Jack Daniels
I don't have this drink that often because it holds some special memories for me. But last night I went to a BBQ and I ended up polishing off two four-packs of Jack & Coke in bottle format all by myself.
The first time I drank Jack Daniels was at the age of 17. I drank a lot of it. All on the one night.
It was my birthday and two friends of mine, lets call them Michael and Michael, bought a bottle of the stuff as a birthday present and brought it to school. So, 'straighty-one-eighty' Danny ends up carrying a bottle of whiskey in his backpack for the whole day. At school. To class. Where all the teachers are. I didn't get caught, but I did have a whole lotta worry on me.
Once the day was over the three of us boys headed up to the rocks near a tower at the local beach. It might have been a light tower, I can't remember. The bottle was passed around and for some strange reason I ended up consuming the larger portion of it. We then made our way down to the northern end of the beach. Michael had the bright idea of getting hold of a cask of cheap wine.
After a few plastic cups of that it was just like drinking water. Each successive cup went down unnoticed, much like mouthwash wouldn't if it was swallowed.
I remember confessing I had a crush on a particular girl and I'm sure it meant a whole lot to me, but it just fades into obscurity with the passing of time.
Another friend or two turned up later, but by that point we were lying on the grass, in the dark, vomiting out the side of our mouths.
Obviously this helped clear my head because I jumped up and decided to leave. I remember trying to tell the others of my decision through the use of telepathy, but they didn't listen, so I walked off in a huff.
It probably took half an hour to walk home and fifteen minutes to get my key in the door.
And something like two days to recover.
During the debriefing of the evening - back at school a few days later - we discovered that I'd walked off without my ghetto blaster and that Michael had driven the others home while drunk and hit ... maybe only a few parked cars on the way.
Michael, quite the graffiti artist (seriously) tagged our names all over the bottle and I still have it on my shelf.
At Michael's funeral a couple of years ago I came up with the idea of recreating that fateful evening from so long ago. We were to fill the bottle with Jack and drink it down at the beach again, minus one. I guess the idea was a bit too morbid for the others so the bottle stays where it is.
In my room. On the shelf.
Last night's drinks were for you Michael.
Cheers.
