Happy New Year

Mike Spelling’s New Year’s party.  The place to be tonight.  Not everyone gets invited.  Actually, most people don’t.  It’s a pretty small gathering of close friends.  Usually only fifty-or-so people show up, so nothing remarkable.  I got in because Mike is my best friend, but it’s no big deal.

Mike’s apartment wasn’t the most spacious venue for a party, but we made do.  Plus he has great speakers throughout the place, so who can complain, really?

It was strange to see everyone again in one spot like this.  After high school connections tend to be lost, whether intentional or not.  New college friends take the place of the buddies you made throughout the past years and people just don’t care about remaining friends with anyone they knew in grade school.  I guess first semesters in college can do that.

But not me and Mike.  We went to different colleges but remained best friends.  He stayed in California and I went to Arizona, and yet we still managed to speak frequently.  Now that everyone had some time off Mike saw fit to host another one of his parties before people got too wrapped up in their own lives to accept the invite.  So many people showed up it felt like high school again.

Someone bumped into me.  I thought I felt a hand slide into my pocket, but I couldn’t be sure. “Hey!” I called after the possible thief.  But he had disappeared.

“Hey Guy!” said a voice from somewhere behind me.  I forgot about finding the pickpocket and turned around, coming face to face with someone I absolutely could not remember ever having seen before, and yet he seemed to know me.  Let the awkwardness begin. “How’s it goin?”

“Uh, pretty good man… you uh, enjoying yourself?” I could tell that he was indeed enjoying himself; he waved around a small red cup and liquid sloshed forth from the brim with every gesture he made.

“Yeah it’s been great, man! Life, ya know?  Life.  Man.”

“Right,” I would do anything to make him go away.  I tried to think of something clever to stump him and make my escape.  Something came to mind I had recently read somewhere. “Life.  It’s what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans.”

“I know man, I knooow!” Well that didn’t work.  His breath smelled like roses. “Hey listen, we should jam again, lemme put my number in your phone and I’ll give you a call next week or whatever!”

Who was this guy? “I actually go back to school next week, sorry,” I said.

“That’s alright man!  Gimme your number anyway and I’ll hit you up over spring break!”

I saw no way out of this. “Ah-alright.  Here.” I handed over my phone and he pecked away at the keys.  I looked around at the rest of the party.  People were packed into Mike’s apartment like rodents.  There wasn’t much room for maneuverability.  I saw a lot of people I recognized, but no one I really wanted to talk to.  I wondered where Mike was.

“There ya go, man!” I took my phone back and shoved it down my pocket. “Thanks.  Well I’ll see you around!” I turned my back before he could object.

I barely had time to take two steps before I was accosted by another “old friend” shouting my name from about five feet away.

“Guy!  Hey Guy!” It was a girl this time, and I recognized her immediately. 

“Hey Lisa,” I said. “Been a while.” This was my ex-girlfriend.  We broke up when I left for college, and things didn’t end on the best of terms.  I was actually quite shocked at how easily she approached me.

“A while?” She said. “If you mean two days, then yeah I guess!” She laughed and I tried to force a smile.  What was she talking about?  I hadn’t spoken to this girl for five months.

As if intentionally saving me from another awkward moment, the countdown to midnight begun. 

“Ten!  Nine!  Eight!” shouted the room.  A T.V. mounted on the wall displayed Times Square.  I counted along with everyone, forgetting Lisa for the moment.

“Seven!  Six!”  I had the feeling that she was looking at me, though, and I tried my best to focus on the countdown.

“Five!  Four!” Last time I had been here I was dating her.  Everyone still looked the same; it was as if we were all back in high school and nothing had changed. 

“Three!  Two!” And yet so much had happened over these last few months.  And as unchanged as everyone seemed, I knew that we would all leave here tonight eager to get back to our own lives.  2011 would most certainly be quite different from 2010.

“One!  Happy new year!” Everyone shouted at once. “Happy 2010!”

I looked around.  Everyone was jumping up and down and knocking together cups and making noise however they could.  Had I just hallucinated?  Had they all said what I thought I heard?

Then Lisa kissed me.  Really kissed me.

“Whoa!” I said. “What are you doing?”

“W-what?” She said, looking taken aback. “What are you talking about?”

“We don’t – we don’t do that anymore.  It’s over; it’s been over for five months.  You can’t just-”

“Guy,” she said. “What’s over?”

“What’s over?” I said loudly over the noise. “Us, Lisa!  We are over!  We’ve been over!” I thought we had established this last summer.

She buried her face in her hands and ran away through the hooting and hollering partygoers.  What was going on?

The crowd simmered down a minute later.  I scanned for Mike, eager to tell him what had just happened.

I felt a tap on the shoulder.”Happy new year, Guy!” said Stacy Whats-her-name.

“Oh hey Stacy,” I tried to sound normal and nonchalant. “Happy 2011!”

“That’s hilarious!” she said after a short chuckle. “You should go around saying that to people.”

Before I could question why this was so funny, someone else grabbed my attention.         “Guy!” It was Sidney Wallace.  He was on the varsity football team with me my senior year. “I never got a chance to talk to you after the game!  You just kinda ran off.”

My head spun.  Was everyone here going crazy?  I hadn’t played football since senior year, nor seen or even talked to Sidney.  I didn’t know what to say.

“Anyway,” he continued, seeing my perplexed look. “Don’t sweat it.  Really.  No one expected you to make that kick; it was nearly impossible!  And no one blames you.” He said this so convincingly I felt like I was actually back in high school and it was right after our last game of the season.  I had missed the field goal that would have won the game and left without speaking to anyone soon after it was over.

“That was so long ago,” I said. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Long ago?  Two weeks is a long time for you?”

I felt like I had entered the Twilight Zone.

“Dude,” I said sternly; as sternly as I could say the word ‘dude’. “It’s been over a year.”

“Maaan!” he said, laughing. “How drunk are you?”

I walked away from him hurriedly, a little shaken.  Could this all be a coincidence?  That guy I had talked to earlier had said something about getting together over spring break.  He wouldn’t have said that if we were all still in high school together. 

I pulled out my phone, intending to see what name he had put in with his number.  I glanced at the date.

Jan 1^st  2010

I suddenly felt sick.  My whole body began to tingle.  I felt like I was anchored in place as people swarmed around the room, passing me by like I was in some sort of limbo.

This was stupid.  I could remember the entire last year.  I remembered my roommate in Arizona and my classes and the water balloon fight with the girls in the other dorm…

I needed to find Mike.  I pushed through the crowd as fast as I could go without bowling people over, heading for Mike’s room.

Voices echoed all around me.  I forced myself to believe I was imagining them.

“Guy, I hear you’re going to Arizona next year!”

“Hey I just saw Lisa run off crying, are you two okay?”

“Happy new year, Guy!  I’m so checked out of High School, how about you?”

This wasn’t happening.  I knew what year it was.  How could I remember what hadn’t happened yet?

I threw open the door to Mike’s room.  A couple people sat on his bed, talking animatedly and motioning for me to join them.  I ignored their requests and looked up at the ladder that lead from Mike’s room to the roof of the apartment; a favorite spot of his.

I climbed.  The rungs couldn’t go by fast enough.

But the roof was empty.  My feet scraped against the ground as I jogged around, looking for him.

And then the solution hit me.  My car!  I had parked just across the street and would be able to see it from here.  My parents had given me a brand new pick-up truck to haul my stuff to Arizona.  Senior year I drove an old, beat up pastel green beetle.  This would solve things. 

I walked to the edge of the roof, calming down some.  This was all stupid.  I must have been crazy to think something as ridiculous as that; how in the known universe was it possible to go back a year?  It was funny, really.  I would have to tell Mike…

I felt light headed.  My vision swam before me as I looked down upon the road, the orange lights of the streetlamps turning the pastel green paint of my bug a funny color. 

I was going insane.

I shuffled backward from the roof, repulsed by what I had seen.

“Guy!” a voice shouted from the ladder. “What are you doing up here?  2010’s a new year, buddy, get back in here!” It was Mike.  He had said ‘2010’.  I was losing my mind.  My grip on reality wavered.

“No!” I shouted. “You tell me what’s going on!  Why is my old car parked in the street?” I heard my own voice like it came from someone else.  It was shaky.

Mike paused. “Your old car?  Guy, you’ve never owned another car.”

“Yes I have! What the hell is going on, Mike?!  What is this?” I was desperate now.  I didn’t know what was real.

A few more people came out onto the roof along with Mike.  The group of them moved towards me cautiously. “Hey man, come back from the edge, you’re a little close there.”

“No!” I shouted again. “Tell me what the hell is going on!”

“Calm down man,” Mike said. “You’re freaking me out.”

“I’ll jump!” I said, stepping up onto the ledge bordering the roof. “I swear I’ll jump!”

“Guy!” Mike yelled. “Why in the world would you jump?”

“I know what year it is!  I remember Arizona!  I remember everything!”

Someone whispered in Mike’s ear and he nodded several times in agreement.

“Alright Guy, we’re done.  Come down now.”

“W-what?”

“I said we are done!  You could really hurt yourself man.  It was just a joke.”

“I…I don’t…”

“That’s Dan’s bug down there.  We painted it green like yours and moved your truck around the corner.”

I felt in my pocket for my keys.  They were gone. 

“What about Lisa?” I said.

Mike turned to Lisa, who I now realized was standing amongst the group on the roof.  He handed her a twenty and she waved it at me, smiled, and climbed back down the ladder.

“And…” I started, timidly. “Everyone else?”

“Was in on it.  Ask ‘em.  Shane changed the date on your phone, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“I… I don’t under… stand…”

Mike laughed.  Everyone else did, too. “Happy new year, Guy!” he said.     

Benched

December 13^th, 9:17 pm

I was leaving the office when I saw her.  Covered in newspaper, arm hanging limply over the bench, knees brought in tightly to her stomach.  I had never seen her there before.  I neared the bench slowly.  The steady rise and fall of the newspapers told me she was alive, and I relaxed a little.  I wondered whether I looked strange, standing over her, watching this homeless girl sleep.  I wondered how a girl who couldn’t possibly be over 25 could end up sleeping on a bench at the coldest time of year.  I wondered if I had left my office door unlocked.

December 13^th, 7:36 am

I have routines.  Every morning I perform these routines exactly the way I did the morning before.  If something is different, something is wrong.  On workdays I wake up at 7:00 am and make my bed.  I then use the bathroom, wash my hands, brush my teeth, floss, shave, apply deodorant, get dressed, comb my hair, water the balcony plants, eat breakfast, check the back door’s lock, check all rooms, gather my things, put on my shoes, and leave for work.  This sounds fairly normal.  And for someone other than me, it would be.  But, as with all true routines, they must be the same every day.  The exact same.

For instance (and to paraphrase):

I finish making my bed by 7:04, measuring the distance the sheets are from the ground (must be 1 foot on all sides) with a ruler I keep in the back right of my middle nightstand drawer, inches side face up.  I use the bathroom and time myself with a stopwatch, if I am off by thirty seconds of my normal time I must methodically go through what I ate the day before to see if anything had changed and may lead to further bowel disruptions.  I ponder this, of course, while continuing with my other actions.  I wash my hands with hot water and a drop of soap for five seconds (to avoid a burn) to kill any bacteria quickly and efficiently.  I brush my teeth starting with back lower left and ending with front upper right, making counterclockwise motions and then clockwise.  I move the floss back and forth between each tooth two and a half times.  I shave left cheek, left neck, left next-to-the-ear and repeat for the right side, then the chin and upper lip.  This takes 6 minutes.  Deodorant goes under left arm then right, back and forth under each three times.  I get my clothes ready the night before so it only takes 1-2 minutes (depending on if I have the pants with the frustrating button) to put on a shirt, a buttoned shirt, a pair of pants, a pair of socks, a scarf, and grab a coat.  I comb my hair after I am dressed to avoid having to perform the dreaded “re-do” of hair combing that might occur after putting on a shirt.  I water the plants left to right; there are five plants and each gets its own mental timer for how much water it needs (5 seconds, 7.5 seconds, 4 seconds, 5.5 seconds, 10.5 seconds).  My breakfast would seem like a complicated mathematical equation to most, so I will skip that process.  The back door lock must be turned horizontally to denote the locked position.  I quickly peer into each room (twice) and then gather my briefcase, keys, wallet, glasses, newspaper, put on my shoes (another complicated process) and leave for work,   locking the door, waiting ten seconds, unlocking the door, going back into the apartment with haste (to catch any intruder off guard), and then leaving the apartment for good.  I don’t know what I would do should there actually be an intruder, but I would worry all day if I did not check.

This all might sound a little odd to you.  Sometimes people think I’m odd.

December 13^th, 9:22 pm

I hadn’t, but it never hurts to check.

I returned to my previous position, hovering over the girl on the bench, wondering if I should do what most others seemed to be fond of doing and just continue with my life without giving her a second thought. 

December 13^th, 9:41 pm

I set out a mug of hot tea and a couple scones on my table in front of her.  If she noticed, she did not give any signs.  She was curled on the couch, face buried in the cushions, and I still had no idea as to what her voice sounded like.

This was not like me at all.  I was safe.  I was predictable.  I was uninteresting.  I had taken a strange homeless girl back to my apartment on a work day. 

December 14^th, 1:01 am

I couldn’t remember the last time I didn’t fall asleep within five minutes.  It was usually the ending to my routines; everything completed and organized, I could fall easily and instantly asleep.  I had now been lying awake for two and a half hours.  I had never been so familiar with my ceiling.

December 14^th, 1:39 am

I was no longer capable of blinking, it seemed.  The ceiling started to play a slideshow of the images in my head.  To keep sanity I got up to get some water.

December 14^th, 1:40 am

I passed behind the couch.  I was hesitant to look down, as if my doing so might offend her.  I filled a glass with water, slowly, to not make any noise.

December 14^th, 1:42 am

As I walked back down the hall I noticed that she had turned over.  The moonlight now shone on her face.  I stopped for a moment.  She was beautiful.  There was a beautiful girl in my apartment.  There was a girl in my apartment.

December 14^th, 1:48 am

There was no chance of sleep.  The image of her face, gently brightened by the moonlight, glowing, would not empty from my mind.  I had only seen her for a moment, but I felt like I was still with her, over her…next to her.  I imagined her opening her eyes, the soft moonlight reflecting off her irises.  She smiles and looks up at me.  I smile back and offer my hand.  She squeezes it, but does not look away.

December 14^th, 2:12 am

My imagined realities were starting to behave like memories.  I replayed them over and over until they had seemingly rooted themselves somewhere in my past, as real as any memory I had ever had.

She looked up at me and smiled.  As the moonlight shone into her eyes, my life with her appeared before me. 

The marvelous streets of Paris dazzled below us.  We twirled and dipped and as we danced we spoke in awe of how we were caught between two starry nights, one below us and one above us, the cosmos opening up to reveal its twinkling beauty.  We laughed and spun and skipped and embraced and looked over the

Bow of the ship, watching the clouds swim by, slim showers of sunlight breaking through to set the ocean on fire with sparks of light, tumbling with the waves and crashing against our vessel.  The sky darkened with time and we retreated inside the small cabin of the boat.  We held each other as the world around us was churned into a stormy chaos, and as I looked into her eyes I felt safe and complete, a stark contrast to what existed beyond the hull

Of the plane sunk and rose with each bump in the air, taking my stomach with it.  I stood looking out above the earth, small colored patches and squares sailing by, thousands of feet below me.  I gripped my pack tightly, afraid to let go.  But then she kissed me and I looked at her and her smile lifted my worries and I dropped

Into the water, a pillar of bubbles engulfing me as I went under, afraid and mystified of this new world that had formed before my eyes.  The painter of the sea had not forgotten anything from his pallet.  Coral the color of cherry blossoms and honey waved before us and I took her hand as violet jellies surrounded us and a ray glided passed, riding a gentle current into the distant blue.  We descended into the

Night sky, leaving trails of stardust in their wake.  We toasted with red wine atop the hill, watching the stars come falling down.  It was the universe’s show just for the two of us.  I looked into her eyes and she looked into mine.  I held her hand and we kissed and the world came alive with streaming lights from space.     

December 14^th, 7:00 am

Reality hit me hard.  It punched a pit in my stomach as my alarm clock shouted again and again.  It was Tuesday.  In reality, I had work on Tuesday.  In reality, I worked in an office.

7:01 am

I was never angry in the morning.  I accepted my morning rituals as inevitabilities.  I knew work was something that would not change, and that I could not avoid. 

But something had altered in my mind, some dusty gear had started to turn and set in motion the awakening of the other gears surrounding it.  I had seen the life I truly desired; a life someone, somewhere was probably living while I worked in an office Monday through Friday.

I looked at my bed, the covers in disarray, hanging off all sides at terribly uneven distances from the ground.  At 7:02 every morning I opened the middle drawer of my nightstand, withdrew the ruler, and methodically made/measured every part of my bed.

7:02 am

I stare at my messy bed, the only reminder of the places my dreams had taken me.

7:03 am

I leave the room, smiling.

Everything that blooms starts out as something small.  A change, a slight shift in a pattern could cause the spark that lights someone’s world on fire. 

There was no one to say that, weeks from now, I wouldn’t find myself on a sailboat in the middle of a storm, holding the love of my life tightly in my arms while the boat swayed around us.  There was no one to say that she wasn’t on my couch right now, at this very moment, gently waking to the sounds of my creaking floorboards as I padded down the hallway to say, “Good morning, I hope you slept well, what is your name?”

The couch was empty.  The room was empty.  My periphery caught the bowl on the counter in which I kept necessities for leaving the apartment.  My wallet was gone.

Eight

Computers sleeping and lights off, the office had been empty for a while.  But one tired soul, determined to impress his boss by completing a report over night, remained.  Head buried in papers, presided over by the low hum of his computer, he was in a world of his own, unable to hear the footsteps in the stairwell leading up to his office.

               

                The boy padded lightly up the stairs, holding his shoes in one hand and cell phone in the other.  He checked his phone every couple seconds.  He reached the door he wanted and slipped his shoes back on.  He checked his phone again.

                NEW MESSAGE it read.

The boy hurriedly flipped open his phone, fumbling a bit.

 The message contained only one thing:

SEVEN

The boy cursed under his breath. “He’s caught up with me.”

ME TOO the boy sent back.

He shoved his phone in his pocket and started to slowly open the door.

“Almost done,” The man said to himself. “I better get some sort of recognition for this bullshit.  He wants the report in two days?  I’ll do it in one.  If he thinks I’ll never be able to do it in two days, if he’s testing me, well, fuck him, ‘here it is sir, kiss my ass’, and if he thinks two days is plenty of time, well… I don’t know, he’s insane or something.  This is bullshit.  I have like eight hours into this thing today.  And he told me about it today.  Fuckin bullshit.”

The man continued to mumble to himself as he typed with increasing frustration.

Through the door, the boy took out a bandana and wadded it up.  He placed it on the floor so the door wouldn’t close and then walked into the room. 

Countless cubicles.  It made him sick.  What good was life if not completely unbarred?  “These are all cages”, he thought. “They are just mice, trapped, all the same, blind.  Blind mice.” He lowered his head and started down the hall slowly, his shoes silent on the carpeted floor, his rage building as he passed each “cell”.  He could hear whispers up ahead.

The man leaned back in his chair and sighed. “Finally,” he said.  After a moment he got up and put his hands on his desk, leaning forward, examining his work. “Kiss my ass,” he said, and clapped.  It was the first real noise the room had heard in hours.

He stacked the mess of papers on his desk and threw them in a folder, which he then put in his briefcase.  He turned off his monitor and then his computer.  The humming stopped.  Everything was silent. 

The boy took notice of the silence.  He stopped moving, he stopped thinking.  He heard the wheels of a rolling chair, the sound of the armrests hitting the edge of the desk, the shuffling of a windbreaker and then a zipper and then footsteps.

The man walked down the hallway, striding proudly.  He checked his watch.

“2 am.  Not bad.”

He reached the door to the stairwell and saw that it was being held ajar by a cloth.

“What the hell?”

The boy plunged a hunting knife into the man’s back, upper left, just below the shoulder blade.  Easy access to the heart.  The man fell to the ground and the boy stood over him and watched as the life drained, blood seeping into the carpet.

When the man’s breathing finally stopped the boy took out his phone.

NEW MESSAGE

HAHA it read.

The boy quickly replied and shoved the phone back in his pocket.

EIGHT.  IM WINNING.