Artesian Water in Aluminum Cups

Aunt Beth lived in a small, south Texas town where the heat raised the earthy, sweet smell of the red dirt road and the artesian water smelled of rotten eggs.

As I let the screen door to her kitchen slam, the metallic clink of the aluminum cups being unstacked, the squeak of the faucet, and the rush of the water foretold of what she would offer me.

I wondered what brightly colored aluminum cup she would hand me, secretly wondering if her color choice matched how she saw me.

The coolness of the cup on my lips and tingling of my teeth from the aluminum

heightened the chewy texture of sulfurous, tepid water that coated my tongue with a velvety memory that remains.