Writing Dry

Writing Dry

Friday.

Janet sits at the kitchen table, staring at her phone.

“Write a story about a character participating in Dry January.”

In all her 70 years, she’s never tasted alcohol. Well, there was that time junior year that left her heaving in the bathroom with her mother standing outside the door calling her names. Once, it turned out, can be enough.

After that? Janet rubs her eyes, searching for relevant memories, anything that could be of use.

Cooking sherry surely doesn’t count.

There was that time Ed took her to that fancy restaurant and ordered cherries jubilee for them both. The squeaky cart, the waiter’s practiced movements, the flash of fire, her recoiling at both the flame and the smell of the burning brandy. Did she eat the dessert? Did she enjoy it? She couldn’t quite remember.

Ed will be up soon. Time to get breakfast ready. Eggs and toast today.

Saturday.

Janet sits at the kitchen table. She picks up her phone.

“Write a story about a character participating in Dry January.”

She’d been entering these writing contests now for months, every week grabbing her phone to see the week’s writing prompts. Almost without fail, they stirred something. A character, a setting, some situation she could relate to. Sometimes her ideas turned into something real, stories she was proud of.

But Dry January. It’s been a full day now. And nothing. A drought. An idea drought.

Ed will be up soon. Time for breakfast. Pancakes.

Sunday.

Janet sits at the kitchen table. She takes out her notebook, adjusts her reading glasses. She prefers to start in longhand and then move to her laptop only once she’s worked things through.

A blank page. Nothing.

She reminds herself that she is a writer. All it takes is a little imagination. You can be somebody else. Anybody else you can think of. More than one person.

Sundays are easy. Just a muffin and coffee for Ed.

Monday.

Breakfast done, cereal bowls wiped clean, Janet sits at the kitchen table and opens her notebook. Ed was out late last night with his longtime friends. There’s something there.

Story One. Comedy. It’s late at night in a smoke-filled man cave. Four bleary-eyed poker-playing buddies look at each other across the table, suddenly out of conversation. Alex takes a chug from his beer and says he’s heard about this thing called Dry January. Mack emits a loud burp and Jack and Freddy both groan, but Alex continues. Let’s give up alcohol for January, he says. Jack puts down his beer and reminds everyone that January has New Years and the Bowl games, so that won’t work. Then Freddy pipes up, suggests maybe February, but Alex shoots that down. Super Bowl. Mack, suddenly alert, says forget March. St. Patty’s Day. Freddy takes another swig from his beer and chimes in to say there are a couple of birthdays in April, so no to April.

Over the next hour, they examine their phones, calendars, schedules. Every month has something. Mack realizes he needs to put his anniversary into his phone. Jack has forgotten to add the kids’ birthdays. And the cat’s adoption day. Alex says that’s not really a thing, and who drinks on their cat’s adoption day, anyway?

They start bartering over holidays and events, figuring out which are truly important, ranking them by the need for alcohol. Alex says he’ll give up his wife’s birthday if Mack gives up his kid’s graduation. The discussion teeters on the edge of becoming a bit heated when, finally, Mack says how about we agree to just give up the hard stuff. Beer is OK. Beer is just beer. There are nods. Totally reasonable. Tempers ease and they make a joint decision. Zero, zip, nada alcohol on alternating Tuesdays for the next sixty-two months (except for the first Tuesday in September because of Jack and Julie’s anniversary). Mack asks whether beer is OK. Beer is still OK, the others confirm.

Decision made, they raise their cans in a toast. Finding them empty, they each reach for another one, pop them open, and drink to their continued good health.

Tuesday.

It’s Ed’s golf day. He gets up early, so Janet just makes herself some coffee and thinks. Ed loves his political shows, talking heads that yammer away at and over each other until it turns into an incomprehensible cacophony of red-faced, finger-pointing bluster. She picks up her notebook.

Story Two. Social Satire. Mayor Jackson is up for reelection. The problem is he’s sliding in the polls. Some find him too woke. Others think, given his advancing age and increasing forgetfulness, he’s never fully awake. With the election months away, he gathers his campaign staff into his office to generate ideas. His chief of staff says that there are too many people moving in the from the next town over and it’s changing the demographics. His “Build a Moat” idea, though, is quickly shot down.

Going around the table, ideas are discussed and discarded until we land on Freddie, the aide to the junior assistant to the deputy campaign manager in charge of social media outreach. Freddie points to polling that says the Mayor’s numbers are sliding among a key demographic. Two increasingly powerful interest groups, Teens for Temperance and Parents for Prohibition, have joined forces and are demanding action to confront the growing prevalence of alcohol in our culture, our movies, our music, our very lives. Having gained the Mayor’s attention, Freddie clears his throat and proposes a citywide campaign for a Dry January.

Mayor Jackson has restless leg and is tired of sitting and needs to go to the bathroom. He makes a command decision. The next day, he announces the initiative at a press conference. National headlines and attention follow. Mayor Jackson’s base is energized. His fundraising soars. He extends the endeavor in February, and the following month, and the month after that.

By late spring, however, the press starts calling it a plan to Make May Less Merry. Campaign contributions start to dry up. Bars and restaurants suffer from lost revenue. People are caught on video getting physical over minor incidents.

By August, the election just months away, his campaign once again cratering, Mayor Jackson calls Freddie into his office. Freddie has looked at the latest polling and proposes transitioning from Abstinence August to Sipping September. It proves a great success, voter enthusiasm soars, and the proposal quickly morphs into Octoberfest for All.

It’s Election Day. As the voting returns start to come in, with his staff celebrating in the background, Mayor Jackson turns to Freddie and names him his new Chief of Staff.

Wednesday.

Janet sits at the kitchen table. Ed says he’s putting on weight, so it’s just a granola bar today. She thinks about that movie they watched last night. Disagreeable people leading charmed lives who don’t realize what they have. She starts to write.

Story Three. Serio-comic-satiric drama. Every other week, three successful millennial couples meet at one of their homes for a potluck dinner. It’s a tradition they’ve managed to keep since college. An adult night talking about real things. Off the table is any talk of kids and work. Everything else—politics and religion included—is fair game.

One evening, a few drops of bordereaux staining a new cream-colored couch, followed by one spilled glass of pinot on a beige rug too many, they come to the mutual conclusion that too much of their social life depends on social lubricants. Alice suggests they have a Dry January. James suggests they go further and extend it beyond the month. Frank says what the hell, let’s make it a contest. Margaret says great idea, we all chip in and the couple who holds out the longest gets an all-expense paid trip to a health spa downtown. Kevin says no, we need bigger stakes, Hawaii. Sylvia looks around the room at her friends, is skeptical, but finally gives in. They toast their friendship.

It starts out well. Everyone is supportive of the other. Over time, cracks appear. Tempers get short. Alice is seen crying while drying the dishes. Frank gets into a quarrel with his boss. Margaret forgets to pick up her mom from the airport. Sylvia realizes that, although she loves her kids, she really doesn’t much like them. Alice catches video of James on his nursery crib cam sneaking a drink that might be something other than water. Meanwhile, Sylvia’s post about the contest goes viral. Overnight, they are media celebrities. Paparazzi stake out their homes, trail them to everywhere, trying to land a scoop, evidence of someone taking a drink.

The couples meet again. It’s gotten out of control. They agree they need to stop and get on with their lives. Then Sylvia’s phone chimes. It’s an offer for a book deal. Another chime. A merchandizing deal, lucrative product endorsements, followed by talk of a reality show.

Months pass. Five of the six are assembled in a green room waiting for the premiere of their live cable talk show. But where’s James? Just ten minutes to go live. They start to get anxious. James finally arrives, pulling something from his overcoat. A bottle. Without saying a word, he takes a long swig, wipes his chin, and stares at the others. He then passes the bottle to Sylvia. She studies it, decides, drinks. In turn, they all take a drink. Before they head out to the studio, Alice suggests some mouthwash.

Moments later, the six friends head out to the stage. The cameras show them holding hands, smiling wide. Ideal friends leading ideal lives. The audience rises to their feet in a standing ovation.

Thursday.

Janet sits at the kitchen table. She leans forward and pages through her notebook. Her writing is filled with carets, cross-outs, and stray thoughts that curl around the edges.

She needs to pick one. Time is short.

She chooses, discards the other characters that have been swarming in her head for days. Poof. Gone.

She breathes in, deep and long, then reaches for her laptop and sets to work.

Ed can make his own oatmeal.

Friday.

Janet sits at the kitchen table. One final read through. She finds a few cockroaches, typos that have somehow managed to survive countless edits. All good. Save. Then one more final read through. And just one more.

Save. Select all. Copy. Paste. Send.

Her shoulders relax. She sighs and takes a moment to wonder who might read her story, like it, even go so far as to comment on it.

But right now, she needs to look at this week’s prompt.

“Write a story about someone who wishes they could turn back time.”

She smiles. Easy. It will write itself.

Ed wanders into the kitchen, scratching his belly.

Damn. She’s forgotten all about breakfast.