A shot glass of pineapple liqueur on my kitchen counter. I poured it just a minute prior, though they weren’t my hands doing the uncapping, the pouring. I called you (that’s what you’re supposed to do, right? when you’re about to drink?) but you didn’t pick up. My heart is pounding. It isn’t even a full drink because what proof is a liqueur anyways? I do the math, simple math but mental math nonetheless: 34 proof. My phone rings. It’s you. You’re watching TV with your husband. I’m fine, I say. I hang up. What’s one shot of alcohol anyways?
Am Szo (they/them) is a writer, chemist, and activist living in Evanston, Illinois, USA, with their two cats. Instagram: @asb.x24