Devonne Brown

On Tuesdays I regroup from the frenzy of Mondays, and take my Vitamin D to replace the sunshine I rarely see. 

For years, Tuesdays were reserved for after school drinking with a band of wayward teachers at a Mexican restaurant. Margaritas were the drink of their choice, but they gave me instant heartburn. I chose bourbon and Diet Coke. Then just bourbon in a pretty glass and called it sippin’ whiskey. The glass was the most important part of the experience. I liked the martini glass the best, the restaurant choices were sorely limited. They didn’t have any kind of crystal, and if they did, it certainly would not have been Waterford. It was a chain restaurant, for heaven’s sake.  It took me all evening to drink a shot. There’s power in whiskey’s burn, I knew better to arm wrestle with bourbon, besides, I had to drive. I didn’t need to read the headline, “Teacher arrested for Drunk Driving.” 

In those days, smoking was permitted in bars and restaurants. My ebony and rhinestone ten inch cigarette holder looked fine with that martini glass with dark bourbon swirling around in the bottom of it. 

 Once in a while a waiter would offer to light my cigarette, or a brave man would saunter to our table to offer the same. I could never accept a light from a man. I wouldn’t trust Jesus to hold fire that close to my face. Demurely declining, I’d light it myself with a pack of matches, one handed with my thumb, then blow perfect smoke rings in his direction, channeling Greta Garbo. 

I think about those Tuesdays with a smile when I take my Vitamin D.