Party Time

“Come on, its going to be fun! Paddle boards, hot tub, floating dock. Great people, food, drinks. You are definitely going to come, right?” She pleaded with me over the phone. I want to go but it was complicated.

I chew my lower lip and take a deep breath. “Can we make it a 70% chance of a yes?” Always leave some wiggle room I think to myself and wonder if I’d actually go. 30% chance of a yes more like but I do not say this. Like the weather, I am not always so predictable.

She sighs, I hear the resignation in her voice. “I guess that’s better then an outright no.” she pauses for a moment, checking her phone I imagine. Needing to see solid dates, figures, plans. She is like that. Rigid, structured, needing the reassurance of solid plans or else she panics. Sometimes I envy her ability to plan everything to death, but sometimes I also see the downfall of it. Plans simply, did not always work out. Life happens, people happen, if you can’t bend a little, you break.

My own way of dealing with life might be a little to far to the other side of the spectrum. I have been called ‘wishy washy’ on more then one occasion. Other descriptors such as flighty, flakey, and a few other f-words that I’d rather not share. It used to bother me, but now I figure, other people’s opinions are not my business. Let them think what they like.

I’ve already spent to many years on letting that affect me. Attended too many events I didn’t really want to, too many parties that just made me want to hide away. I’m not shy exactly, its just that the show I used to put on for people, the song and dance designed to enthrall, and intrigue doesn’t really serve me anymore. Too many times after the show was over there was not much left backstage and people would go.

Admittedly, looking back I pushed a great deal of them away, convinced that there was nothing backstage, wholeheartedly believing that if they disagreed, they didn’t really know me. It had not even occurred to me, then, that it was always I, who ran away not the other way around.

I shake my head, thinking of this. How misguided we are when we are so early in life. I wonder if it would have been different if some one had explained, but I doubt it. We think we know everything when we are young, its only now I know, that really, I know nothing.

I look at the clock on the kitchen wall, its after noon now and I still have things to do. I tell Gina that I love her and let her get back to her party planning. Her party is still three days away and I have time. I make myself a coffee and roll a joint, find my arrant shoes, which I have left in odd places as usual. I get distracted a lot; I know. My Mind is always thinking of patterns, designs, words flow around my like bees around a beekeeper.

Before I leave the house, I tidy the kitchen, the living room, the bathroom. I gather all the garbage and change the bag. Young me would have been itching to go, leave the mundane chores for some one else but there is no one else to do it now. That used to bother me too, but I’ve grown accustomed to my solitude.

I take up my bag of wires and tools and make my way out of the apartment. Its sunny today, under my big black floppy sun hat I squint at the beach below. Its not so busy today I think, which is good. I like having space. I pick my way down the slope and to the cement steps. I hold the railing, trying not to wince at the thought of how many people have touched it before I got there. The thought surprises me. I had never cared before. I look down at my hand, some rust and paint have come off onto my skin and I wipe it on my pants. Disgusting, I think. It's probably bird poop.

The smell of the ocean, salty, briny, hits me as I find a log to sit on. I love this smell. Before I moved here permanently, I used to visit the west coast. You could smell the salt the minute you stepped off the plane. That was the first sign, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that you had made it to another world. A world of magic and possibility. Once upon a time. Maybe living here has taken some of the sparkle out, but its still undeniably beautiful.

I take in a lungful and breath out slowly. Eyes closed I reach my hand down and rummage around among the stones. What I need, is a nice smooth rounded stone. I never look for them, only feel for them. Though I know this is not the smartest idea, I have been stung a time or two, it seems to be the only way to find the perfect stone. My eyes deceive me, but my fingers always know.

The stone is smooth and white and sparkling, it must be quartz I think as I measure the peacock blue wire and set to wrapping. Its going to be a birthday present I decide and suddenly realize that I do intend to go Gina’s Party. An image of myself sitting on a lake side dock, beneath my floppy hat, wrapped in an oversized beach towel. I can see it, feel it, smell it. Not the salty terror of the open ocean, but the soft, cool embrace of a closed system, small and tame by comparison. I could swim here, I think.

“Damn” I say out loud, resigned to the idea. This is how the universe communicates, I think. Like magic, if you can visualize it, you can usually have it. Sometimes though the universe just sends you full visions, no work required. Sure, you can ignore them, but I have come to understand that it is at your own peril to do so.

I cast my mind back, trying to remember the last party I attended and an image of covered mirrors, and black clothing pushes my mind away. That wasn’t really a party I remind myself. Only the last gathering before I took myself away from the world. Had it really been 2 years? I marvel at the thought.

The pendant is finished suddenly, fully formed in my hands. I tuck it away and pluck another stone off the ground. “You got this, don’t worry, everything will be ok.” I write on its surface with a sharpie. I throw it behind my left shoulder, a ritual I preform when ever I feel I need to hear something. Now I send it to someone who needs it more. Whoever they may be, I wish them luck.

Back home I put the kettle on and dig through the closet for my bathing suit. I find the set of old towels we used to take to the beach. The one with his name I hold up to my nose. Inhaling deeply, I try to remember the smell of him, but its fading. I sigh and slide his towel back into the closet. Not today, I think as I pack my bag.

The phone rings and my heart, beats a little faster. Its Gina, I’m sure of it. This time when she asks if I’m coming, I will say yes. Nerves and solitude be damned.

I smile, the grin growing now that the decision has been made. I’m going to a party! I think as I grab the receiver and with a laugh, tell Gina,

“I’m in!”