CREME DE MENTHE

Fourteenth Boxing Day at Auntie Blanche's.
The appetising aroma of roasting turkey
pervading every room of her three-storey house.
The entire family gathered, drinking cocktails.
Auntie's face flushed red, absurd and clown-like
in contrast to her pale blonde hair.
Being the only juvenile present, I felt left out
of their increasingly loud jocularity.
Becoming resentful, I opened my mouth to protest.
But she, ever the empath, turned to me,
took my hand and led me to the scullery.
Aah...that mysterious place
where her special glass-fronted cabinet
stood in it's alcove.
How it's contents had always
fascinated me:
a myriad of miniature bottles with exotic labels
that contained liquids in every colour imaginable.
Always strictly out of bounds to me-of course,
but that only made me covet them all the more.
Then, as if on impulse,
she quickly took a key from a drawer
and unlocked the double doors,
opening them wide.
"Choose one," she said, "Go on!"
I scrutinised her face intently
thinking it some kind of cruel joke.
But she smiled encouragingly and repeated,
"Go on!"
It took me a full twenty minutes
to make my selection -
there were so many to choose from.
I eventually decided on the Creme de Menthe
and how my hand shook as I reached
into that hitherto strictly forbidden place
to take it out.
And the taste, as I sipped from a sculptured liqueur glass
was utterly exquisite - all I had ever imagined, and much, much more.

Then, that evening the first blood came.
Nothing was ever the same after that remarkable day...
It felt like I'd finally come-of-age.