Care to...lick some gravestones? He says it with a smile. He gives in to my lack of sophistication. The Lagavulin has an amazingly specific smell and taste in that all I could ever imagine is that someone took the bottle and poured the liquid out across the head of the angel lying on Mary Nichol''s grave at Highgate and then caught it in another bottle and that's what I now hold in my hands.
I know what gravestone tastes like. I grew up with boys. I can still remember it clear as day.
It was nighttime. I was ten. We stood under the trees at the center of the cemetery and Lochlan passed me up as they took turns having a swig of bravery from Caleb's flask. Caleb is eighteen, Loch is sixteen and I am not going to get any bravery in a jar, which makes me braver than all of them by default. I ran after them all all night while they played Do or Dare, and when it got late and I got desperate I finally yelled
PICK ME!!
Caleb turned and laughed.
If I have to lie on this one then you have to lick the death date, trace it with your tongue.
Oh, that's EASY, I boasted.
He lay flat on his back on the grave, arms crossed on his chest, feet together, pointing to the moon.
Okay, go for it, Bridget. He sounded so uneasy.
I sat by his head and leaned over him slightly and stuck my tongue in 1938.
It tasted like the Lagavulin of my future. It tasted like moss and death and iodine and it wasn't nearly as awful as last week's game where Christian told me if I really wanted respect and entry to the Dare Club I would eat the dead ladybug he found.
I did that too except that I swallowed it whole so it only tasted a little bit bitter and then I threw up because he told me if I left it there it would come back to life and hatch and grow ladybug babies inside me then when I opened my mouth and eyes they would come flying out of my face.
At least I don't have to eat anything dead this time.
Also? Boys suck.
When I sat back and spit out the moss from my tongue, Lochlan put his hands out to pull me up.
I think you just won the game, he tells me. He's plastered.
Caleb closes his eyes and pretends to stop breathing so we leave him there and start to run flat out across the cemetery. Cole is vaulting over headstones, Chris does slaloms. Loch throws out his hand for mine and we stay between the rows so we don't run over anyone. When we get back to the cars everyone is laughing and out of breath and I look back into the dark.
Where is he? Maybe we should go back and get him.
He'll be along. Loch lights a cigarette and blows smoke over my head so I don't breath it in. He hands off the smoke to Cole and then Caleb comes staggering out of the darkness and I scream.
He puts his arms out and drops the flask.
What? What is it?
I didn't think you were that close.
I like that Bridget is the only one who wanted to go back there and get me. You got my back, Bridgie. For that, you can have a drink. He goes hunting in a circle in the grass and finds the flask.
There's a little left, he says as he shakes it.
This is good. You're only little. He brings it to me and Loch shoves him backwards.
Naw, brother. She's too young.
She's as old as we were when we tried it.
And half our size.
She's tougher than any of us.
But I just keep staring at Caleb because he's alive, he's okay. I was worried that maybe he died for real and we were just going to leave him there in the dark. It's still a relief when I see him every time because he's still here. I didn't know at the time how final death is but maybe I did all along. That night stayed with me and we were just kidding around. Amazing how it feels when it's not for fun but for real and they don't get up. They don't come back into the light. They don't talk anymore. They're not there.
I finish my gravestone-drink and he pours me another. That's what this is for. Numbing everything. Maybe he knew all along what it would be like and this is just good practice, except it's not practice anymore. The dark is all around us, and the quiet and the weirdly-cold grass.
