Previous Challenge Entry (Level 4 – Masters)
Topic: PUNCH (08/27/20)
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TITLE: Weekend Agony | Previous Challenge Entry
By Corinne Smelker
09/03/20 -
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Mom looked over at Dad who shrugged his shoulders. “Honey, it’s Saturday morning. The earliest we can get you to the dentist is Monday.”
My eyes filled with tears, from both the pain and the knowledge I would have to live with the pain for another 48 hours.
“Here,” my mom handed me a glass of water and two aspirin. Then she handed over the bottle. “That’s all I can do for now. I’m really sorry.” I nodded my head and then winced. Even that small movement made my entire head feel like it was on fire.
This major toothache could not have come at a worse time. My parents had planned a huge party for that evening, and the house and its environs was a hive of activity. A huge spit-roast with a whole lamb was delivered and set up in the back garden. I sat in my room, gingerly holding my jaw and downing aspirins like they were candy.
As the sun set, and the stars appeared like pinpricks in the black velvety sky, our guests began to arrive, and laughter, music and conversations filtered into my room. I ventured out into the garden where there was a trestle table groaning under the weight of salads, pasta dishes, desserts, chips and dips. It all looked so amazing, and I grabbed a mouthful of jelly and custard. Big mistake! Pain suffused my entire mouth and involuntarily tears ran down my cheeks.
Bottles of wine and spirits were on the temporary bar set up next to our pool, and there I saw a huge punch bowl, filled to the brim with red punch and fruit pieces. I grabbed a glass and filled it to the brim. Oh heaven. Hunger pangs hit me as the redolent smell of roasted lamb hit my nostrils and I almost groaned. Why, oh why, did I have to get the worst toothache this weekend? I gulped down the punch and refilled my glass.
As the evening wended on I visited the punch bowl several more times. After the sixth or seventh full glass of punch I felt dizzy, and my eyes weren’t working right. I saw my mother on the other side of the patio, preparing to carve the lamb. As I walked towards her I stumbled and fell headlong into the pool. I came up spluttering and spitting water. My father ran to the pool’s side and helped me out. I was alternately laughing and crying. “What happened?” he asked.
I waved my hand vaguely in front of his face, “Hey Dad. There’s two of you.” I giggled.
He looked down at me and then over at my mom. “Joan. What on earth?”
Concerned faces loomed over me, and I reached up imprecisely, before dissolving into tears. “What on earth is wrong with her?” I could tell my dad was really concerned.
“More punsch, want more punsch,” I slurred.
“Oh no!” My mom exclaimed. “The punch is spiked, and she hasn’t eaten all day and she’s had aspirin for her toothache!”
My mom helped me to my room and put me to bed. “I’m sorry honey, I should have let you know the punch had alcohol in it. You’re probably going to have a lovely headache to go along with your toothache. What a night, eh?”
She was right, Sunday was awful. It was a competition between the headache and the tooth as to which hammered me with the most agony. First thing Monday morning the dentist removed the offending tooth, providing me almost instant relief from the pain, too late for me to enjoy the weekend party.
That summer when I was 12 is now part of our family lore, and we joke about it, but it did enforce my decision that I would never get drunk, and I never have.
I’ve never had punch again either!
*Non-fiction
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