New Years Even

We leave Dan Kessler to finish closing up his store and Stephanie asks what we should do until we meet up with him again.

"I say we check out hot girls."

"Sounds excellent," she says and huddles against me so that neither one of us slips on the icy sidewalks of New Paltz.

We enter a coffeehouse called The Muddy Cup. Behind the register, thereis a sign reading "Men are like parking spots. The good ones are takenand the free ones are handicapped." I raise my eyebrow at the sign.

"You aren't handicapped," she responds.

"Eh, I'm a little handicapped right now."

I leave her for a moment while the barista makes her tea so I can givea quick once-over of the other patrons. I have been pacing a lot sincethe breakup,just to give my body something to do. Coupled with the fact that I haveto consciously will myself to eat, I may end up scrawnier than usual.Unlike the prior two days, where I was little better than catatonicallyfollowing people around and trying not to burst into wracking sobs, Ihad been okay most of today, even upbeat. I started bantering morenaturally and lucidly, possibly having otherwise exhausted myunderstandable malaise by talking in detail to no fewer than twentypeople (including a crisis hotline and the man who makes referrals atmy doctor's office, since I wanted to convince him to summarily referme to the proper sort of psychotherapist) about my situation andthoughts. As long as I keep myself from sitting too long in one placeto think, I could function like a normal human being. Well, as normalas I am ever.

I return to Stephanie and she asks if I saw anyone I liked. Iappreciate that she has already caught onto how I work. When I hung outwith Zack, he told me that he specifically forbade me to date for atleast three months to avoid getting a rebound crush and getting hurtmore. He said that I was welcome to make whatever friends I wished, butthat I couldn't date them until the deadline was up. I asked if I wasallowed to kiss these new friends, hypothetically. He allowed the cheekand nothing more. When I told Melissa this, she told me to ignore Zackand that I should date if I meet someone I wish to date. I think I willmeet somewhere in the middle, though I do want to try to find anunattached and friendly person tonight so I can be kissed at midnight.It would be good mojo given what I am going through.

"There is a girl over there. I got a quick look. Of everyone in the place, she had the most potential."

Paying for her tea, she walks over to a sofa four feet from the girl'sback and motions for me to sit. She then leans over to casually examinethe girl. When I get a better look, my theory that this stranger hadpotential evaporates. What she actually had was a nice coat and theright lighting.

Stephanie and I fall into a discussion of my situation, of priorrelationships good and bad. I tell her about some of my regrets in mybreakup with Kate, of having cried in her lap over how much I missedher, which supposedly aroused her enough that she slept with some boynamed Rick once I left her dorm. I told Stephanie that I am trying todo this breakup with Emily so I will regret nothing, just as Iregretted nothing in our relationship. We are two people who genuinelylove and care for one another and who cannot be together. I offer heranalogies both divine (Abelard and Eloise) and infernal (Buffy andAngel), and she appreciates both. I talk a little bit about how, beforehis death, I promised Emily's father that I would love and take care ofhis daughter and how I still take that vow seriously. She tells me ofher anally fixated, conspiracy theorist ex-boyfriend, whom she hasrecently seen for an extended period for the first time since theirbreakup. I feel even better by contrast.

As we are chatting, a woman walks in and I nudge Stephanie. "She istotally my type." This woman is a little taller than average and hassoft, curious features, long brown hair tied back in a ponytail. She iswearing a short, denim skirt which she keeps tugging down over herblack fishnet stockings (the kind women wore years ago, with a finemesh, not the type emo kiddies slide on their arms). She has on asweater with only the top two buttons fastened over a long sleeved,green shirt. She bites the side of her lip considering the drinkspecials and stands with a posture that is alluring only to people whohave breathed in copious atoms of decaying library books.

"Wow, she isyour type," Stephanie agrees, despite having known me for a sum totalof only ten or so hours in her lifetime. The woman takes a seat on asofa ten feet from us and immediately begins a lively conversation withthe people sitting around, likely her friends. Her delight only fadesone her companion joins here with the drinks. We'd seen him standingnear her in the queue, but his balding, spongy head suggested that hewasn't actually with her. He seemed too old for her by fifteen yearsand, contrasted with her tasteful but appealing array, dressed asthough he just got off work as a middle manager and was about to go toa theme restaurant for drinks with his old frat buddies. We might haveforgiven him his existence, completely resigned him to the mattebackground of the scene, but our desired subject clammed up when he satnext to her. Her lips-lovely ones, full enough for rich kissing but notostentatiously so-dropped not into a frown, but simply lost the smilethey had erstwhile held. Given this, Stephanie decides that he is nother partner, especially as she points out that the woman keeps lookingat me. I look up and we lock eyes for a moment. She offers a shy smilewhose meaning I can't quite read, but it does not say, "please stopnoticing me noticing you noticing me."

"What do you imagine her name is?" I ask Stephanie.

She suggests several euphonious ones before settling on Elizabeth. "Buther friends call her Liz," she amends. This fits well enough, and Ibegin drawing up details of her life, especially trying to deduce whatwent wrong in her life that this schmo has his arm around her.

"What about him?"

"Oh, that's Dave. I hate Dave," Stephanie intones. "She is plainlyunhappy with him. He doesn't do anything fun with her ever, mostly justplays videogames when she wants to go out. That is why she keepslooking around instead of paying attention to him. She is looking for away out." I study Elizabeth and wonder if anyone has ever tried so hardto look away from me while my arm was around them. Then our gazes meetagain and we share her cryptic smile once more.

Hard to look at her

As I cannot figure out, despite my lack of social boundaries andgeneral cleverness, a way to flirt with a girl who is plainly otherwiseoccupied--despite her best interests--Stephanie and I resume ourconversation. She says that she is frankly shocked at what Emily hasdone and I suddenly remember that Stephanie has never actually had thepleasure of Emily's company, the latter woman too busy when Stephaniewas around me. Though I truly cannot foresee when the two will be inthe same place at the same time now, Emily having moved temporarily toWarwick until she is emotionally ready to move to her apartment in thecity, I try to remedy this deficit as best I can by showing Stephaniepictures of all of my friends. The sadness that had been largely absentfrom my interactions today comes back in full force when we stop on apicture of Emily looking down her nose at the camera while wearing aCarebear hoodie. Suddenly, I miss her keenly and breathing gets hardagain. I tell Stephanie this, tell her how much things hurt and howhard this is for me, and she hugs me. When I look up, Elizabeth isstudying our interaction while Dave blathers on about sports or stocksand I wonder what she makes of it. Elizabeth has watched us studyingher, she can't imagine that Stephanie and I are together, but what thendoes she make of the hug?

Shake your groove thing!

Stephanie decides that we has spent too long silently stalkingElizabeth without a method of rescue, so she suggests that we return tothe room she now shares with Dan and that I show her my profile onOkCupid. We poke around the site a bit, answering questions until Dancomes back to joins us and direct us to our New Year's Eve party.

I did not have a clear understanding of what to expect, except that itwas a house party at New Paltz and would therefore be rather loose. Ifeel I could more or less crash any party with sufficiently loud musicthat one can hear it from the street. While I have yet to test thishypothesis, I have no reason to doubt I'd even be noticed. I don'tdrink, therefore I am not a threat to the beer supply. I presently eatlike a dying bird, so the snacks are likewise safe. I would bedisinclined to do much more than chat with a girl, so the host'sgirlfriend or the hostess is immune.

The house we enter is dark and thrumming with unidentifiable music. Idon't have an ear to distinguish music, only lyrics, but what I heardseemed good enough to inspire fifteen odd people to dance around in thedarkness, encircling a flickering LED ball. I hesitate for amoment-Emily had always been skittish about dancing in public, at leastwhen outside of the presence of copious Pagans-but then dive in. I havejoked that I had dancing skills until I imitated Kate's dance moveswhile we were together. As cosmic punishment for my crimes againstdance floor and girlfriend, I lost all rhythm. Still, I followed thetwee aphorism and danced like no one was watching, because they reallydid have better things to do. No one questioned my addition, just as Iexpected.

I communicate nonverbally wit the guests while they are in the dancingroom, a queer language built of smiles and shrugs. I only really chatwith people while in the kitchen. There is more to the house, but noone acts as through this is true and I feel awkward moving outsidetheir architectural acknowledgement, as though I will vanish or intrudeupon another party should I go up or down stairs. I only break thetaboo of silence on the dance floor when I topple onto the sofa next toa blonde girl with whom I had vaguely been dancing earlier.

"I'm Thomm," I shout into her ear.

"Jen. You're here with Dan, right?"

We end up chatting about relationships within a matter of seconds, Itell her that I had been in one for seven years that I was sure wasgoing to result in a very happy marriage. She shares her philosophythat one should either be single or gay, having suffered through abreakup of her own recently. We both resume dancing at the next song,but notice one another a bit more while doing do.

In the midst of all of this pulsing and strange music, Unchained Melodybegins to croon out of the omnipresent speakers. I pull Jen into a slowdance, and she accedes instantly. We are dancing inelegantly, withenough space between us for two Holy Ghosts, and talk over the music tofill in the small awkwardness of this. I talk of my last slow dancingexperiences from high school, of telling my Jen that I loved her duringa dance and her telling me that she appreciated that.

"I think that people basically kiss during slow dances so they don'thave to look at the other person," I share and add, demonstrating for amoment, "Or they put their head on the other person's shoulder."

"How old are you?" the Jen in my arms asks me, blue eyes reflecting the dim light.

"Twenty-seven. Why, how old did you think I was?" I ask this because I can see that my answer is not the one she'd wanted.

"I dunno. Twenty-three at the oldest. You don't look twenty-seven."

"Well, how old are you?"

"Twenty," she laughs.

You know, we do have cups...

I lean in close to her ear, the scent of her hair tickling my nose. "Iguess this pretty much nixes that I was going to proposition you for akiss at midnight." Time is growing short before the new year and I needevery opportunity God or the Alex North can grant to gt my good mojo.

"Yeah, pretty much," she echoes, but we keep dancing.

"If it helps at all," I add a moment later, "I just turned twenty-seven."

She smirks. "I just turned twenty. I was nineteen very recently."

I grin back. "Well played." As a first rejection, it is rather a nice one.

The song ends and I leave her to the faster beats, finding Dan andStephanie. Before I can speak, Dan tells me that I should ask Jen tokiss me at midnight, obviously having seen us dancing together.

"I just did. She said no," and I detail exactly how she said no.

"You are so brave," they both agree, stating that this isn't anythingeither one of them would feel the confidence to do. I shrug this off,but am aware that people have called me confident for similar reasonsin the distant past. Maybe I was brave then or maybe then, like now, Ifelt I had lost all that I could to the vagaries of fate.

Midnight rolls around and everyone makes a low thrum, either with aninstrument or just their voices. I have no one to kiss and concertedlylook away when Stephanie and Dan begin to do so, both because it isrude to do otherwise and because lovers-even lovers I really like andwhose union I wholly approve--kissing are a bit much for me right now.After the screams of "Happy New Year!" die down a bit, Jen gets on thefloor and lifts her shirt above her stomach. Some boy to whom I havenot been introduced dribbles apple cider from a glass bottle into theshell of her small belly button, despite her giggling and protestationsthat it is cold. He leans next to her and proceeds to drink it to thebest of his ability given their positioning. It isn't exactly a kissfor her, but I think the fates would count it. At least her bellybutton will have love for the coming year.

At the end of the night for me, as I am beginning the process ofleaving, I lean over and touch her shoulder. "Sorry if I was a bitskeezy."

"Oh you weren't. At all." And I feel much better for what I have done,for what little I chanced for a kiss from this elfin girl.

"Thank you. You dance divinely." I will have to keep such courage in the future.

Emilycalls me back after midnight to wish me a happy New Year and we arefond and friendly. I don't see why we shouldn't be, we've loved eachother for so long and still did even as she moved out. She had betterluck at midnight, sharing a group kiss with her clan. She may be in fora better year than I am then.

I leave, but the evening does not quite end. I high spirits, I passstrangers and wish them a happy New Year. As I am pulling on my gloves,I notice a dark man walking in my direction, his ear affixed to hiscell phone.

"Rick," I greet, smiling. He doesn't recognize me. I didn't expect himto and I don't really need him to. I would not remember the ex of thegirl who came to me for late night affection.

"Thomm. We met through Kate?" I fill in.

He greets me back as though we are old friends and we shake hands. Itfeels good to do this, as though I have finally forgiven him for a sinthat existed only to me, only in my mind. There were years where I hada subtle dislike of him because he had been an actor in somethinghurtful against me and it mattered not a bit that he had no idea I feltthis way. Compassion comes not when you forgive another person forhurting, but when you realize that there was nothing to forgive.

"Hey, Thomm, you have a happy New Year," he says as we part again.

"I'm going to try my hardest."

WhenI get home, to an apartment that Emily and her friends have picked overto remove most traces of her, I am surprised to not start crying again,to just feel empty and alone.

Originally posted at http://www.xenex.org/journal/20080101.php