The Flask

The Flask

It was a cold, cold morning. I stepped outside and I could quickly feel the winter in my bones. It was then that I decided to step back into the house and get that little something that would warm me up while on route to work. I didn’t want to wake-up my wife and kids sleeping snuggly in their beds so I quietly unlocked the metal garage door and headed towards a tiny wooden cabinet where I kept everyday stuff such as keys, money, ids, pens, notepads, and most importantly, the object of my desire; my flask. I quietly crept out just as quietly as I crept in. I became accustomed to that warm sensation of bourbon on cold winter mornings back in Philly back during the late eighties, while working at the navy yard. I used to stop at the Stadium Bar before boarding the subway on Snyder Avenue. My buddy Craig would order two shots of bourbon and a cup of coffee. He did one shot before the coffee, and the other shot after the coffee. I just did two shots and skipped the coffee. These thoughts went through my mind in the early morning silence of winter. I reached for the flask and stuck it in my jacket pocket, but not before shaking it to see if it contained an adequate amount, and then untwisting the cap for a quick shot. I walked out the door, ready to brave the frigid wind blowing in from the River Plate. I got to school and shortly after boarded bus, on route to the theater to rehearse for the annual concert. There were around forty kids, most of which were either shouting at each other or out the window at someone walking down the street. Sometimes I would catch some of them giving pedestrians the finger; something quite common I’ve come to learn. I walked down the aisle making sure they all had their seatbelts properly fastened before taking off. My mood tended to be jovial on the school bus and I normally joked or tried to be funny. I would say things like: “Ladies and gentlemen, your on-board entertainment will begin shortly, but first your stewardess will come round with complimentary snacks and drinks. We hope you enjoy your ride on the magic bus.” Some of the kids laughed, others had no idea what I was talking about. We arrived to our destination and I helped to escort the children off the bus and into the theater as rehearsal quickly got underway. I hung my jacket on the back of a seat and got on the stage to lend a hand, but not before securing my flask snuggly inside one of the side pockets of my blue Adidas jacket with the three representative white stripes running down each sleeve. Rehearsal lasted about three hours and by that time, I was quite tired and distracted. When it was time to go, I gathered the fourth graders and led them back onto the bus. Twenty minutes later, we reached the school and disembarked. I entered the school and suddenly realized that I had left my jacket hanging on the theater seats. “My flask, “I said to myself as I quickly left and hurried home. I got my car keys and sped back to the theater, all the while hoping my jacket was still there; I loved that flask and could really give two shits about the jacket, which I had found on the bus three weeks before. But the flask was a gift from an old friend that had been to Germany and brought it back especially for me to fill with bourbon. I reached the theater and hurried to the stage where some stage hands were putting up some props and arranging some cables. “Hola,” I shouted up to the stage, as the workers gave no response but just a glance.
“Did anyone find a jacket by any chance?” I asked in Spanish.
“Yes, blue with white stripes?” the worker replied.
“Yes, yes!” I replied enthusiastically.
“The principle took it,” he replied as the thought of the principle finding my flask sent my heart plummeting into the hollows of my stomach.
“Ok, gracias,” I replied as I quickly got back into my van and sped back to the school; all the while thinking of what I would tell the principle, my boss, about having a flask full of bourbon in my jacket pocket, and why I had brought it to school. The obvious excuse came to mind; it had been left in my pocket and unknowingly taken to school. The perfect excuse, I thought, plus it was no crime to carry a flask, especially during the frigid winter. I reached the school and parked my van at the door. I rang the bell and the school secretary opened the door. “Paul, the principle found your jacket and she says you can have it back, but not the flask,” she said with a grim on her face. A sense of disturbed relief came over me, noticing the comical gestures which the secretary displayed in her words. I stepped into the school as the she told me to wait for the principle in her office. I walked into the principal’s office and stood waiting, thinking about what I would say to justify the need to carry a flask of bourbon in my pocket. Suddenly, I heard heavy footsteps approaching down the ceramic corridor. Meanwhile, I got flashbacks of my high school days, and thought, “I can’t believe I’m 42 years old and waiting for the principle to scold me, just like in high school.” Just then, the principle walked in. “Perry,” she said, “Don’t bring this to school anymore,” as she reached inside her purse. She handed me the flask as she looked into my eyes. “It’s quite good, what is it?” she asked, as relief swept through my soul. “Bourbon, Jim Beam,” I replied, while taking hold of my dear flask. She smiled and then I smiled, as I proceeded to exit her office. I put my jacket on and placed my flask securely back into my jacket, but not before realizing that it was not as full as it had been before I forgot it in the theater. A little bourbon never hurt noone. The End.