Let's be in the Spirit

Okay. Why did I come here? I don’t even celebrate on New Year’s Eve. It’s all just a bunch of people telling each other how they’re promising themselves they’ll go to the gym, and trust me, it’s not gonna go well. I mean, can you guess what they’re doing now?

A woman shoves a chocolate-iced donut into her mouth. She swallows without barely bothering to chew. “Oh I’m just stocking up,” she tells her (presumably) friend who knows just as well as I do how well her “new-year's-resolution” is gonna go. “You know, I won’t be able to have this for an entire year!” Or the first six weeks in which you’ll actually try. I grab a donut proudly. I’m not “stocking up.” I’m just living my happy, normal life --”

“I mean, at least I don’t look like that.” 

I whirl my head around and look at this lady dead in the eye. Her face reads “Oh crap,” and that’s not just because she was body shaming a young woman in 2019, but because she was caught doing it. I smile at her. 

“Mandy. Unlike you, I have a brain, and with it I write books. And my books are all I need. I don’t need a gym membership to make myself feel useful, because, again, unlike you, at least I am.” She opens her mouth -- nothing but a burp comes out. I snort. “Excuse you.”

I walk past her, my shoulder just slightly brushing hers. 

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I actually hate New Year’s Eve.  Like, I was gonna try to not be a hater, but as the only 23-year-old in a sea of mid-30 wannabes who are absolutely obsessed with the holiday but completely hate me, I think I’m allowed to despise this one holiday.

I sniff my way towards a fresh apple pie. I glance up to see who brought it -- and I see the person I’d least expect. 

“Joanna?”

Oh my gosh. 

“Joanna,” he lets out a laugh. Oh my gosh. 

“Can I hug you, or are you going to pass out?”

He knows he’s supposed to get my attention with a question. So I wake up from my state of shock only to unfortunately notice that my jaw has been dropped this whole time. I close it. He chuckles. 

“Hi Ford.” We walk towards each other and hug. 

I have to be dreaming. There’s no way he’s here. Alone. Hugging me. We pull away. 

“Joanna, I haven’t seen you since high school!” which was almost as much of a living hell as this office party is. 

“I know! And, you’re still buff as always.” I fake-punch him in the stomach. I’m sorry, not stomach -- his ab-encrusted torso. Yeah, that sounds better.

“And you are still beautiful.” He raises his eyebrows in shock. I knit mine together in confusion. He giggles, scratches the back of his neck. 

“I’m sorry, that was very sudden. I haven’t even seen you in four years.”

“Ford --”

“Umm, I’m gonna go get a donut, would you like one?” He jogs away, red-faced. What just happened? Did the high-school quarterback actually just confess his love for the ugly-Betty of not just that high school, but that entire district? Including the horribly-styled middle schoolers. Yeah, I looked that bad.

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Well I never got my donut. I think he ran away. Maybe he already quit the company. And it was only his first holiday party. I let out a snort into the cold night, on a cute little bench. Some of my coworkers pass me in disgust after I let out that laugh -- my laugh… the usual little, I think completely normal, snort. 

Damn. They always say, “It’s 2019,” and you already know what that means. They’re referring to the era of “no judgement.” And I know these Millennials think they’re following that rule, but the problem is that they only want it to be for themselves. They don’t want to be judged, so when they do something they think would be questionable, they use the excuse “It’s 2019.” But when someone dresses in a way they don’t like, for example, they’re judging all the way. And okay, I shouldn’t just throw Generation Y under the bus. I guess it’s a mix of all of us. Every single person on this earth. 

We hate being judged… but we’re quick to judge.

“Hey.”

I look up. My donut. I laugh -- accidentally let out a snort. 

“Sorry.”

“Why are you sorry? I always found your laugh cute.”

“The rest of the company doesn’t think that.” He hands me a pink donut covered in heart sprinkles. 

“Who cares what they think?” I let my pale cheeks flush furiously. 

“You know, it’s not everyday your high-school’s most popular boy shows up into your life and tells you you’re beautiful. Or still beautiful.” He lets out a breezy laugh. I blink my confusion at him -- he sees. 

“J, we were friends. I was scared to mess anything up.”

“But you were the school’s quarter-back. What makes you think I would’ve said no?”

He’s at a loss for words. And I finally get it. 

“Oh. It wasn’t about what I’d think, though,” I say, smashing the donut to the floor. “It was about what the rest of the school would think.”

I get my stuff together, my purse, my phone, my dignity, and I leave the sad, sorry donut. 

“Joanna, I was dating --”

“Mandy! I know. And you know what, what a surprise! She works at this company, too.” Something’s off… this is too coincidental. 

His face falls. I snort. He didn’t even know. “Before you ask back, like in the movies,  ‘What? She’s here?’ Yes, Ford. She’s here.” I raise my arms, defeated. I let them slap against my side. “High-school sweethearts, reunited. Happy New Years, Ford.” 

I walk inside and leave him in the cold. If this would be like the movies, he’d run after me, tell me he loves me in front of Mandy.

Well, those are your typical chick-flicks. But my life, the movie I star in? It’s not a typical chick-flick. It’s real. And sometimes real -- 

I look behind me. Ford hugs Mandy, who throws herself onto him in the most flirtatious way possible. 

-- sometimes it hurts. Real, true life. Hurts. 

I walk out of the holiday party. And I already hear the comments. 

“Fatty’s leaving early?”

“I don’t get why she’s already going. I mean, there are still donuts…”

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I bust through the front doors. Sadly, the night’s not over yet. I still have to find an Uber driver who is okay with me bawling in the back. 

“Joanna Robbins?”

I swear if this dude makes a fat joke, I’m gonna lose it. I turn around. 

“Oh my gosh.” 

Okay, if this would be a film, the audience would throw their hands up in the air and scream at the screen, “What the heck, the last time she said that her heart got broken!” Yes. I’m aware. I am painfully aware. But this “Oh my gosh” is an actual. Oh. My. Gosh.

“Mr. Peterson, good evening.” I flutter my probably tear-smeared eyelashes. “Happy New Year.”

“Well, it definitely is now,” he says under his grey mustache which hides a mouth that can say powerful words, ones that might change my life. “I read one of the most heartwarming books this evening.” My shoulders fall. Another book recommendation. Oh my gosh -- no, stop thinking that. 

“Please tell me about it” amazing publisher who probably hasn’t even glanced at the cover of my book. 

“I think you know this story well. It’s about a young woman. One who clearly has been through a lot.”

I blink. That’s all I can do. Blink. Because this could either be a book recommendation…

“And it’s empowering. And I think it deserves…” 

Or….

“A book deal!” I blurt out. I quickly clamp my mouth shut with my hands. He puts his hand out to me. 

“Congratulations, Ms. Robbins.” I shake his hand, shocked.” “We’ll discuss more in the New Year.”

He winks a promising eye at me, and walks on his way. 

Did I just get a book deal -- ?

“Joanna?”

“Oh, what now?! Something to ruin this perfect moment?!” I turn to see who it could possibly be. Well, so far, let’s see, I’ve gotten an unpleasant surprise, a joyous one, and now...

“Joanna?” I turn around. No one’s there. 

“Joanna?”

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“Joanna!” 

“Ah!” I wake up. Where the hell am I?”

“Joanna, the clock’s about to strike 12! Come on!”

I get up and walk into the living room. Half of the twelfth grade stands there, giddy, staring at the TV. 

“Oh my gosh, I can’t believe it’s gonna be 2020!”

“I know, the big year! Which gym did you join?!” I roll my eyes. It was just a dream. But then again, different age, same bullshit. 

“Joanna.” 

I turn around. And there he is. 

Ford.

18, not 23. 

Single, not in a relationship with Mandy anymore because he seriously broke up with her last week. 

Next to me, not any other girl. 

“5!” 

“Joanna.” 

What’s going on? 

“I have to confess something to you.”

“4!” 

“I like you. I always have. I just never had the guts to tell you.” 

Is this a trick?

“3!”

“Will you go out with me?”

What if I was dreaming about the future, a future in which he’ll confess that he liked me in high school, but he didn’t admit it then because he didn’t want to embarrass himself at school with me?

He grins at me. 

“2!” 

But he’s confessing that he likes me now. In high school...

“1!” 

Maybe I should give this New Year a chance.