Ramiro burst into Grandfather's kitchen, his face flushed from playing outside. Sweat made his hair stick to his forehead. He pressed his cheek against the cool window and scanned the shelves, dreaming of ice-cold cola.
His eyes landed on a tall bottle with a red label — exactly like cola! He climbed onto the sturdy kitchen stool. His fingers closed around the smooth glass. It felt heavy and cold, like a treasure waiting to be opened.
Pop! The cap gave way. Ramiro tipped the bottle back for a huge gulp — and stopped dead. It burned! He sputtered, coughing as droplets flew from his mouth. His eyes grew huge in shock.
Grandfather appeared in the doorway, glasses sliding down. He looked at the bottle, then at Ramiro, and erupted into loud wheezy laughter. He slapped his knee. 'That was my good whiskey!' he choked out.
Ramiro's face stayed red — but then a giggle bubbled out. Soon he was laughing too, harder than ever. Tears streamed down both their faces as they laughed until their sides hurt.
Grandfather wiped his eyes and pulled two glasses from the cupboard. He poured golden juice into each one. 'To mistakes,' he said, raising his glass. 'The funniest memories are the ones we survive.'
Ramiro took a sip. The juice was sweet and cold and perfect. He grinned at Grandfather, already planning his next adventure.
They clinked glasses one more time. Ramiro tasted something much better than whiskey — he tasted a memory he would never forget.