Bring On Lemons

Finding Clarity - a fictional lesson in communication. The scotch burnt his throat in a good way. He balanced the sail plan with the tiller lashed so the sailboat would rest quietly for the night. Her name was Clarity, written in lovely script across the bow. She was only 12 feet. Some might call her a dingy, but Jeremiah was in lust with her. Others questioned his sanity because he couldn’t swim a stroke. She was just what he needed when he dragged himself out of the office on rare occasions. Tonight was his night to sleep on the boat, several miles off shore. He was alone. He was lonely. As the last drop of the malt whiskey trickled down his throat, Jeremiah was reminded of the small red droplets on the living room carpet so long ago. He closed his eyes to block out their past; after all, exactly a decade had passed. He poured another glass. He had promised his sponsor that he wouldn’t let this anniversary shake his sobriety, and then he promised himself that just one glass...