Not Anisette

I think when I breathe, I can choose if I want winter air.

My first drink was with Ollie North, who (most people don’t know this) is brood of 6 ice gods, and hence has testicles colder than O° C. When he first manifested in human form, his name was Ollie Cold, but he thought that would be too transparent a façade.

Ollie ordered me some Jägermesiter. I was 14 at the time, and I was an aspiring drone keyboardist. Don’t ask me why a deity spawn took interest in a juvenile avant-gardist, I just went with the liquorice liquor, and it felt pretty much fine.

He’d actually covered up the label, and after the word liquor, he’d added “ice” with a Sharpie. I didn’t think twice, cause hell, it was accurate. You serve that stuff with some ice, forget it, it’s just tasty.

Sure, he let me touch his medals and play with his unloaded sidearm, that was fun. We talked about Hitchcock films, which I’d never seen, but I was feeling so strange it didn’t much affect the conversation.

At one point, he yelled about the circuit probate court and then got real quiet for a while, that was the strangest moment, cause I didn’t know what that was.

When you’re that young, you really don’t say much to adults that isn’t in response to a question.

“Do you want some more?”
-
“Isn’t it tasty, it’s good? Have some more.”

He was drinking something clear, I could make up, say, a vodka tonic, but really I’ve no idea, it could have been club soda.

About a year later, I was in high school, and somehow I found myself blurting out that Ollie North was a war hero who’d been disgraced despite an illustrious military career, sort of an empty sentiment that all men in uniform are heroes. My young, idealistic, and well-paid English teacher looked confused and muttered something about Republican politics being shitty and steered the conversation back to the general public.

 

 

by Dave Ruder

copyright 2005