Wine, Thanks, Music.

Its cool glow was blurry in my ever drooping tired turquoise eyes. From it came the wavy sounds of a music long forgot, the sounds of an angst filled teenage summer. I sat up, wandered through the dark abyss of the lightless living room, and pushed the heavy wooden kitchen door open. There in the corner of the counter rested a an obese  shaped cheap friend, five liters of wine. Somehow I hoisted the barrel of a bottle upward, spilling the sweet smelling liquid into a glass. The familiar sound of a full glass the signal to put my friend back on his resting spot. With care I once again made my way back through the living room to finally slump deep into the open arms of a plush leather couch. My hand moved. Soon the deep purple of the wine mixed with  the dull white of teeth, an exercise not approved by the dentist, or my liver. The music continued to echo throughout the wooden interior of the house. How far I had come from those days when as used to put it, "These songs saved my life." Melodramatic of course, on par for my teenage years, of course. How far I had come from the days when being alone used to conjure deep feelings of emptiness in the never ending recesses of my heart. Oh how far I had come, such a self approving statement. Better, how much I have learned. I sucked more sweet wine from the glass, the world suddenly spun in an off putting yet comforting direction. "How thankful I am, how thankful I should stay" came the loose lipped thoughts of my brain.

It was cloudy. The intensely close sun of the southern hemisphere was now hidden, a shadow of itself the day before. I slid into a comfortable puffy black jacket as I headed out of our house and into the slight breeze which move across the lawn like a slight breath on the back of one's neck. My best friend followed as we walked along the dusty gravel road, razor barbed fences and sheep to both sides. After a half hour we came to the road, thumbs outstretched.  A pleasant ride later, by two former residents of the United States, now returned to the land of their birth for their final years of life. Twenty minutes, and a cheesecake later, we found ourselves in a car, next to a babbling three year old, driven by two of our friends, headed toward a day of giving thanks.

Turkeys roasted, new friends made, bellies bulging like the throats of bullfrogs, I laid soaking the fashionably late afternoon sun. I could hear the spattering random conversations of the groups around me, the annoyingly trendy guitar circle of hipsters, the east coast kayakers, the wild babbling of children. I could hear it all, but I could not listen. I could not listen, I was lost in the sky, I was lost in the thoughts that comes with holiday landmarks such as these.

The song changed. My eyes teetered on the precipice of sleep. I set the now empty glass down gently on the table. Time slowed, dreams meshed with reality, my limbs grew heavy on the couch. The song changed. I tried to walk toward the comfort of my bed but found my brain had become dormant. The song changed. The dull glow began to fade. The song changed.