REMAINIG FIREWORKS
...
It's the evening of New Year's day, and I hear the remaining fireworks disperse one last time.
This time yesterday, I was mustering up the courage, chattering my teeth with anticipation. I alphabetize street signs and billboards along the way, to silence my worry.
Put on the right face and remember your lines.
"Hello, nice to finally meet you!” I say attempting to emote a look of sincerity on my face.
Followed by an exhale of silence and a glare of reassurance. The night has begun.
•
It’s my turn to tell the bartender what I want for Christmas.
"Which beer do you recommend that will make me look as if I know the difference between a dirt and piss tasting brew?”
Beer in hand like a stage prop meant to insinuate a character’s ‘chill’ demeanor. Everyone is standing, facing one another. Sitting would be a sign of weakness in this situation. I want to sit and there is a place for me to sit. Do I wait for someone to initiate the sit? I sit like the loser I am.
•
"How did y'all meet?" Inquired by a millennial man with a mustache, invited by association.
At a bird watching club. Stuck in an elevator for three hours. Volunteering at concession stands for local dog shows. Facebook group for people who enjoy collecting pressed pennies. Unicycle classes. Group therapy. Prison.
"We work together."
•
You shout into my ear, "I didn't think you'd come!"
I made an excuse this morning over breakfast. Eggs served with a side of doubt on an asiago bagel.
"Of course I came!"
•
Waiting for my cue, to earn a quick laugh. Comedic timing is key! I'll make you think that I’m effortlessly charming.
After my one sentence performance, you pull me aside, "They can't get enough of you!"
The pit in my stomach churns, “What can I say, I’m a natural.”
You respond without hesitation, "It breaks my heart that you don't believe that."
Despite your slurred speech, each word you utter arrives with such sincerity that I’m forced never to forget.
•
One inch at a time I push my way through the mass of bodies. Each glued together with heat and impulse, moving as one, with no instruction.
Sharing a moment in the bathroom line.
A girl struggling to maintain her balance asks,
"What's your deepest darkest secret?"
For once my mind is blank.
•
Making my way back through the mass, I find my group. I left my flash cards at home and I was never good at taking tests. Their names and faces are jumbled in my skull.
Regardless, I act with conviction, running over to them as though I was meeting the embrace of my wife after the war.
"You wouldn't believe the wonders and horrors I witnessed! People from all walks of life, all gathered, waiting in line to piss in the same sticky, graffiti covered bathroom!"
•
"Do you want some?" Offered the girl wearing head to toe black.
She pulled several tiny bottles of liquor out from her cloak, like a meticulously packed clown car.
I've been guarding the same cup of beer all night. Safely protected in the palm of my hands, my greatest comfort and best friend for the remaining hours.
•
The countdown began to chant. I prepared myself to avoid kissing couples, not to interrupt their public intimacy.
Over the phone, I share my kiss a time-zone-hour too late.
•
"Let's go to another bar!" Suggests the leader.
As a loyal member of the group, that I can't quite remember, I follow close with devotion.
Even more than the last, bodies are paired in two, preparing to board the ark before the flood.
"I know the owner of this club," yelled into my ear with a tequila aftertaste.
I couldn't quite make out what you said between slurred words and Latin music. From what I gathered, there’s a correlation between you, a game of roulette, and the owner.
•
I clawed my way out through the rubble of sweaty flesh to wait for my $44.86 ride home.
"We're going to an after party, you comin’?"
I’d already made 3 a.m. plans—with the Uber driver and the woman on the corner, serving sandwiches to the lost and liquored.
By the time I turned to see if you’d wait with me, you were already waving—one hand free, the other pulling you away.
It began to sprinkle—the first rain of the year.
"Happy New Year," I whispered to each drop as it kissed my skin.