Falling On Mt. Ascutney

Flash Memoir by Michael Field

Sitting on a barstool by the fireplace looking out at the snowscape, I am savoring the velvety smoothness of my second O’Ascutney. It is St. Patrick’s Day weekend, and the bartender has spiked my favorite liquor, Bailey’s Irish Cream, with an additional shot of Irish Whiskey. I don’t feel it now but will when I stand up.

As I unwind, I think back. My day, then my life, scrolls backwards as if a projector had been left on while the film rewound. My mother is in a nursing home, and I might have to abort this weekend’s outing to be at her bedside. Nursing home aides have a way of knowing when death is near. I didn’t carpool on this afternoon’s drive from Connecticut to Vermont so I could jump in the car should the dreaded call come.

I don’t know how to ski but I signed up for Emily’s ‘Weekends To Go’ cross-country skiing trip because other outings with her turned out to be fun. Plus, my coworker, Harry, said he is coming with his girlfriend, Maggie.

Although currently dating two women, I came alone. While stimulating in many ways, neither of these women strike me as the life partner I am looking for. A year ago, I told my therapist I would be remarried within three years. My divorce was finalized, bringing a bad, yet somehow twelve-year long, marriage to its inevitable end. Despite (or because of) that, I was prepared to start anew.

How much did I change over that decade plus? I married Janet because I thought she loved me when nobody else would. I stayed married to her because I thought I could fix her. I was wrong on all counts. I needed to fix myself. Janet didn’t love me; rather, she thought she needed me. Ultimately, she fixed herself by finding her soulmate. As for me, I am still searching for mine. I did find the person, though, who would love me – I learned to love myself.

“Last call!” The bartender breaks my reverie. After a short, brisk, staggering walk on legs made unsteady by Irish whiskey, I stumble into the large suite Emily arranged for the weekend. There, I find a half dozen or so chatting in Emily’s bedroom. I greet Harry and Maggie, then look around to see who else I know.

Michael Field transitioned from a career marketing technology to creative writing. He specializes in flash memoir pieces, stream of consciousness essays, and insightful reflections. He has had multiple works recognized in literary contests including a first-place prize in the Friends of the Chautauqua Writing Center Adult Prose contest. His works have been published in magazines, literary journals, and an anthology, Memory as Muse.