You and I drank wine by Lake Mendota, even during cold weather. We usually guzzled a couple of bottles, then groped at each other. Sometimes we had sex in the bushes. No one ever tried to stop us.
Madison was a college town, but neither of us took classes. Since we didn’t need to write papers or study for tests, we felt free to invent our lives as we went along—at least until the rent came due.
It was my cheap German wine period. You were a jobless couch-surfer. I lived in a dilapidated house with my boyfriend and several psychotic roommates.
I never could feel content with just one boyfriend. Steve was my main guy, you were secondary. You knew your status, which came as a relief to you. Less responsibility that way.
Madison winters are brutal. The lakes freeze solid, and artists build sculptures from ice chunks. In early December, jagged pieces float across the water, looking for a place to solidify.
We’d almost finished our wine when I noticed some crystals floating at the bottom of the bottle. They looked dense, almost translucent.
I turned the bottle upside down, and a few crystals fell into my hand. The texture felt hard and grainy, like someone had molded them from cheap plastic.
“What the hell are these.” It was more of a rhetorical question than anything. “Maybe some kind of fancy wine shit. But I don’t recall seeing such big crystals before.”
You shook your head. “Me neither. Of course, I always drink cheap swill.”
We were in our early twenties, so cheap swill didn’t bother our intestines much.
The crystals felt warm in my palm. “I think these might be a product of fermentation. But I’m not sure.”
I peered inside the receptacle’s cloudy interior. Several extraneous bits formed a soggy clump at the bottom.
Suddenly, an idea struck me.
“Let’s take this bottle back to the liquor store. We’ll tell the clerk we found mysterious chunks in our wine. He’ll explain what they are and offer us a freebie for our trouble.”
We were already drunk, or I never would have suggested such a crazy thing. You nodded with glee, convinced my plan would work. The two of us walked unsteadily down the frozen sidewalk.
When we reached the store, I extended my empty container towards the clerk. He stared at me, expressionless.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with this wine.” My voice sounded glib and matter of fact. “There are weird bits on the bottom. We didn’t see them until we were almost done with the bottle.”
The clerk held the receptacle to the light and squinted. “Oh, those a product of fermentation.” He smiled. “Nothing to worry about. But for your trouble, I’ll give you another.”
You and I avoided looking at each other as the clerk slid a new bottle across the counter. In a daze, I scooped up my gift and headed for the door.
As soon as we stepped outside, we started laughing like we would never stop.
“If only everything in life was like this,” you said.
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"we felt free to invent our lives as we went along"— This one line captures the mood and circumstance of a generation
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