Thirst

My cousin and I both bought amethyst rings on the anniversary of our father's deaths. Mine died two years ago, and hers, only one year ago. Perhaps it was the baby that brought the concept family home to us. Certainly we both put off having families, and she is 14 years my junior. I babysat her as a child. Both she and her brother David are now surrogate parents because their brother and his girlfriend both bailed on his kid. The neighbors kept opinions to themselves. It was not a lack of generosity in gray matter, it had nothing to do with quantity or quality, but our parents' prodigious appetite for alcohol left us marooned on deserted islands. We all suffered, a watershed of grief. And we wear amethyst tears the color of sorrow on our fingers. Our fathers died of thirst after all. Whiskey is an Irish word. The phone rings. No one there.