The pub was local. I didn’t even know better than to sneak out to a place where I was bound to be recognized. Until I walked in the door, it hadn’t even occurred to me. But I came face to face with a room full of people who knew my parents well and were certain to turn me in.
Several of my neighbors already wore the expressions I anticipated my parents wearing when they found out, but it was too late for deliberation, so I walked in and set down at the bar.
I didn’t have to wonder long who it would be. It was Paul Jackson, a deacon from our church, who came up to me first. He asked what I was doing there. I had no answer, but he seemed to know.
“Well, if you’ve come this far, you may as well go all the way with it.” He flagged down the bartender. “Get her a quart.”
The stein was huge when the man put it down before me, and the smell overwhelmed me. It wasn’t pleasant, but I was intrigued by the notion of what it could do.
Then, Paul said the magic words.
“Go on. It gives you courage.”
I took the mug in both hands and downed it in one.