop’s coy little smirk at me made me raise my glass again in a little cheers motion, I took another sip trying to stop from spitting it back out or leaving it in my mouth too long to avoid the taste but from the corner of my eye I saw Pop chug the whole glass back and down it in one- well if Dad did it so could I- I was gonna be a real man like him, I wasn’t a kid anymore, I had ‘the talk’ and I had been subjected to early puberty so why couldn’t I have a drink with my dad like I saw lots of people do on TV shows with their acting dad’s.

With a burst of courage I closed my eyes and tilted my head back allowing the tart dry liquid to run down my throat draining the contents of my glass; I pull the glass away from my lips as I splutter and cough followed by a shiver down my spine before looking at my chuckling father.

“What was that fiddly stuff for anyway?” I ask setting my glass down on the kitchen table as he poured another glass for himself chugging that down before another.

“I have no fucking idea, kid.” He almost cackled and I knew he had done it for his own amusement not for some ‘man to man, father- son’ bonding.

“I think I’ll stick to Kool-Aid.” I grumble as I grab my notebook before stomping to my room to write some Star Wars fan fiction.

Christmas was spent in the restaurant this year, Pop had set up the backroom in the family ran Italian restaurant, Elena and Pop had been cooking dinner whilst we sat around the table chatting away as a ‘familia’… it was silent apart from the odd comment my mom made to Mikey or me when we fidgeted or if a hair was out of place. In the middle of the table was a big pitcher of red wine, I had seen Pop filling it up earlier pouring bottle after bottle of the red stuff followed by another bottle of clear stuff which my mom always said was ‘the lonely man’s water’; I guess Pop was lonely because he drank a lot of it this year- it was for a good cause though; he was just being a good son for Elena as she needed different colored glass for the mosaic in the romantically themed front of ‘A Taste Of Home.’; although Elena wasn’t from Italy herself my late grandfather’s parents originated from Sicily and seeing as they grew up together they valued the classic Italian foods that my Pop had learnt to make from his Pop. I wondered if Mikey or I would learn from him how to make the little tastes of heaven that always filled our stomachs just enough for dessert which always made us feel queasy afterwards.