Half Full (bp coyle)

His mother was permanently a bit drunk. Never blotto, never sober. She seemed to always have a half empty glass of white wine beside her. Or half full, I didn’t know her feelings on such things. I disliked the smell.

She was cheerful, a little too much so. Too interested in things, my family, school, extra curricular activities. Too hands on. As if trying to make for something, her semi-inebriation perhaps.

It was a long time ago of course, maybe that was just a single time and I am remembering it wrong. Maybe…

His mother was nice, don’t get me wrong. She helped with French as my own mother didn’t have a word of it. She was patient and a better explainer than my teacher, it was thanks to her that I aced the subject, no question.

The fact was that she scared me. My family were total abstainers and I hadn’t spent time around alcohol before, let alone an alcoholic.

My friend often come for a sleepover at my place, I never went for one to his. I never asked. I didn’t want to know what his mother was like as the night, the drinking, went on.

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