Coca Cola

I was eleven. He was thirteen. It was just another sticky summer afternoon in the back of the church van. We sat together shyly. The puppets peeked over the back seat as cool cans were passed back. There was one too few, and we magnanimously offered to share. He popped the tab open and offered me the first sip.

I was sixteen. He was eighteen. It was just another humid summer afternoon at the theme park. We had ridden roller coasters until I was nearly sick with pleasure and nausea. At lunch, we shared a large Coke, the plate-sized pizza, and Caesar salad. We discussed our favorite rides between sips of sweet fizziness and grins.

I was twenty. He was twenty-two. It was just another hot summer afternoon on the cruise ship. The diamonds on my finger glimmered with pride and excitement. We sat on the top deck, watching others board and munching on buffet fare. I took a sip and handed the cup back to him for a last drink before sauntering on the deck, hand in hand.


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