A Few Quiet Moments

Since I have been alive, it has snowed twice in Los Angeles. The first time, I was fifteen years old, taking the bus to school and the white flakes began to fall. I remember how the world stood still for a few quiet moments. Everyone stopped. People got out of their cars. We couldn’t believe it. Snow in LA? Impossible. Yet there it was. It was so incredibly magical.

The second time it snowed, I was thirty. I remember the flakes grazing the top of my head, falling onto my nose like soft kisses. I remember looking up and being dazzled by all the white stars falling from the sky. I remember standing over his body, watching the snow slowly cover his face and thinking, “It didn’t have to end this way.”

December 22^nd 1992. A holiday party at my co-worker Clarissa's West Hollywood apartment. Small. Cute. Decorated with chintzy knick-knacks and embroidered Merry Christmas pillows. Shit I hate. But I’m here, smiling, drinking spiked egg-nogg and hoping that it’s strong enough to do the job. Strong enough to get me blitzed. I don’t want to be here, but I have nothing else to do. And I have no friends. These people, these people I am forced to be around on a daily basis and can’t really stand are the closest things to friends I have.

“So?”

I look up to see Dave. Late 30s. Balding. He’s looking at me with raised eyebrows, waiting for an answer to a question I wasn’t listening to.

“What?” I ask, smiling at him.

“You ok, Garret? Too much egg nogg?” he responds with a middle-aged chuckle.

Garret is my last name, and Dave insists on calling me by it. I don’t know why. No one else in the office has my first name, but Dave thinks it’s cute.

Dave is an idiot.

“Sorry,” I say, grazing his arm with my fingers.

I watch him turn beet red.

Dave has a thing for me.

He’s never said so, of course, but he makes it painfully obvious.

“What was it you asked?” I whisper like I’m Marilyn Monroe. I’m just having fun now. The egg nogg is finally hitting. I’m bored. And Dave is such an easy target.

I watch him gulp, his eyes widening at my touch, my voice. It takes everything in me not to cackle like the wicked witch.

“I…I asked if you were doing anything for New Years,” Dave sputters, his voice cracking like a pubescent boy.

I sip my egg nogg, looking at him over the rim. I swallow. I lick my lips and watch him watch my tongue.

“Don’t’ know yet,” I respond, “Why?”

He looks away and tries to shrug noncommittally.

“Just wondering,” he says, looking at the ceiling, trying to come up with the courage to ask me on a date.

I turn away from him before he can say anything more. I approach a group of young, female employees who are talking about nonsense in the corner. I can feel Dave’s eyes on my back.

“And what are you girls gabbing about?” I ask, all smiles and cheer and rosy cheeks.

I am well liked at work. I am fun at work. I am the woman all these girls go to with their problems and I pretend to care.

They proceed to tell me that Clarissa, has a crush on Mike. A temp guy we hired a few months ago who may turn into more than a temp. A good thing for Clarissa.

I half listen to their gossip and wince against their shrill laughs.

“OK, everyone, time for the Secret Santa!” someone announces.

We all crowd into the center of the room. We sit, our knees touching each other’s in the cramped apartment.

Gifts are opened and passed around. Dave is looking at me, his face red and sweaty, clearly reliving the conversation that happened moments ago. I look at him and smile, and laugh inwardly at his obvious discomfort.

I think how I should leave after this. Pretending to enjoy myself and forcing myself to smile and mingle has proved exhausting. I don’t know why I come to these things.

I do know.

I like the idea of feeling human every once in a while. And then when I actually immerse myself in human activities…

Well.

Exhausting.

I look up to see everyone staring at me.

I’ve done it again.

Dazed out and missed something.

It happens when I drink.

I smile.

“Sorry,” I say laughing, “Egg nogg.”

Everyone chuckles.

“It’s your turn,” Clarissa says.

I get up and go to the remaining pile of presents. I find the box that says my name. I open it and inside is a beautiful silver bracelet with Garret etched into the side.

Everyone gasps.

This bracelet goes way beyond the $30 limit.

“I just thought you’d like it,” Dave says after a few moments of silence.

Clarissa giggles drunkenly next to me.

“Thank you,” I say softly.

I’ve gone too far with him, I think.

I’ll have to back off.

If he tries to get too close, things could go south.

“Shots?” Someone suggests after all the gifts have been given.

I stand with the rest of the group holding my small glass of tequila.

When everyone drinks theirs, I put mine on the nearest table.

I grab my purse and coat while everyone gets ready to take another shot.

“Leaving so soon?” Clarissa asks, stumbling over her Ss “Did Dave make you uncomfortable?”

“No,” I say, “Just tired.”

I playfully shove her.

“I’m too old for parties,” I say smiling.

It’s true.

I’m way too old for parties.

She laughs and shakes her head.

She hugs me goodbye.

“Tell everyone else I said thank you and Merry Christmas,” I say.

She nods, already closing the door.

I leave the crowded apartment.

I walk down the stained carpeted stairs and out the building.

I realize that I’m starving.

All the egg nogg and nothing to eat.

Well.

Lots of things to eat.

But not for me.

I walk down the nearest alley and find the perfect meal.

She's not too old. Doesn't look too malnourished.

Just passed out drunk.

She's perfect.

As I’m finishing dinner, I hear the sound of a trashcan lid crashing to the floor.

I jump up and see Dave staring at me in shock and horror.

I wipe the blood from my mouth.

He starts to run.

I watch him for a few moments.

I think how unfortunate it is that it has to be this way.

It takes me one leap to get to where he is.

I land on his back.

Snap his neck.

The snow begins to fall.

I watch the beautiful white flakes dance in the air and kiss my nose.

I stare down at Dave’s lifeless body. 

“It didn’t have to end this way,” I think again.

I live in a different apartment now, in a different part of the city with a different job, and a whole new set of co-workers I have to pretend to like.

I have a different name, a different body, a different face, a different voice.

I still live in Los Angeles.

With what I am, there’s no need for drastic moving measures.

Plus, I love Los Angeles.

I never want to move.

There’s so much space to be both who you want to be and who you actually are.

And who knows?

Maybe it’ll snow this year, and the world will stand still for a few quiet moments, and everything will be so incredibly magical.