A Glass of Wine

There was a glass of wine in the corner of the table. It was half empty. Or half full, who knows. It’s probably been a week since the wine was poured into this glass — and no one has drunk it. No one would drink stale wine. And there is no one. Not Andrew. The liquid level dropped significantly, as evidenced by the remaining red trace just above the poured wine. The glass probably could not be saved. Andrew propped his chin on his hand and frowned painfully. Any sudden movement was a headache. He couldn’t think clearly. Just like a few years ago, still on pills. When Andrew was playing exy for Palmetto University. It’s been a long time. “I should call Kevin,” Andrew thought for some reason. Kevin promised to call himself after some time to find out about the health of the former teammate. But he never called. It was almost like him. Lately, Kevin often promised to call his comrades, offered to gather somewhere and did not come or did not call. But Andrew decided he wouldn’t call. The conversation will again be reduced to meaningless talk about Andrew’s letting go of what happened. Andrew knew. He even went to Betsy’s, but it didn’t help. Everything became annoying. I even had to leave the general Fox chat because of the unimaginable amount of regrets that fell on Andrew every day. And Andrew hated being pitied. He needs to think about something else. All thoughts about Foxes always come down to Neil, and this is definitely not what is needed right now. Here we go again. Neil. Neil. Neil, Neil, Neil. It’s like he’s everywhere and at the same time he’s nowhere. Only in a glass of wine are his blue eyes looking at Andrew. Or maybe it’s not the eyes at all, but the curtains reflected in the clouded glass. But Andrew liked the version about the eyes better. There was no regret in his eyes, like everyone else. The eyes were smiling. Affectionately, with love. “Disappear,” Andrew hissed and squeezed his eyes shut. Neil wasn’t the only one who died, but it was his death that became the most discussed. A star, after all. It seemed somehow unfair to the families of the other victims, but Andrew had no time to think about it. There was still a glass half full of wine in the corner of the table. Andrew didn’t even come to the grave—there was always someone there. And along the way, annoying journalists could get caught, who consider it their duty to get into other people’s affairs and ask about how Andrew is coping with the loss. He’s not fucking coping in any way. His head kept splitting, and the glass kept standing and standing. Andrew was asleep that day. Neil offered to go with him, but Andrew refused. It wouldn’t have changed anything, they would have just died together, but at least now Andrew wouldn’t be sitting in front of a glass of wine and suffering from a headache. And if there is an afterlife, he would be there. Together with Neil, not alone, just with a damn half-empty glass of wine. And the fact that Andrew wouldn’t have helped in any way didn’t get rid of the guilt. Neil’s eyes on the glass of the glass were surprised. As if mocking. Or maybe just asking why Andrew feels guilty. The phone vibrated softly somewhere on the couch. Neil’s eyes blinked and disappeared into a red liquid that looked like blood. Andrew didn’t answer the phone. It doesn’t matter who called. Whether Kevin fulfilled his promise, or Aaron decided to worry about his brother, it doesn’t matter. The call went unanswered, and Neil’s eyes did not return. Andrew hypnotized the glass. I guess if Neal had known what was going to happen, he wouldn’t have gone there himself. And he certainly wouldn’t have invited Andrew with him. No one would have gone to the place where he would die if they had known about it. Stupid idea. Some time passed, and the glass was still on the table. The second one, from which Andrew drank, flew into the wall as soon as Andrew found out about Neil’s death. And this one, poured especially for Neil, stood here and reminded. The sun was setting over the horizon. The phone is dead. The apartment was empty. A puddle of wine was spreading under the table, and in its center lay a pile of shards. Neither half-empty nor half-full, the glass of wine was no longer on the table.