Night in Hell

I look up at the sky. A full moon, great.  And Mercury in Retrograde, double great. Can this night get any worse?  I am in Hell. As I grab my homemade pie, exit my car and slam the door, I look down at my high  heels. I can’t walk in these damn heels! And this skirt is too short! I shouldn’t have listened to  Lynn. “This is how you should dress”, she said. 

I feel like an impostor dressed like this going to this pit of noise and fakeness.  I should forget about this evening and go home.  But no, I need to fight my fears and enter the dark abyss, or in this case, the sparkling lights, and the loud noise. 

The red front door is open and I creep in, as quiet as a mouse.  Oh God, people are laughing, and eating. This is real. Everyone is mingling. I hate parties. I despise small talk. All the fake “How are you?” and “You look great” and “It’s so nice to see you!”  Do these people really mean that? Is everyone really happy to see me and do I really look great? 

 I am gasping for air and excess saliva is making me swallow constantly. Please, panic attack, go away. I focus on my breath as my therapist advised. I sniff my wrist where I rubbed some lavender before I left my house.

 I can do this.  Or I can quit and give the pie I baked to a homeless person. No, I will put on my broadest smile, and walk into the kitchen, me and my pie. And what  was I thinking, buying a pie? Most normal people bring beer or wine but Lynn said, bring dessert! 

Oh no, the counter space is full. Nobody is coming over, and I don’t know where to put the pie.  Breathe Jamie, breathe.  I can’t let these people see my fear. Everyone’s in a deep conversation. Do I interrupt?  Oh, there’s a space for my pie. I walk over and squeeze it in between chicken wings and more chicken wings.  I really want to go home. I don’t know anyone. When Lynn asked me what I was doing this weekend, I should have lied. How was I supposed to know that by telling her I was staying home reading a good book, she would look at me like I had two heads and then invite me to her weekend party? I never should have told her about my divorce. Now she acts like I’m her project to fix. Oh, there she is. Flirting. With a good looking man.  I give a timid wave. Ugh, why did I wave?  What a loser I am. She’s giving me the look. The look that says, “ Don’t come over. I’m talking to a hot guy.” 

Now what do I do?

 The bathroom..I’ll hide in the bathroom.  I scurry and open the door. Safe. I’m staying in here as long as I can.  Me and my phone. I pull my phone out of my purse, sit on the closed toilet seat, and scroll through Facebook, Gmail, until I hear a knock. 

“One minute!”  I call out. I don’t want to go out there but that knocking is not going away. Why are people so impatient? 

I open the door, as a husky guy filled with tattoos almost runs me over to get into the bathroom. Maybe he has anxiety issues too? No, he probably just drank a beer and needs to go.

 I can do this, I will  squelch my shy, introverted self, and be the life of the party. I smile, and scan the room and..ouch! I got something in my eye, must be an eyelash or piece of dirt.  My damn contact lens! I hate getting things stuck in my eye. It feels like a needle. This sucks. I tug at my eye as my eye waters.  My make-up must be running down my face.  C’mon dirt,  get out! Did I just say that out loud? Everyone is staring.  I must have. I need to get back into the bathroom. I sprint over, try to open the door, but it’s locked.  As my eye is twitching up a storm, I find a compact mirror in my purse. I look like either a raccoon or the lead from a horror flick. And I’m in so much pain.  I stick my hand in my purse again praying I brought my contact lens case and glasses, but I forgot both. Now my nose is running. I forgot tissues too. I’ll use my sleeve. What a mess I am. 

Oh good, the bathroom door just opened. I run in and notice the toilet water is creeping up to the top rim of the bowl. And there’s lots of toilet paper floating around, and God knows what else.  People are going to blame me, but it’s not my fault! And my twitching, watery eye is beyond painful. Maybe I should just throw this stupid contact lens out into the clogged toilet. But then I won’t be able to see, or drive home, and I‘ll be stuck here all night! 

I look around and see tissues. I grab one, pop my lens out and shove it in my purse.  I’ll deal with this later, one problem at a time. And then the door knocking starts again. Why are people so impatient? 

I open the cabinet and look for a plunger but there is none. Not that I want to plunge someone else’s crap but ...

Damn it.  I have 2 choices. Open the door and face a crowd that will probably either sneer at me or look in horror at the mess in the toilet, or I can crawl out the tiny window. Which sounds very appealing right now. Why  did I come tonight? I should be home, eating pizza, watching a movie, reading a book, and going to bed. 

 Crawling out the window sounds more appealing by the minute. Then I can quit my job, and go into hiding, so as not to see Lynn.  Or, I can just walk out, hold my head up high, and screw everyone. There is no way in hell I can squeeze through that tiny window.  I have to get back to the gym soon. I will go out there and tell the truth.

 As I open the door, a  few people come over with  concerned looks. Some of them mumble, “are you alright?”  

  “I went inside the bathroom and noticed the toilet was clogged. I wanted  to unclog it, you know me, always want to help.” And then I give a big hearty laugh. Nobody looks like they believe me. I sound like I belong in an insane asylum. Whoever said honesty is the best policy should have their head examined. Lying is the way to go.  

 “My dad was a plumber so I’m drawn to fixing any type of clogs. But couldn’t find a plunger.”   Of course, my dad was not a plumber. Sounded good though.

I need to get out of this hell, now. I don’t want to talk to anyone. I just want to leave. And aagh!! A cat runs in front of me and I trip.  Where  did that cat come from!  And it’s a black cat. Great, like I need any more bad luck. And , yuck, what is this green...oh no.. I   knocked over a dish of guacamole. It’s all over my face. This is so humiliating! Everyone is gasping. I want to die. 

  And then I see a stuck-up looking woman with her phone pointed at me. She’s recording me! What if this goes viral! I’ll be the laughing stock of the world!  I feel an alien take over my body and before I can stop it, I am lunging towards the woman and knocking her to the ground. The entire party is looking at me with horror  in their eyes. The woman looks beyond angry. “What the f***?” she screams as I grab her phone.

“How dare you record me?” I shout as I go to delete the video when I hear, “ Mommy!” and a loud cry. I look at the phone and see a cute five year old in tears. 

“I was face-timing my kid goodnight, you asshole!” screams the woman, followed by the girl saying in a sing song voice, “Mommy used a bad word, mommy used a bad word..” 

Now, I really want to die. Maybe this is a dream?  Like the worst nightmare ever! Maybe if I close my eyes, I will open them and be in my bed with the purple flannel sheets, and my lavender smelling diffuser by my pillow. I close my eyes and pray. I open them, and … I’m still here. I want to disappear.   Everyone is staring . I promise I will never attend another party again, ever. I am an introvert. I belong in libraries. I need solitude. I am not a social butterfly, I’m more of a caterpillar. Or a turtle locked in its shell. I give a broad apology and  walk straight out the door, tempted to grab my apple pie back. It smells so good. But, no, I need to focus. Focus and leave. I feel the tears escape my eyes. I’m so mortified, and where I will never see most of these people again, I will see Lynn at work. What if she gossips to the entire staff about tonight? 

Worst night ever and.. Oh no, I left my purse in there. When I fell, I left it on the floor. I was so anxious to attack that innocent woman. I  can’t go back in...what do I do? I’ll be the laughing stock or I’ll be held prisoner so the woman I assaulted can call the police and press charges. I find myself pacing. I need to calm down. I need to breathe.  Oh, who cares...I’m going back. And not only am I going to get my purse, but if anyone says anything, I will grab the pie I brought off the counter and smash it into their pretty little faces.  Okay, having a pie fight is probably not a good plan..but I am going in and getting my purse. I will fight my fears, one step at a time.