Lights and Everything

It was a New Year's Eve party, lights and everything, hosted in the most luxurious part of the city, talked about for days or weeks in advance. Now visited by three friends, who approached the tremendous wooden double doors with excitement.

They had spent the whole evening debating their plans for the night. Jen had wanted something small, comforting, just the three of them on the living room couch. They might stay up until midnight and then pull out some mattresses or sleeping bags. Erica and Florence had thought differently. They saw a night of wonder, of parties, of the kind of joy that lit one for a week.

The challenge had been that Jen could not convince her friends that there could be excitement here, too, and Erica and Florence could not argue effectively that loud music and throngs of people were good things. Jen was not one for arguing, though, so eventually their voices drowned hers out just powerfully enough that she felt compelled to grab her things and get ready. 

Jen’s closet was full of clothes in all styles and fashions, and this was certainly not the first time the three of them had dressed completely differently even with inspiration from the same dresser. There was an elegant necklace for Erica and a long, sleek coat for Florence, two garments that felt fitting for a night like this. Jen, though, could only go so far in the way of partying, so she rummaged for a pale yellow shirt and faded jeans. She had not been trying to impress anybody in particular for years now, not with her looks, at least, and she saw no reason to start again now. 

One way or another they shuffled into Florence’s car (Jen was too scared, busy, or lazy to get a license, and Erica had recently been slammed with a DUI), Erica in the passenger seat and Jan in the back. The stout 1998 Subaru had held long and well, and aside from a couple of scares, the engine always started cleanly, almost with a sense of duty to its owner. Eric had the music going before they had even left Jen’s driveway, if music was what you called it. Needless to say, Jen had no taste for Erica’s selections, which flopped from the newest generic pop from the radio to old songs that she had heard too many times. Of course, she never said so, only smiled sheepishly whenever  Erica looked back at her, and even Florence only gave a slight wave with her hand when she wanted the current song skipped.

Even now at the doorstep none of them could say for certain who had invited them. Nobody, really, but they had all encouraged one another in a circle, saying that this was the type of event you more heard about than got invited to, that New Year’s Eve should bring something new, and that comfort zones were made to be escaped until they reached the consensus that they should just go and see what might happen. They had even promised Jen that were they asked to leave, they would pick up snacks on the way home and fulfill the wish she had had from the start.

Well, a party you heard about but didn’t exactly get invited to is not a party whose door you knock upon gently until you are heard and answered, so Erica did no such thing. Instead, she put one hand to each large handle and leaned all her weight back so as to fling the doors open in a ferocious spirit, which nearly left her on the ground until she bounced back up and bounded inside, followed absentmindedly by Florence and cautiously by Jen.

The moment they were inside there were eyes upon them. One hundred and fifty pairs, perhaps, though it seemed like five hundred to Jen and ten to Erica. Jen found a pair across the room and quickly turned away, but there were onlookers in every direction, and she felt as if every person there was already deciding her fate. She glanced around and around but found no safe place anywhere. She even looked to Florence for support of any kind, but there was none there, so ghostly did her friend seem in situations like the present one.

Rambunctious as their entrance had been, the rager continued on in the way of most others: there were lights of every hue and brightness and music that was almost identical to Erica’s in its arrogance, regularity, and volume, but worst of all were the voices. They said too many things. Mostly gossip, who was here and who wasn’t, who had come to see who, to spit in who’s face, or do any other variety of deeds. A little bit of small talk, mostly between people who had just met tonight, but more between old friends who had forgotten each other until now. Constant singing, the kind that reminded Jen of sirens, so disturbing she knew it would haunt her dreams. Rarest of all were the good noises, the excited chatter of people who clicked, the occasional giggle caused by a smile, and conversations about important things, regardless of specifics.

Jen hurried to a long couch by the wall furthest from the front door, too intimidated by the size of the entrance to stay nearby. She could not find her friends, but could easily imagine their whereabouts and occupations. Erica would by now be looking for dangerous people and thick alcohol, Florence close enough behind to not be alone but never close enough to be associated with her. Jen found herself one cushion away from another tired soul, who introduced himself as Mo and asked for her name in return. 

She told it to him, and he did not smile or nod but immediately asked her what it meant. If not that, then why her parents had given it to her. She told him she did not know, maybe an old relative or something. She’d never been curious about her name before. It seemed to her a short, irrelevant thing, three letters that only existed to tell people who she was, and she found it strange that this man should think it should stand for anything else at all.

She said as much, and they agreed to disagree. He said his own name was not short for Moses but for “more,” at least the way he thought of it, and he was certain that his parents called him that because that was what they had always wanted. If you said it fast enough, it might even sound like somebody with their mouth full was saying just that.

Jen was already starting to like the guy, but she showed no signs of it. She didn’t know how you were supposed to signal such a thing to a person. Mo didn’t say much of anything after his treatise, so Jen didn’t either, and they ended up on the couch all night, one cushion between them, both partygoers reluctantly staring into their red cups, looking for some prophecy in them.

She didn’t need prophecy, though, because before long she heard yelling across the room. Erica was already drunk and dazed, and she was fighting with someone of equal status over any inconsequential thing. Jen sat and said nothing, and when Mo finally asked if her if she knew either of them, she only said, “I’m friends with one.”

“Well, why don’t you go and do something?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know, she’s your friend! Do anything!”

Do anything! Now there was a promise, a command to be free. She remembered a note she had saved in her jacket pocket. She pulled it out, remembering how she had scribbled “find better friends!” on it in anger only hours before. The words were clear to her now, the necessary actions, too, so she got up and asked Mo for his phone number. After he typed it in, she thanked him for the conversation and the advice, and she rushed across the room.

She thought of stopping by Erica to say something to her, anything, as long as it was in anger, but she thought better of it and just looked to Florence, hoping she might leave this hot mess of a human being behind and come with her. The poor girl was grounded though, and even if her eyes were begging for salvation her feet stayed planted. Jen had no time for such games. She did not wave goodbye, only to Mo, who stood and watched her leave, completely impressed by his apparent effect on her.

The taxi driver didn’t bother her with small talk, his head strongly pointed to the road the whole way. Jen finally breathed deep, her eyes and ears at rest, and she once again pulled out the note. She suddenly remembered her necklace and coat, but those had always been cheap things anyway. She kept hearing Mo say “do something!” and she was grateful for it.

She read the words one last time and ripped the note in half, just once, totally at peace, the paper softly shredding between her fingers. No need for it anymore.