I woke up on New Years Eve at about noon to find that my friend (with whom I am in the gray area where we spend the night together but don't talk about it) was not lying next to me where he had been when I fell asleep, but was instead sleeping on my futon in the living room. This brought back memories of the end of a previous relationship when my increasingly emotionally volatile lover began sleeping on the couch because he couldn't sleep with me out of some clouded sense of guilt, and I lay in bed frozen for a moment, wondering what to do. I reminded myself that there could be any number of reasons for him to decide to sleep on the couch, and with a general sense of what will be will be will be, I got out of bed and went out into the living room.
I started making coffee and he immediately woke up. With my back to him, making the question as casual as possible, I asked, "So, what are you doing on the futon?" He answered that he had woken up early and was going to make coffee and read but had accidentally fallen back to sleep. I believed him, because I'm not paranoid. We spent a couple hours drinking coffee and listening to music, like we always have for as long as I've known him. I suggested brunch at my favorite place which has Mexican food and unlimited drinks. My friend was agreeable.
Five mimosas later we stumbled out onto the street and into great snowball-sized snow flakes falling on our heads. Back at my apartment my friend made more coffee and added a few drops of whiskey. We sipped our coffee and listened to music again, this time watching the snow without speaking. He took a shower and I climbed back into bed, vanquished by the whiskey coffee.
He woke me around 7, as we had told our friend Amy we would be at her apartment before 8:30. I lay in bed for a bit, feeling depressed, and shouted out to my friend that I didn't want to hang out with Amy's friend that was going to be there tonight (I had formed an unfavorable impression of her the night before). My friend asked if I was going to stay in bed all night then, and of course I answered no, and without too much more delay managed to drag myself out of bed. I made tea for myself and warmed up some food for both of us while picking out and trying on outfits for the party we were going to.
We took the subway out to Amy's apartment, which is either in East Williamsburg or Bushwick, depending on who you ask. When we arrived, Amy and her friend were busy putting on glittery make-up, but in a rush to leave. The party we were going to was being held by a friend of a friend, and it was still early. Thus, I felt that if we left immediately the party would be empty, the people who invited us wouldn't be there yet, and we would be in an awkward situation. By explaining this theory ten times over the course of an hour, I was able to delay our departure long enough to relax and drink two beers.
The party was in Greenpoint, so we set out looking for the G train, but before reaching it we happened upon the street that was our final destination. We were at building number 20 on that street, we needed to end up at number 684, however the G train is notoriously unreliable and it wasn't too cold so we decided to walk. 45 minutes later we arrived at the party not much worse for wear. From the doorway and the stairwell it did not sound like there was a party going on, but Amy insisted that she had been here before and that everyone would be "downstairs." After trooping down several flights of stairs with no party or even person in sound or sight, the rest of us began to wonder if we had wandered into the wrong house. Just as I was peering anxiously over my shoulder for a resident of the house with a gun, Amy realized the party was upstairs, where indeed we did find people, music, and a keg.
I was standing around with my first beer from the keg, feeling a bit socially awkward as usual when first arriving at these sorts of events, when I was approached by a pretty good looking guy from England. He started a conversation with me and said some rather enigmatic sorts of things, which piqued my interest enough to assent when he suggested we move off into the somewhat more secluded little hallway so that we could talk without screaming. While in the hallway we were interrupted a few times by friends of mine that were just arriving to the party, and I sensed that these interruptions bothered him-that he preferred to have my undivided attention. This, coupled with the fact that he was acting as if he was the first person ever to cross any sort of cultural divide, had me beginning to tire of his company, when Amy came over and asked me to take a picture of her with my digital camera. After Amy and I spent probably five minutes fussing over taking the picture and then evaluating it, the guy from England announced with a trace of irritation in his voice that he was going to get another drink. Before I realized what I was saying the words came out of my mouth, "No, you're just bored because I'm not talking to you." This sent Amy into hysterics, and he wandered off to refill his glass not quite knowing what to think of me. I was able to clear up that confusion a few minutes later by subtly declining to follow him back out into the hallway.
The remainder of the time until midnight passed swiftly, and it seems like it was almost immediately after this encounter that I found myself standing in the center of the room with Amy, her friend, and my friend, while the people all around us were shouting out the countdown to the ball drop, which was being displayed on a little TV that I couldn't see. My friends joined in the countdown and I did too, until after only "5… 4…" I was suddenly hit with such a strong feeling of utter emptiness that I didn't have the heart to continue. The feeling overcame me, and for a moment I completely lost awareness of my surroundings. When my eyes focused again, Amy and her friend were kissing, and I was staring at them in shock. I was not shocked that there were two girls kissing, nor was I particularly shocked that Amy and her friend were kissing (I knew they had kissed before, and also that her friend was staying with Amy in her apartment where there is only one bed and no couch). No, I was frozen simply by the raw passion of their kiss-the opposite of the complete emptiness that had washed over me and from which I was still trying to escape. I blinked, and my friend was kissing me. I blinked again, and I was still staring at them. My friend clinked glasses with me and said "Happy New Year." He came into focus and I thought about kissing him, but his face was turned a little bit away from me at a funny angle, and it seemed like too much effort. I realized I was staring at Amy and her friend, and tried not to, but it was even more difficult now that most of the people around us had stopped embracing, while Amy and her friend were still kissing as if the world depended on it. Finally, they fell apart. I think I breathed a sigh of relief. My friend muttered something to me, and I replied with the information that during the countdown I had suddenly felt very empty.
He and I moved over to a couch, and he gave me some well-intentioned advice about not letting the feeling get to me. I shrugged at him just as someone we knew was passing by. My friend made a big show of wishing him a happy new year. I told him I wasn't convinced. He said fine, stay here in the corner and sulk, and walked away. I really didn't mind sitting on the couch by myself, but before long my beer was empty and I went into the kitchen to refill it. I saw an acquaintance that I liked and began conversing with him on topics sundry and humorous. My friend came to make sure that I was okay, nodded in confirmation, and returned to the group he had been with. The conversation pleased me and continued for a while. Eventually, I had to go to the bathroom. When I returned, Amy's friend wanted to leave and was rounding up the troops.
My friend and I walked Amy and her friend back to her apartment. We were going to hang out longer, but by the time we reached Amy's apartment we were all feeling a bit tired and so my friend and headed back toward my place. While we waited for the subway, a woman yelled at my friend for staring at her. Actually, I had been staring at her too. When we first got to the subway platform she remained in the shadows off to the side and we didn't pay any attention to her. Then she walked over and stood right in front of us. She had pig tails, and little kid pink pants and little kid pink shoes. My first thought was, "What is a 10 year old girl doing on the subway platform alone at 3 a.m.?" Then I noticed that she had a really old face, and started staring at her to try to figure out whether she as a midget dressed as a little girl, or a really weird looking little girl. I was just coming to the conclusion that she was a midget, when she yelled at my friend for staring at her. He didn't know what to do so he didn't say anything. Then she sat down next to him.
When the train came, we made sure to get into a different subway car from her. Then we talked about it. My friend said that when she yelled at him, he was going to say "excuse me," but that would be admitting that he was staring at her, but he kind of was staring at her. We speculated on why she was dressed like that, and why she sat down next to him after she yelled at him. We thought maybe she was a prostitute who pretends to be a young girl to get customers. We agreed that, at any event, something was wrong with her.
My friend woke up early on New Years Day to go back to his apartment, since he hadn't been there in a couple days and he wanted to do some things before coming back into Manhattan to go to one of Amy's poetry readings. I fell back asleep as soon as he left and slept until 4pm. I woke up with the immediate knowledge that I was late-Amy had told us she was reading at the Bowery Poetry Club sometime between 4 and 6.
I jumped into the shower, threw some clothes on, and ran out the door. I grabbed a slice of pizza on the way but waited to get coffee until I arrived at the poetry reading. With a large moccachino firmly in my grip, I greeted Amy and confirmed I had not missed her reading. My friend was sitting next to her, sipping a glass of whiskey. Amy got up to spend time greeting her many friends and admirers in the poetry community, and I took her seat. It was apparently a yearly poetry marathon extravaganza. I sat next to my friend, and we half-listened to the poetry together. Amy's turn came to read, and she read a poem she had written about the wife of an American soldier in Iraq. Afterward, a man came up to her and asked if he could have a copy of her poem because his son was thinking about joining the military and he wanted him to hear the poem. I told my friend what I had overheard. He said that was probably one of the best compliments she could possibly get. I agreed. The poetry continued, and I ordered a Guinness. After I finished my drink I went home to try to get some things done. When I checked my email I found the following from Amy, sent at 2:36 a.m., just after we left her apartment the night before.
Kate,
Here's a poem I wrote just for you.
Hope you like it.
Amy
Was born without a child
In her eye's center
Piece.
Wielded unfound knowledge
In Virgin Glory, so that men
Could not see beyond her
Humble forward shoulders
Before she drew out
The big gun.
Before long he (the man in question
that is) is in a compromising
Situation, with one hand on
Her holster of Nabokov secrets
The other, well why do men
Have to have more than one
Idea as extention of the arm
And torso to joint muscle
And tissue, she blows
Us all out of the water.
Kate, kiss us Kate,
You're our only wish
In a well of copper and
Toxicity, we lament
Until your return.
