On this particular subject, Cersei was right: “An unhappy wife is a wine merchant’s best friend.” And not just unhappy wives. Unhappy friends, unhappy workers, unhappy scholars. Unpeaceful minds, restless hearts.
All things may be lost, all lovers may disappear, but wine remains. Always a companion for the needy. Red to keep you warm on cold, lonely nights, rosé for a pick-me-up in sad summers, and white for the more sadistic, a reminder of the bitterness and dryness of the world.
This glass I have with me now is a pretty pink, the sort of pink the water turns when a drop of blood falls inside it. Only slightly blemished. On cheerier days, I would say it looks like a dark cherry blossom, a spring time delight, a symbol of growth and beauty. It tastes of fresh berries. On the first glass I could still taste the sourness of my pain, but now, half way through the second glass, only a fruity tang remains. It smells of the days I was happy, walking through our garden and soaking in the fragrance of the petunias that grew outside our front door, the scent of the peach roses behind them. There’s a hint of lavender somewhere too.
You can have a glass too if you’d like. Join me in this false felicity, this counterfeit contentment. When your head begins to lighten, we can pretend the world is free of trouble. We can forget the things that disturb us and dance away our darkest thoughts.
We can ask the wine merchant why he does what he does. Does it please him to see us in a state of bogus bliss? Our smiles are nothing but a product of the intoxication, but perhaps he loves the fact that before his work was done, we wore only unfortunate frowns. Our faces were sallow but now, they blush as red as the grapes that made the barrel he is rolling now. Shall we ask him if he enjoys it too? The escape. The temporary flight to what seems an endless paradise. Does he also trap his demons inside bottles? Is that, perhaps, why his red wine often looks black? Has he tricked us?
And what about you? What is it you flee from when you drink? If you ask me, I flee my own mind. What a busy place. A never ending battle of theory, a war between right and wrong, a struggle with morality. I flee from my heart too. What an inconvenient thing to have, a heart. Had we been free of its burden, its feelings, its sympathy, perhaps we would be able to live freely, without the heaviness of loneliness, the pain of rejection, the uncertainty of love, the anxiety of vulnerability. With a heart comes several liabilities. Heart break, disappointment, regret. Sometimes it all gets too much. How many let downs can you account for? How many times do you have to be lied to before you give up? How much fear of these things should be allowed before your life becomes a ruin? The absence of an answer is a sorrowful thing. Perhaps the wine merchant knows. After all he draws the map to this getaway.
Perhaps it matters not. We’re here now in this artificial heaven. We might as well float on the clouds while they’re still full. When it all fades away, we can hold each other. We can protect each other from the things that go bump in the night. I could try to shield your view from your most haunting thoughts if you promise you’ll stay with me when my minds makes the objects in my room disappear and I feel like the only one roaming this earth.
When it gets too tough, we can visit the wine merchant again. He can tell us a story to make us feel better, and then he can laugh with us when we finish the next angelic beverage he makes.
Everyone else may leave, but the wine merchant is always there. Even if you leave, or if I do, at least we taught each other where to go…
Sasha's Space 