Before I knew it we were stumbling up the front steps of someone’s home, holding our scarves over our noses and yelling, “FUCK it’s cold!” There had already been drinks at my house, and it was only minutes before 12 a.m., when we all would scream and put our hands around one another’s necks and toast to a new year that would be just like the last one, really. Only the numbers ever change. The Sun rises and sets the same, the Earth revolves around the Sun, I do my taxes and keep smoking cigarettes and I don’t lose any weight. I surged into the party like I always do, eyes darting from face to face looking for someone I know, or an empty red cup. I’m a stranger in this town, but I still look for someone I know. Habit.
The door doesn’t even shut behind us before everyone’s singing Auld Lang Sine and raising their bottles in the air, kissing their dates and men slapping each other on the backs in that way that’s exclusive somehow to men. And women smiling politely at other women, saying “Happy New Year,” but with one eye always, though, on their man, in that way that’s exclusive to women who come to parties with men.
Me, I don’t care. I’ve got a beer to finish, and there’s music blaring from the speakers behind me, and Ryan and Liz are dancing close so I do that thing where I just kind of nod my head to the bass, drink my beer at frequent intervals, act cool. The scene is weird, as scenes are always weird at every party I’ve ever been at. People move in groups like packs of wolves, or stand in semi circles, sometimes talking and sometimes looking around for no apparent reason. I go find a couch to sit on and some girl tries to make small talk with me, but I look away and keep pouring beer down my throat. I’m getting pretty wasted. It’s that point in the night, where it doesn’t seem to matter anymore how much you drink. Another drink or not, a hangover will inevitably descend upon your morning. I can see the storm clouds in the horizon. Might as well enjoy the sunshine while I can.
Cigarette. I find my way to the garage, choose a wall to lean on and ask someone for a light. I feel like Lewis and fuckin Clark, blazing trails through the wilderness of my impaired mobility. Ryan comes out, too; I let him bum one before he even asks.
“Ah, you know me so well,” he says.
“You’re not too hard to figure out.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.” My hand is cold, so I switch the one that was holding my cigarette with the one in my pocket. A fair trade, I reckon.
“You like it here?” I ask.
“You know. It’s alright.”
We stay quiet for a while.
“I wish I could come back, you know. I got into too much trouble, I just can’t. And financially, I really can’t support myself right now.”
“I know that.”
He puts his hand under my chin, tilts my face towards his. “You’re so cute.”
“Ryan.” I pull myself away from him, take a drag on my cigarette.
“What are you doing later.”
“What do you mean?” I know what he means. “I’m leaving in the morning. You could’ve told me, you know. You could’ve told me now to visit you right now.”
Sometimes your body acts first. Arms extend but thought is static. And I could only watch my hands grab the collar of his jacket, pull him towards me and press myself against him. I closed my eyes, only for a second. And then I heard Liz say his name from the door that lead into the house.
I turned around quickly, put out my cigarette, and somehow dropped my bag in the process. I heard him turn around and walk through the crowd of smokers. Towards her. And I didn’t move, just stood staring at the contents of my purse. Lip-gloss and scraps of paper and cough drops all scattered across the cold cement like seashells washed up on the shore.
