Ode to a Martini

You served me well

For forty years

But we must split

And I’m in tears.

We first met in my early forties. We were introduced by mutual friends at a Friday night get-together after work. We both wondered why it had taken so long to get to know one another; after all, we knew many of the same people and had attended many of the same parties. We took to one another immediately and soon began seeing one another every day—sometimes with other friends and sometimes just the two of us. We became such close friends that, often, words weren’t necessary; just knowing the other was there was enough.

  But as the years went by, our relationship began to change. Truth be told, I was the one who changed, not you. I began to feel the need to cut back on the number of times we got together. You felt hurt and thought I was getting tired of you. Far from it. I wanted you more than ever, but I couldn’t keep up with you. After our get-togethers, I’d feel light-headed and a bit shaky and feared I’d fall. My doctor recommended taking a break. “You’re 84 now,” he reminded me. “You don’t have the stamina you used to have. Slow down.”

  At first, I decreased our meetings to 4 or 5 times a week, then to weekends only. But it didn’t work. You couldn’t help feeling that I was withdrawing, and I couldn’t convince you that I didn’t have a choice. I also didn’t have the resolve to you just now and then. I had to give you up “cold turkey.”

  It was a painful decision. How could I give up what had become such a favorite part of my life? But the time had come where I couldn’t enjoy your company anymore; the risk of causing some serious consequences to myself was too great. You kept telling me that none of your other friends was having this problem. “Is it something I’ve done?” you asked.” I tried to explain that our break-up wasn’t your doing at all; it was mine.

  But herein laid the dilemma. I knew we’d keep running into one another—at cocktail parties, restaurants, birthdays, anniversaries and holidays. You always were in high demand and over the years your popularity kept growing. I could hardly ask our friends to abstain from having you over, or hope that you no longer appeared at our favorite places to eat and drink.

  Ultimately, I had to do what was right for me. Although you felt that I didn’t need you anymore, the opposite was also true—you didn’t need me. You’d always be welcomed by your many friends, old and new, and continue to be the life of the party.

  It’s hard seeing you from across the room and not rushing over with everyone else to imbibe the pleasures of your company. But I keep reminding myself of the many good times we had together and, as often happens to many good things towards the end of one’s life, that has become enough.