The God That Comes

Wine as therapy? You tell me.

Or maybe, don’t tell my therapist. I was sent off to a session of AA when I mentioned I’d had a glass of wine while in college. My family has a history, I guess you could say. Of taking too fondly to the drink.

There is a small chance I’m talking to a wall, though.

Dionysus has summoned me. Who’s that? He’s the Greek god of wine. And he’s here to hear my funny stories. Well, funny to me, maybe.

In yesterday’s bargain bin at Grocery Outlet (don’t go here for perishable items), I ran into a problem. It was the five dollar wine dilemma. The bin was empty.

There was no wine.

This is where Dionysus starts to laugh. Perhaps it’s my demeanor: I’m weary, flighty, witty. I just need a cigarette in my hand to wave around, for delirious, addicted effect.

At check out, I run into my old flame: Ryan. He has the last bottle of Olympus Wine, the best wine five dollars can buy.

This is where it gets tricky. I start to tear up, and Dionysus seems weary. Can I pull this off, my story? There’s wine on the line.

I need this to work.

Ryan has always stirred in me great emotions, most of which have led me to tearily begging for forgiveness, like I am now. Please give me the wine. Please.

Dionysus of course appreciates the wine fervor. But I can sense that this is turning dramatic; maybe this won’t be funny after all.

Then, Ryan says something. He says: This is for my girlfriend.

It hits me like a fifth glass of pinot noir.

Luckily, I have fast hands. And it was a screw top.

I take the top straight off with one hand, and in one motion, Olympus wine is spilling down my chin and into my mouth, where it belongs.

“You owe me five dollars.”

Well, I say, slurping the remains of fermented grape off my lips. You owe me the last five years of my life.

Dionysus is laughing now, and I can tell I’ll be spared.

Ah, he says. You know, he says. I’m the Greek god known to make mortals insane.

Well, I say.

You are also a Greek god of epiphany, and I’m having one on both of us.