It wasn’t what he said . . . 

Because . . .  

What he said was that having a few drinks was being sociable and polite, that a cocktail or two would help me relax and laugh and have a good time. I might loosen up and be happy—maybe even happy-happy—no longer ignored or laughed at and called names like ‘party-pooper’ and ‘wet blanket.’ People would stop accusing me of acting ‘hoity-toity’ and ‘holier-than-thou.’ He said a few drinks of the magic elixir could set me free and make me less self-conscious and inhibited. Alcohol was a ticket to good times and fair play. I would finally fit in, be popular and well-liked and, maybe, for Christ’s sake, I could even try dancing—just start with a slow one. 

A few drinks, he said, could improve my personality, make me fun to be around and get invited to parties. After that, with a little luck—although this was a stretch—girls would talk to me and I might even get a date. Otherwise, I would continue going through life friendless and alone and forever be the elephant in the room. That’s what he said. 

What he didn’t say. . .  

. . . was that the magic elixir could become addictive and destructive. That the line between social drinking and alcoholism is easily blurred and too easily crossed. Again and again and again. He didn’t say how seductive alcohol could be and how it would take me on carnival rides like Tilt-a-Whirls and Scramblers and buckle me into a roller coaster that wouldn’t stop and that I couldn’t get off. Good times, fair play, indeed. 

What he didn’t say was that the days of wine and roses could eventually become the days of Four Roses and Whine. My behaviors and attitudes would change; I would be paranoid and obsessive and go through life friendless and alone. Alcoholism would settle in like the backache that doesn’t show up on the x-ray, but everyone knows is there. A couple of drinks now, and I’ll try to break-dance and become the elephant in the room again. 

—S—