Denise R. Weuve

Ink Damage and Other Permanent Stains

New Year Parties that Were & Weren’t

Monday night around 8pm the Peacock calls telling me I should pick him up.  We should ring in the New Year together.   Talk about getting back together.  I haven’t spoken to him in a few months.  He has left messages now and then, reminding me what I’m worth, telling me that no one else will want me, but even those had stopped a month ago. It’s funny to me that he knows so little about me.  If he would have ever listened he would have known I don’t drive on holidays, I tend to avoid driving on regular days.

It’s a shame he never listened.  He would have known I dislike holiday parties, all have a weird history for me.  The last New Year’s party I went to, I went with my best friend, at the time, and the man from work that was my best friend there.  Later that night I found the man I was there “with” or  “for” in a corner with another woman. I just left, it wasn’t an official date anyhow, we were going as a group.  No loss at all.  But in the process there was a loss–my cell phone and it cost me $250.  Oh well.

Picture 4

The New Year’s Party I remember fondly was with Doug. My friends and I went to San Francisco to visit another friend, who had moved with his partner.  It was a disastrous trip, that featured Doug cartwheeling down a Catholic church Aisle, and tongue pierced kisses with fake camels in nativity scenes.  Those were highlights.  We arrived late, a delay, we were told, because of bad weather (I still contend the pilot was drunk and they needed another and we had to wait for his arrival, but all unsubstantiated).  We arrived late so there was no food, but a plethora of alcohol.  That didn’t seem like a horrible idea until hunger hit.   Poor Doug was relegated to sleeping on the floor next to a cat litter box, where Kris and I had the pullout bed.

No matter we made it through the days and then there was New Years.  We knew no one at the party we ended up at that night. Kris, Andy, and Peter were there but they had migrated and found people to chat up, whereas Doug and I had each other. Somewhere Doug an I heard that whatever you were holding onto at midnight, when the New Year knocked you down, would be what you spent the rest of the year with.    We found a bottle of Spanish champagne and sat on a sofa.  Took out cash from our pockets and held hands.  We waited like we waited for our flight.  We laughed and giggled and let time past. When the clock was counting down our last seconds of the year, we hugged, the champagne between us, the money in our hands, and no one else in the room.  Each tick of the secondhand solidifying our friendship. It was the best New Years Party I ever attended.

So when the Peacock wants to go out, on his terms, I know for sure he is not what I want to be holding when the clock strikes midnight.  He is not what I want to spend my next year with.

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