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[04 Jan 2012|01:14am] not for the last time that night, she wondered how she'd ended up here. it was the kind of party where slutty girls flourished, and the shy ones hid in corners, counting the minutes until they could go home. the kind of party where, at some point in the night, you were almost guaranteed to turn around and realise the drunk frat boy you'd just been talking to was now a cop, directing his flashlight toward your corneas and telling you to go home. it was easy to get depressed here, though that was exactly the opposite of the point of this little... shindig. but there was no one here to talk to. the person who'd invited her was too drunk to be of much use, and anyway, she'd already lost him in the crowd. she was surrounded by strangers, and every one of them was having a better time than she was. was it better than the place she'd left? sitting on her couch, stumbling through the internet for hours on end, all too aware of the emptiness of the place... no, it was better to have warm bodies surrounding her, even if the eyes in those bodies never turned her way for more than a second. besides, there was rum in her glass, and her BAC was climbing. so what if no one talked to her. sometimes it was fun just to observe. she made her way to the kitchen and propped herself against a counter, glancing around the room. she was counting on the "small world" law, which surely would dictate that she knew someone here. but it seemed this night would be the exception. she looked down at her drink, felt a touch, and looked up to see someone had backed into her. she put a hand on his back to let him know she was there, but he only took another step back. she squeezed his arm as she slid past him, but he took no more notice of her than he had the furniture, and she set up camp further down the line of counters. she hopped up onto the countertop and set her drink beside her. a girl reached behind her to search through the cabinets for an unused cup. a boy in a suit set down an overflowing bottle of champagne next to her, and she picked it up quickly, before the mess could spread and soak into her clothes. she set it in the sink, cleaned up the spill with the only damp paper towel she could find. when he came back, there was no indication he had noticed a change in the bottle's position, or that there was anyone there to move it. she suffered a brief moment of panic as an irrational thought spread through her brain--they can't see me--but it passed, and she resigned herself to watching. with her head against the wooden cabinets, she realised her mistake: this was the sort of party where you could hope to meet a stranger and hook up, if it were any other occasion. but nobody came to a new year's party alone. every glitter dressed, high heeled, smirnoff toting girl was holding the hand of some stripe button-up, hair gelled, high life chugging guy as she stumbled through the kitchen and onto the porch for a cigarette. but there was no one to hold her hand. the music, the bodies, the booze... they drowned out the quiet, but they didn't drown out the lonely. she leaned back against the cabinets, glancing at the time. 11:59. she looked up. only one person had realised the time, and two of his friends were looking at him expectantly. "ONE MINUTE," he shouted. but by her count, he was already late. 12:00. the minute passed without some great sense of relief, some feeling of a fresh start. it passed as the minutes before it had, without weight, without importance, and without the warmth of someone else's lips against her own. like always. post comment

Safe. [03 May 2008|10:23pm] You do whatever it takes. You lock your car doors, the doors to your apartment, the windows, the sliding glass door. Even if you live on the third floor. You walk quickly to your car, always looking around you. You have your keys ready in your hand. You check the back seat before you get in and you lock the doors immediately after getting inside. And only then do you breathe that sigh of relief because only then do you know that you're Safe. You wear your seatbelt, give your car a tune up every six months, make sure everything is running smoothly. There's an emergency cell phone in your glove box; there's another in the trunk. Just in case. You never go faster than five miles over the speed limit, even if you're late. Better late and safe than never there you say. Better late and Safe. You know how to change a tire, give CPR, the Heimlich, light a fire, make a splint. Anything, so that in an emergency, you and those around you feel Safe. You don't go on blind dates. You don't give any information out over the internet or the phone. You don't go out alone after dark. You don't drink at parties. Not even water. Your friends tease you; they tell you, live a little, loosen up! But you tell them that you're having plenty of fun, stop worrying, you're just there to make sure everyone else is Safe. And then this happens. He has none of the typical warning signs. No atypical ones either. No warning signs at all. Its a nice change. He's not like the other guys your friends introduce you to. He's smart, charming, and keeps his distance. He doesn't ask you why you're not drinking, only makes a casual remark about how much he admires someone who'll sacrifice a little fun to keep her friends Safe. He makes it finally feel okay to loosen up a little, and you find yourself telling him things you've never told your friends; that you're afraid of the dark, you think your psych professor is cute, you dance at home in your underwear when no one is around. He makes you smile. He invites you out to dinner; he says he knows its late, but he feels like he could get to you know better if you weren't surrounded by drunk frat boys, if the music weren't so loud. Your hesitate to say yes--but only because you suddenly feel under dressed. You say yes anyway. He opens your car door, pulls out your chair, things your dad used to do for you. You talk about school and art and your jobs. He works security--night shift--at a parking garage downtown. It's a boring job, he says, but he likes the feeling of making sure people like you are Safe. He puts his hand on yours when he says "people like you." Things are going so well. You invite him back to your apartment. He even asks you if you're sure, he could come another time. You can see yourself falling in love very easily. You assure him its okay, casually mentioning your roommate will be home. It's more for your benefit--even though you trust him, even though you would almost rather be alone with him, having her there will make you feel more Safe. You are only slightly disappointed when you find out she's been called in to work. You put in your favorite movie, his guilty pleasure: The Breakfast Club. Something cute, something fun, something Safe. You're making out before the movie's halfway over. By the time the credits roll, you're dead. You're not quite dead, you remind yourself, absentmindedly fingering the wound in your neck that's still slowly healing. But something like it. You glance around the room, glad your roommate stayed the night at her boyfriend's. At least he gave you time to clean up the blood. You aren't sure what to do next--he didn't quite tell you what this would be like. And though it's something you've read about, it's never something you thought would happen to you. Hell, you didn't even think it was real. You glance toward the window. The sun's coming up. You hurry to close the blinds. You don't know if the myths are true, but, even now, you'd rather be Safe. As you close the last blind, you hear yourself laughing. You realize, all those precautions--the doors and the cell phones and the fucking speed limit--they don't matter anymore. You never have to worry about being Safe Ever again. post comment

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