I had just turned 21 a few months before my mother first got sick. She had seen some of the signs, and others had too, and she went to see a doctor. Cancer, they told her. The Big C. She'd caught it soon, they said. They could fix this.

But within a month, she was bedridden. I came to her house to visit her often, back then, before the job and the bills added up and I had free time. I came to do my laundry and raid her fridge, like all college students do, and that's when I saw it in the back. A brown bottle, adorned with a blue label. A sun. Ah, an Anderon. The finest of the summer beers. I took the bottle with me, kissed my mom goodbye, and left.

It was too cold to drink a summer beer, and I pushed it to the back of my fridge.

And soon, my roommate began to notice the bottle.

"Did you know there's a bottle of Anderon in the back here?" he'd say.

In that cool, dry tone I use sometimes, I'd give a simple "Yup."

A pause. "Are you going to drink it?"

Again, in that same dry tone: "Nope."

Another long pause..."Can I throw it out?"

"Nope."

A sigh. "When are you gonna get rid of this?"

"It's winter, man," I'd say. "And Anderon is a summer beer. When it starts getting warm out again, I'll drink it."


He'd sigh again, and that'd be the end of that for a few days. Sometimes a week, sometimes a little longer, but those three questions always came up. Eventually, the weather turned warmer, and he asked the questions more frequently.

"Wait for Anderon day, I would say." Ah, Anderon day. That really brings back the memories. Anderon really was a summer beer, and it wasn't in production until March 28th. So on that warm day, the whole city would go out and get drunk. It was a blast. Hell, this very bottle was bought on Anderon day, so it was only fitting to drink it then.

But then Anderon day came and went, and that last bottle stayed there in the back of the fridge.

And after a while, the weather got cold again, and you can't drink Anderon when it's cold out, can you? Seasons pass, as they do, and along came another Aneron day. And another. And another. We moved to a different apartment, and after some time we grew apart. We separated, and I took that bottle with me. And then I met a girl, and when I moved in with her, I took the bottle with me too.

My mother beat the odds and lived long enough to see us married. March 25th, the happiest day of my life. She must have been using the last of her strength, though, because she died only three days later. The 28th. Anderon day.

And here I am, 8 o'clock on Anderon day, and I'm rummaging in my fridge. There it is. I grab the bottle, and open it using the old-fashioned opener. They don't make the bottles like that anymore. I pop the top, and inhale the sweet, rich aroma.


Here's to you, Mom.