Just Like Kids

(Please click on the title for a reading aloud by the author.)

The three of us, E., R. and myself, stood at the counter with our steaming cups of spiked hot chocolate. We furtively glanced at each other and giggled.

On our hike earlier in the day, to combat the cold and wind and snow we got talking about warm things. “Chicken soup!” “A fire in the fire place and a glass of red wine!” “Pumpkin pie with brandy in it! …forget the pie and just go for the brandy!” “Hot chocolate!” The shared good humor helped as we climbed the mesa high over the Chama River.

Driving home, O. was at the helm, I was riding shotgun and E. and R. were huddled in the back seat. It was getting dark, we were tired and hungry and chilled. The Subaru’s heat roasted us in the front but left those in the back wanting. As the general store in Abiquiu approached we decided to make a pit stop and get something hot to drink. The store is the genuine article with frying pans, fishing tackle, winter hats, bird seed, groceries, nuts and bolts and snacks and beverages. Behind the cashier’s counter a selection of small bottles of hard liquor glimmers in the hard light.

We made use of the rather grim facilities. E. found her way to the hot chocolate maker. R. and I followed suit. In short order we had the little machine running for all it’s worth. Place the cup like so and push and hold the green button. With a reassuring whir from deep within, foamy hot chocolate shot from the spout. We turned to the adjacent counter to get tops for the cups and E. produced a little paper bag. It had a golden bottle top protruding from it, and with a grin she said, “I got some rum… think it’ll be good in the hot chocolate?” There was a general consensus this was worth a try, so R. and I each gave her a couple dollars.

E. asked, “Think we ought to do this in the car or…?”

I looked around and shrugged my shoulders. We were out of the cashier’s view and it was otherwise quiet. “I don’t think it will be a problem,” I said. So we cracked the bottle and each of us poured a shot into our hot chocolates; the bottle got away from R. and whether she intended to or not, she splashed a most generous dollop into her cup. I handed out wooden stirring sticks. “Keep these in case we get stranded, we can make a fire.” And so we partners in crime sipped our hot chocolates and knew we were being naughty. The rum was a tasty addition.

Being the designated driver, O. abstained. Thank you O. As she chauffeured us back to Santa Fe we three slipped into a happy mellow buzz. It was all more fun than I’ve had in a long time.

Gordon Bunker