the party - a short story

Saturday, 9:30pm

I’m standing still. Stuck. I can’t move... but I can’t say that I necessarily want to, either. Time feels as though it’s standing still as I stand here, my eyes glued on her.

Enchanting. 

It’s really the only word that comes close to describing how she looks in this moment, and yet, somehow, even that doesn’t seem to do her proper justice. Those ruby red lips and dark eyes enrapture me, and I let them. I let her take my gaze, as well as my heart, once more. The jet-black dress she wears hugs her body almost as closely as I used to. 

I miss holding her. 

I still can’t move, but now I want to. I want to move through this crowd of people towards her. I want to grab her and hold her like I used to. To look deeply into her dark eyes, stand at the event horizon, and have them suck me into her like black holes. 

God, how does she do it? How, with just her presence, does she erase all the work I’ve done in my attempt to move past this? To move past her. How? How does she turn me to stone without even so much as a single glance – leaving me with my heart dancing around in my chest and the neurons in my brain firing erratically trying to make sense of it all.  

What happened to the party? Where is everyone? All I can see is her. It’s like we’re in a different place, a different time, a different plane of existence. But even here, she doesn’t notice me. Her eyes are elsewhere, but I’m okay with it. I’m okay with just looking at her, even if she’s not looking at me. The half-smile she has upon her lips, the way her hair is tucked neatly behind her ear, the way she just stands there, radiating beauty…

Reality begins to slowly eat at the illusion I’ve created. I become more aware of my surroundings once again. The half-smile she has on her lips is directed at a friend of hers. With the introduction of her friend I watch as another person materializes, and then another, and suddenly I’m back, standing in the middle of a party, full of people chatting and dancing as the music plays in the background.

How long have I been staring at her? Too long, I’m sure. Have people started to notice? Perhaps, but I don’t care. Let them stare at me as intensely as I’m staring at her. Let them see how much I long to be with her. To hold her. To kiss her. 

A tap on my shoulder is what finally pulls me out of my reverie.

“Babe?” she says. 

I turn to the young woman I’ve come here with. She’s beautiful, honestly. But she’s not her. How could she be? How could anyone? She is light personified, and any other woman, by default, pales in comparison.

“Sorry, I just got distracted for a moment.” I offer a false smile that’s meant to reassure her, and it does. She returns it with a genuine one and leans in to kiss me on the cheek. Her soft lips feel good against my skin, but only serve as yet another reminder that she is not her. The kiss lingers just a moment too long, with just a little too much lip-gloss left on my cheek afterwards. I don’t fault her for that, though. She can only be who she is, and that should be enough for me. It should, anyway.

She grabs my hand and heads towards the outside patio where her friends are waiting. My eyes turn to her and I hope that she sees me, that she returns my gaze; that the look in her eyes mirror the look in my own, one filled with passion and yearning and love. 

That does not happen. 

She’s with her friends and they have stolen her full attention. She looks happy, and while I know in my heart seeing her happy should make me happy, it has the opposite effect. A part of me dies inside, seeing her so happy without me by her side. 

I notice one of her friends staring at me as I am staring at her. I wait, hoping that she says something; that she tells her to turn around; that she tells her that I’m looking at her. 

Please. Do it. 

She doesn’t. 

She instead turns her gaze away from me and continues her conversation with her and I continue to let my date lead me towards her group of friends. We arrive and I say my ‘hello’s’ and ‘how are you’s’ and they dive deep into their own conversations. 

She and her friends gossip over mundane topics that fail to hold my interest; make-up, and alcohol, and boys, and people they dislike, and broken hearts. I find myself more inclined to listen to that last portion of the conversation for a moment, until I realize the woman talking is speaking flippantly about the topic. About how she and her ex-boyfriend, of a week, who she claimed that she loved, split up because he initially seemed to be more interesting than he actually was. That the experience has left her so, “hurt” and “broken-hearted.” 

Anger bubbles up inside of me and I want to chime in, to say that she has no idea what loss is; to say that her brief, superficial “relationship,” was nothing. I want to tell her that she hasn’t the slightest clue of what it really means to be in love with someone, or to feel the raw, indescribable pain one feels when that relationship ends... regardless of who ends it. I fight the urge to yell at her for how stupid, and vapid, and narcissistic she sounds. I know that I cannot say those things. Not just because she’s friends with the woman I came here with tonight, but because once I get stared I know they’ll be no stopping me. 

So I tune them out and allow my mind to wander to other places. I look to the stars, which are few and far between, hidden by the aura of the city lights. I can make out a few of them, and I even feel as though I am able to see a constellation, whose name I cannot remember, up there as well. 

I think about how she used to love looking at the stars. How, for her birthday last October I took her far from the city, into the mountains so she could see them clearly. I remember how she spent hours pointing out different constellations to me and telling me the story and meanings behind them. How hearing the happiness in her voice filled me with a happiness of my own. And how when she got tired of talking she made use of her lips in a different manner when she placed them upon mine. I remember how happy she was – how happy we were there together, in love, under the stars. 

I’ve lost myself in yet another memory. How much time has passed? I look at the woman I’ve come with and she’s still conversing with her friends. I stare at her, wanting to feel something more than I do. Wanting to feel for her, the way I know she feels about me. It was clear when I asked her to come to this party tonight that she was thrilled, even though she tried to hide it. She’s not as masterful as hiding her feelings as I am. She’s had feelings for me for years now, and while she’s so beautiful and wonderful, she’s just not her. 

Where is she? What is she doing? Who is she with? I look over my shoulder to see if she is within sight, only to see the space she inhabited when I arrived occupied by someone else. Where did she go? Did she leave? 

I need to find her. 

Perhaps I can offer to get drinks for them, or say that I have to use the restroom. Something. Anything. I have to get away from this situation. I have to find her. I have to find out if, perhaps, there is still a part of her that loves me the way that I still love her. 

“I’ll be right back,” I tell my date. 

She looks concerned and asks me, “is everything okay?” 

“Yeah,” I tell her with a smile, “I’m just really thirsty.” 

“Oh, have a sip of my drink,” she’s holding a cup of orange liquid. When did she get it? Was I so caught up that I didn’t notice someone bring her a drink? She puts the cup in my face and I can smell the liquor. I want to take a sip, but I know better. I’ve sworn off the stuff... at first for her, but now for myself. 

“I’m good,” I tell her, “I’m just going to get myself some water.” 

“Oh, okay,” She seems disappointed that I denied her offer, “then let’s go get you something to drink.”

Oh, damn. She wants to come with me. I didn’t expect that. She doesn’t seem to want to let me out of her sight. I should have gone with the restroom excuse, but then she might have offered to try and show me where it is. 

“No, it’s okay. I can go by myself. Just enjoy your time with your friends.”

“But I didn’t come here for them. I came here for you.” She smiles. She thinks this is the right thing to say – that it will let me know that she cares for me. With any other guy, it would probably be effective, but not me. Not right now. I don’t care about that right now; all I want to do is get away from her for a moment. 

“I know, and I appreciate that.” I hold her hand in mine and bring it close to our faces. Her eyes light up, and I can feel her friends staring at us. It’s awkward, but I continue, “but you and I are going to have the rest of the night together. I’ll only be gone a moment. Okay?” 

She bats her long eyelashes and nods her head. I let go of her hand and turn away.

I wish that I didn’t have to do that. Play on her emotions like that, but I couldn’t have her come with me. Not right now. I need to find her. I need to know. 

Is there any hope? Do you miss me? Do you want me? 

Do you still love me?

I make my way through the crowded room, still a sea of swaying bodies dancing to the melody. It seems like even more people have shown up since I first arrived. It’s completely likely that she’s gone. She never did like large parties. 

I remember the time I brought her to my house for the first time. It was to celebrate my dad’s 50^th birthday. There had to have been about seventy people crammed into our little backyard that day.  She was fine at first, as she was one of the first people to arrive. She met my mother and my father and, much like myself, they immediately fell in love her with her. But as the party continued and more and more people arrived, she became increasingly anxious and uncomfortable. 

I remember her telling me that she needed to go to the restroom and I waited for her to come back. People began asking where she was, and when I found out she wasn’t actually in the restroom I went searching for her. It turned out she wasn’t anywhere in the house or the backyard. I went out to the front of the house and found her sitting in the bed of her truck, staring off into the night sky. 

I went to her, filled with a mix of confusion and anger, and asked her what happened. I had already had a few drinks in me so it was less me asking and more so me yelling.  

We argued for a few minutes about it, and then made up. I remember that night so vividly because that was the night that I told her that I loved her for the first time – as we sat in the back of that old pick-up, outside of my house, and star-gazed. 

Damn it. Where is she now? She has to be here. 

I search each room, even going up the stairs and stumbling upon a couple making out in one of the bedrooms. Thankfully it wasn’t her. 

After searching the entire house, I realize that I need to come to terms with the fact that she is gone. The party probably became too overwhelming for her. Or maybe her friend, the one that saw me, suggested leaving so that she wouldn’t run the risk of seeing me. Or maybe she found someone else and left with him. I don’t know. I suppose I wouldn’t want to know. 

Damn it. 

She’s gone and with her, my last opportunity to tell her how I feel. I’m sure. I mean, I could always call her but... but maybe this is for the best. Maybe it just isn’t meant to be. If it had been, she’d still be here, right? 

At this point I realize I actually am thirsty, so I decide to do what I said I was going to do in the first place and find myself something to drink. I walk into the kitchen and find that the ice chest is only filled with beer. It looks appealing, but that’s not what I’m here for. 

I see a group of people conversing and drinking an assortment of different alcoholic beverages. 

“Where are the waters at?” I ask one of them. 

“Oh shit, are we out?” he takes a look at the ice chest, “Damn, sorry bro.”

Of course they are. I let out a sigh, “It’s all good. Thanks anyway.” 

I turn to walk away when he says, “Bro, I think there may be one or two out in the fridge in the garage.” 

I turn around and see him pointing in the general area of where the garage is located. I nod and say, “Thanks, man.” 

“Sure thing bro!” 

He turns back around and takes another sip from his red, plastic cup. He tells a joke that I cannot hear, and a couple of them laugh louder than they would have if they were sober. I can tell that they’re having a good time, and a small part of me envies them for that.  

I walk towards the garage and, in the corner of my eye, I see my date with her friends. In the thick of the crowd she’s unable to make me out, but I’m able to see her clearly as she’s looks around, obviously searching for me. She searches for me as I searched for her. 

Just another moment and I’ll be there. 

I navigate through crowd, once again, until I find the door that leads to the garage. I open it and walk inside. It is cold in here, more so than it is in the rest of the house. As I walk in and shut the door behind me the sound of music softens; the beat dampened and the lyrics were reduced to an unintelligible murmur through the walls. 

I see the fridge immediately and walk to it. Upon opening the door, I see that it’s filled to the brim with different assortments of alcohol. From Heineken to Vodka – there was enough alcohol in there to get a humpback whale buzzed. 

“So much for there being water,” I say to myself. 

Just as I reach to shut the door, I see them. Two water bottles snuggled in the refrigerator door. Perfect. I grab one and then, after a quick second, decide to take the other just in case I get thirsty again later. I take one in each hand and then use my foot to shut the door. I turn to make my way out of the garage, back to the party, back to my date and her friends, back to the rest of my night... 

That’s when I see her. 

Not across the room, not in the memories I’ve been having of her all night, no, here she is, alone, standing right in front of me. 

I want to say something. I want to say everything. But I can’t. I’m frozen again. My brain is overloaded with thoughts, my body riddled with emotions, and my heart is pounding so loud that I can’t hear anything. 

What do I do? What do I say? I had something. I’m sure of it. Something noble and poetic and beautiful. Something that would make her love me. What was it? I can’t think of it. 

Damn it. 

It’s as though my mind is a hard-drive and the sight of her just wiped everything from it. I’m looking in her eyes but I can’t process it. What was I looking for in them? Love? Pain? Sadness? Happiness? Whatever I’m looking for, I’m not finding it now. Maybe they really are little black holes; maybe this is the Even Horizon and I am being sucked in. 

No. I can’t let that happen. Not now. I can’t fall apart at the seams here. I have to say something. Something. Anything.

Damn it. 

She beats me to it. 

“Hi,” she says. 

“Hey,” I reply.

Image from Mirror.com