Glen Deveron Single Malt | Short Story

We often resort to being judgmental, before thinking. Every alcohol addict has a story, and reason why they are what they are. This is one such story about Aisha. Read on, and embrace the reality.

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She liked what alcohol did to her.

Whiskey made the world more interesting. “Not the first two shots, but the next two did”, this is what Aisha often said while casually shrugging off all worldly matters. It was never the solution to her problems, but it made the situation seem miniscule and bearable. It made her vulnerable… something she would never be, when sober.

The first sip always threw her into a state of Euphoria. The feel of alcohol getting flooded in her mouth and her taste buds getting tickled with the strong smoky and slightly wooden under-taste of Glen Deveron Single Malt.

Yes. Glen Deveron Single Malt had been her favourite for the last few months. It was Martini with a strong twist of lemon and olives before Single Malt. And freshly brewed Apple Cider Beer before Martini.

It’s not like she was proud of her addiction to alcohol. But Aisha and alcohol, had a lot of history.

Being raised by an alcoholic single mother, who did odd jobs to earn enough to buy a few drinks before resigning for the day, didn’t leave Aisha with too many options. A childhood that should have been spent playing with other kids, was spent in dragging her mother after she had passed out, sometimes on the footpath, sometimes in clubs.

On rare occasions when her mother choose to be sober, Aisha loved being around her. On one such day, she requested her mother to pick her up from school that day. She was in 5^th grade back then. To her pleasant surprise, her mother smiled, placed a careful peck on her forehead and promised to be at the school on time. Aisha was excited the entire day and went about announcing to all her friends, that her mother was to come to school that day.

When the school bell rang, marking her class’s conclusion, Aisha ran out beaming… imagining how elated she would feel to run into loving arms of her mother. She reached the school gate and looked around. At first she couldn’t locate any familiar face. But after 10 seconds of looking around once again, she saw. She saw her mother sitting on the footpath right opposite her school’s entrance. Her top falling off from her right shoulder, struggling to sit straight, looking sloshed and drained of any sense.

Aisha’s face lost its colour. She could feel a volcano of anger and disgust erupt inside her. “Is that your mom?” asked one of her friends.

Aisha eyes suddenly felt heavy, she wiped off the tears that came rolling out and started walking towards her mother. She didn’t know what to say. “Couldn’t she have not have been drunk for once?” she wondered. “How difficult was it to not pass out right in front of my school?” she questioned her mother in her head, obviously. She wanted to rattle her mother to consciousness. She wanted to do something equally stupid only to embarrass her. As embarrassed as she felt that day. Embarrassed of being her daughter.

This incident left Aisha stupefied, flabbergasted and dumbstruck beyond explanation. So much so, that she stopped going to school altogether. Not that mother said anything. Aisha was pretty sure she hadn’t even noted her constant presence at home. The weight of all the responsibilities and her mothers’ degrading health, was a little too much for her to handle.

Ironically just like her mother, she also found her escape in her childhood enemy, alcohol. It started with a simple curiosity. This led to her developing a taste, and eventually appreciation.

Now, not a day ends when she had not gulped down a few drinks. But today was not “just-another-day”. It was her 25^th Birthday. The big milestone every girl waits for. Some plan a road trip, others party with friends.

But Aisha had none of these planned. While she did have about 400 friends wishing her “Happy Birthday” on her Facebook wall and a few posts that she was tagged in, on Instagram, all she really missed was a warm and steady presence… someone who would not run away knowing the real “Aisha”. Someone who would accept her for what she actually was. Unlike her father, who could not be with her mother, or her mother who was never really there.

Someone like a Glen Deveron Single Malt.

It stayed with her all through the night, through the puking fits, through the hangover and through the next shot.

So as she downed her 5^th shot for the night, she couldn’t agree more with her mother. “No-one can really fill the void, as well as a Single Malt”.