New Year

Two black birds with reddish plumes trotted about on the white branch that arced across my bedroom window. The larger of the two, presumably male, approached the other. At first she stood as if she did not notice him, but when he came within about an inch she hopped to her left. He fluttered his wings and pecked at her neck and she flew off to god-knows-where.

The party started at seven thirty and I could hear the footsteps and sober hesitation of introductory conversations above. I fitted my feet individually into long black stockings and pulled them tight at the knees to work out the folds. I pulled my loafers from underneath the bed and noticed they could use a dusting. I wiped them off with an old pink rag and slid my feet into the cold leather. I walked down the hallway that leads the the kitchen and paused before the bathroom mirror. I bent over and looked up at the hairless spot on the top of my head and the  thin swirl hair that cropped up around it. I brushed my hair over it as best I could, tucked my white button-down into my trousers, and took a deep breath.

To tell you the truth, I hadn't been to a party in some time. The last, I recall, was a christmas party my co-workers had put together and at which I made a abridged appearance and promptly made my way to the door. I've never much cared for parties. My mother used to host weekly parties every sunday with a few of her girlfriends. They would sit at the kitchen table with a bottle of liquor and play gin-rummy and converse in such a cantankerous manner that I learned in a short period of time the benefits of prolonged solitude. I'd watch out my second-floor window the inevitable shooing of the guests and my mother spitting upon the sidewalk and stepping on the spot as if rubbing it into the concrete. Her friends would waddle down the sidewalk screaming at the air in front of them and huddle in a little, green nissan.

But my neighbors had invited me to their new year's party. I usually try to avoid them at all costs, as I'm not keen on conversation in general, but it just-so-happened a few weeks ago that I was entering the house at the same time Ivan was leaving. I said hello and he greeted me and asked me how I was doing. I was stunned. I have a very difficult time articulating my thoughts though I believe I spat out something that held meaning to my neighbor. He smiled and stood for a moment, which made me unbelievably uncomfortable. I made my way for the door when he stopped and said, Daniel, why don't you come to our new year's party?

I wished to be out of his company as soon as possible and found the shortest answer to be yes, so I quickly replied the affirmative.

Alright, it starts around seven. Be there or be square, he said.

Square? I thought, and imagined myself stuffed into a fiberglass cube.

So there it was. I had considered defaulting on the invitation, but how embarrassing would it be if I were seen by my neighbors hunkered down on my sofa? So staying home was not an option. And going out. Well, where would I go? I certainly wasn't going to venture out to a cafe on new year's! Anyhow I resigned to accept the invitation and so did my best to prepare myself for the inevitable. Hello, how are you doing, I practiced with imaginary acquaintances. Oh, just fine. Looking forward to the new year? Oh, of course, what a wonderful year its been! Yes, yes, and what a wonderful party. The hors d'oeuvres are splendid. What's that? A spread suited for a king indeed!

At eight o'clock I made my way into the lobby. My heart began to race and I was sweating as well. I felt my flesh turn white and I quickly ran back in my apartment and sat on the sofa with my head in my hands. I raised my eyes and the room began to spin and so I laid down. I breathed heavily and calmed myself. It is only a party, I told myself. None of these people will even notice you. They're surely all blasted drunk at this point. Aren't they? Anyhow maybe I should have a drink to calm my nerves. So I stood and made my way to the pantry and fished around for the bottle of brandy I'd had been gifted years back.

I poured a tall glass and bent down to sniff the viscous amber liquid. Vile! Memories of my mothers breath, her violet-painted lips and yellow, crooked teeth came to the fore of my imagination. I backed away from the glass and watched it as if it might jump out at me. But it was still.

Again I approached the glass. This time I pinched my nose closed with my thumb and forefinger and downed a mouthful of brandy. I nearly vomited. I took to a fit of ferocious coughing. I was certain my neighbors could hear me and so I muffled the coughs with my hand. Immediately I became very dizzy and sprinted into the living room and sat again upon my sofa.

With the effects of the brandy beginning to soothe my mind, I stood and tested my balance. Splendid, I remarked silently. I hopped about the living room as if the floor rejoiced in my sauntering. The lights in the living room took on a warmer hue and I stepped again before the mirror and complimented my countenance, though I admittedly would have made a few changes had I the opportunity and resources. 

I exited my apartment and headed up the stairs with renewed confidence. I watched my steps as I ascended and noted the reflection of the light upon my newly polished loafers. I knocked upon the door when I remembered I had not brought anything to the party. I was empty-handed. I ran down the stairs again when the door opened and I turned to Ivan who greeted me and asked where I was going so soon. Very funny, I remarked, though stirring with anxiety inside, I have forgotten to bring…the cheese yes that's it! I have forgotten it and I must be off for a moment to fetch it!

Okay, Ivan replied, see you in a minute.

Cheese, I thought to myself. I don't have any cheese, do I?

I ransacked my refrigerator. Not a morsel of cheese in sight. I panicked. I thought of running off to the grocery store, but no, I told Ivan I'd be back in a minute. And he would know if I were gone too long I'd had no cheese to begin with. Oh, to hell with it, I thought, I'll bring the brandy. So I capped it and tucked it under my arm and headed back upstairs and knocked on the door.

Ivan's nordic countenance smiled in the threshold. That's some fine cheese you've got there, he remarked.

Well, yes, see, it seems I've misplaced the cheese somehow but fortunately I've got a bottle of some fine brandy that was given…that I bought the other day. Anyhow it's quite delicious!

You've tried it?

Well, no, I mean, I've heard it's quite delicious.

Hm, he responded. Well, anyhow why don't you come in and meet some friends of mine?

Meet some friends! I shuttered again. The effects of the alcohol seemed to be withering but I thought it uncommon to be the first at the brandy. I entered the living room and a number of young people were standing and sitting in groups of twos and threes. My heart beat rapidly and again I began to sweat but my chances of escaping so quickly were very unlikely. I turned and headed for the kitchen when Ivan put his brawny hand on my shoulder.

I'd like you to meet my girlfriend, he said. Cathleen, this is my neighbor Daniel.

I reached out my gaunt and skeletal hand and watched it as one might watch a fish pass through a burrow in aquarium stone. I shook her hand and she smiled and asked me how I was doing.

Splendid, I said, just splendid. The spread is made for many kings! I spouted nervously. Cathleen's smile turned slowly downward as if melting.

Oh, I've done it, I thought.

Yes, she agreed. I think I'll go get some food myself. And with that she disappeared and Ivan was nowhere to be found.

For fear of conversation I took a few steps back and surveyed the room. I had not expected such a sparsely decorated apartment. Along the wall opposite of myself were two windows and between them a poster for the movie Scarface. Al Pacino, presumably, standing half-shadowed and half in the light, a pistol in his right hand. Hm. I'd never owned a gun though my father did. I had shot it once. A family of raccoons was living underneath our wooden shed. My father had trapped them. I was in my bedroom doing god-knows-what and my father yelled my name and when I went outside I saw him holding a .22 rifle. He posed casually with the gun in one hand. The raccoons stirred nervously in the cage.

Daniel, come here, he said.

I stood before the raccoons who reeled about in their tarnished black and white coats and one of them looked me straight in the face. I told my father I couldn't do it. He said that I had no choice and stood next to me like a giant. Okay I said. So I raised the rifle and aimed it square between its eyes and pulled the trigger. Click.

You have to flip the safety, my father grumbled.

So I flipped it and fired the gun and it was very simple - there was a thunderous crack and the raccoon just stopped moving. There was scarcely any violence in the act. It fell to its side as if it were sleeping. But not sleeping, really. A bit of blood ran down its face. I turned to my father who shook his head and told me to go help my mother with dinner and that I'd done, in his words, a real fine job…

At the front of the apartment was a large television on an old leather chest. The television was on though no sound emanated from it. A bronze, floor standing globe was in the corner, and a bookshelf with an assortment of paperbacks along the wall. I casually strode toward the bookshelf and followed the titles with an index finger when another hand, this time, fragile and warm, rested upon my shoulder.

See anything you like? a slightly unsteady, feminine voice called from behind.

Um, sure, I said. Look here is a The Sound and the Fury. I read this years ago. Didn't understand a word.

Impenetrable, I agree. She smiled and looked me in the eye for a moment then looked away.

So, how do you know Ivan? she asked.

Well, I don't really.

So you just walked in the front door and…

No, no, I'm Ivan's neighbor!

Oh, Ivan's mentioned you…

He has mentioned me? I gasped.

Well, yes, though he hasn't said too much. He said that he's very interested in you. That you seem like an interesting guy.

I turned to Ivan who stood against the wall on the opposite side of the room with his head raised and he was laughing with an open mouth. A strand of saliva hung from his incisor. 

How do you know Ivan? I asked.

We went to school together. I hadn't seen him in years but he sent me an invitation online.

Hm, I said. I looked at her. She played with a strand of her blonde hair that hung to her shoulder. Her eyes cast across the room. Her cheeks were a bit red. I thought of many questions to ask - this is what I've learned: If you've got nothing to say, ceaselessly interrogate. But I've also learned that interrogation only goes so far. Eventually you've got to say a thing or two yourself. First rule of conversation, I thought, stay on topic.

So, where did you go to school?

She looked at me and held a long, white finger up at my face, smiled, and walked toward Ivan. I was baffled! I made a motion as if to defend my conversation against his hypothetical - but she was off. I watched as her thin figure passed across the room and saw her as some sort of icon of all my social experiences. Standing in solitude and quiet amongst a world of language and conversation. My own tongue betraying my intentions.

And so I stirred these thoughts around for a while and made my way for the brandy in the kitchen. I searched the cupboards for the glasses. I poured myself a glass of the amber liquor and tossed it quickly to the back of my throat and steadied myself against my body's revulsion. I walked back into the living room and found - wait what was her name? I discovered her standing with Ivan. She reached her hand out and he turned his face and she touched his cheek. She squinted, smiled, and said something incomprehensible.

I took a deep breath and made my way back into the kitchen. Again my heart was racing. I felt myself going pale and saw the door partly cracked open and a column of light calling from beyond. I fixed my eyes on the door and steadily, yet quietly passed my company and opened the door only 'so' and fit myself through the threshold from whence I came and went down the stairs on my toes.

I opened my door and closed it silently and slipped into my dark and soundless apartment.  A rectangle of light lay on my floor with the shadow of a leafless tree trembling in the imagined autumn wind. I stood and watched it for some time. When suddenly I heard a knock at my door. I turned to answer it, but I remembered, Ivan! It must be him. I stood at the door, my hand trembling, tears welling in my eyes.

For the Indie Ink Writing Challenge this week, michael challenged me with "I know they say just let it be. But it just don't work out that way," and I challenged Tereasa Trevor with "Write a story that takes place entirely outdoors and includes a discussion of a natural object or occurrence."