2010-08-11 - 12:26 p.m.

When I was twelve, we drove down to West Virginia, for a family reunion. Everyone had dark hair and there were great big vats of pasta and meatballs and huge bowls of parmesan cheese and everything had garlic in it. Everyone knew who I was, or who my father was, but I didn't know them. It was overwhelming, but I felt in good hands, even if I couldn't have put that feeling into words, then.

One day, my dad took us on a tour of the family businesses: a small grocery store and a bar. The two shared the same building and a small hallway connected the two, in the back. The grocery was bright and clean but, once through the hallway, the bar was dark and smoky. That bar is where I saw my first and only Red Eye. It was about 11 in the morning.

A Red Eye is a glass of draft beer to which is added a shot of tomato juice and a raw egg that sort of floats on top. The woman who�d ordered it saw me staring and, smiling, drank it down in one gulp. She seemed ancient back then and had big gaps in her smile where teeth were supposed to be. When I see people smoking outside of bars in the early afternoon, I think of that old woman and her Red Eye.

previous - next