
I haven't thought about Jones Soda for years. I know it's still sold in stores, but when I see it on the shelf someplace, I'm always a little surprised because, to me, it will always feel like 2001. Maybe, at the latest, 2004.
That was the year that I planned to leave a case of it - the cream soda kind, I think - on my ex-boyfriend's doorstep in late fall. It was a token of goodwill in the months since we had broken up, a farewell gift before he left for a semester abroad in Australia.
I stopped by his house on a cold autumn day, but I didn't leave the case behind, after all. It was cold out, Ohio-cold, & I didn't want the glass bottles of soda to freeze & explode all over the porch & the siding. His mom had never liked me much, anyway, & I didn't think that kind of disaster would do me any favors.
That case of Jones Soda was still at my mom's house on the February day when I learned that he'd died. I never got to give it to him, & he never went to Australia.
Pop on over to Medium to read the rest of this essay.
No comments
Post a Comment
Leave me some love.