Lawn Party

1

It was just a small gathering at JJ’s - not a gathering per se, but a gradual agglutination of individuals in the vicinity. No deliberate attempt to exclude you, I promise. I was passing by on my way to a great rendition of Sarafina (my sister is in the cast, playing one of those insignificant roles she repeatedly stumbles into; she has such immense vitality and stage presence, you wouldn’t even notice she lacks professional polish) but I spotted the trollop on the lawn, so I had to march over there and confront her about her appalling behaviour. The sheer audacity of that hussy, sprawled on the grass smoking some grass - note how terribly inconsiderate it was since I was trying to quit for the umpteenth time - so I had to yank it out of her hand and lower myself onto the manicured grass to give her a lecture on the perils of smoking. While approaching the heart of my soliloquy, I realised it would be a terrible waste to throw the whole thing away, so we ended up passing it back and forth between us, not speaking, just existing between the puffs and wheezes of life-affirming ecstasy. It seemed improperly proper, somehow, like the almost suggestive wobble caused by the 23½ degree tilt as the Earth spins on its axis and for a sweet moment it did not matter that JJ was storming out of the house and slashing my tyres, wearing that cruel smile reserved for the trollop and her mother - not JJ’s mother but the trollop’s, or perhaps it is the other way round. Forgive my deviations, my mind flits over everything so fast it is impractical for me to develop several meaningful trains of thought: they dash away with the spry gait of unmasked snake oil salesmen. I meant to say I ended up staying at JJ’s…Oh; you understand? I don’t think so, but thank you for trying. See you at the next shindig. May it be more tolerable than the last. 

2

It was just a small gathering at JJ’s. Intimate. Not that you’re not part of the inner circle. You are. We forgot about you. Just for a second. I got one of those last-minute-evening-out-the-numbers invites. JJ's text was too abrupt for it to be a non-spontaneous decision. Contemptuous, almost. I swung by for a quick visit, anyway. My pride lingered in the pit of my belly. Swallowed and partially digested.

I found Tisha and the trollop smoking on the lawn. Getting on like a forest on fire. I flopped down next to them. Stretched out my hand. Tisha aimed her squint at me. Like it would pain her to give me anything. Like she wished I wasn’t there. Like all she saw was a space where a person might have been, but no longer was. You know how she gets. Especially when she’s trying to quit. Or her sister is the lead actor on one of those hugely successful shows. The casual amendment of undesirables is achingly beautiful to watch.

She apologised later with some excellent cookies. My feral brothers enjoyed them very much. The cookies were so good they almost made me tell her I slashed her tyres. I would have forgiven her anything but that squint. Being looked at like some stranger. Or an insect. Unworthy of her attention. Which is true to some extent. Nobody truly comprehends anybody else. I may have been an insect in a past life. I have worked hard to be unworthy of people’s attention. But would a stranger have put up with her insufferable witticisms day after day? Would an insect follow her home every night to make sure no one was following her home every night? She thinks JJ did it and was too lazy to call a mechanic or get an Uber. Ended up moving in with JJ. They’re talking about adopting a kid. Child or baby goat? I don’t know. Maybe both. I hope they have a long, happy courtship. Now I can follow the two of them at once. Saves a lot of time. Maybe I can finally get some sleep. 

We were very remorseful when we remembered you. We fell on our faces and tore our breasts. We lay in sackcloth and ashes. We wept softly into the ground that hardened against us for forgiveness. When we tired of repentance, we tore out the grass and gorged ourselves.

3

It was just a small gathering at my place. “Small” meaning about thirty people. None of them were close friends - except maybe the trollop - but not distant either. I wouldn’t call them acquaintances, but I wouldn’t sing Mafikizolo songs at the top of my lungs in front of them.

It was one of those humid days that deplete your will to suffer alone. Unsurprisingly, the uninvited guests wandered aimlessly until they found a place to coalesce at, bringing their own entertainment. When the fun threatened to run out they wrecked my lawn. At that moment I ached to create a lake with my tears and drown them in it. I wanted to slash their tyres so they could not leave, then burn the house down with all of them crammed into it, watching with dread as the flames licked their companions before consuming them. I can almost hear the music: a one-of-a-kind symphony, each movement characterised by a unique blend of desperate screams and gentle wind chimes. You can hear it too? Excellent! Perhaps we can compose together when you have the time. In the meantime, I suppose I will turn the lawn into a cactus garden and plant some ornamental Venus flytraps, which is almost as good.

Someone stayed. Two people, in fact. One temporarily, before her kid was safely delivered. The other follows me home and whispers furtively about my great love and sleep (or is sleep my great love? I shall have to ask her when she tires of slinking in the shadows). I wonder if you know each other. I wonder if you are friends. She’s a little crazy and a little lonely and a little human, like you. I have to love her because I love you.