HOW NOW

Note from author: This post is s sequel to "How" published in this blog on July 2004

I stand outside the apartment with mixed feelings. I have a curious reaction to parties, and being co-host amplifies my ambivalence. I loved planning the party, the guest lists, the invitation designs, the food, the décor. I loved getting dressed for the occasion, the makeup and break from everyday sober colors and textures. I've loved dressing up since I've been very very little. I rediscovered the rituals of makeup and dress up in college, where sleepless nights and constant high grade chronic stress drove me to insane avenues of release. But the downside of the entire rain dance of getting dressed was that I get to the event itself and am suffocated by boredom within the first five minutes. I get out of my car, and people around me are already trickling into the apartment.

Shrieking pre-partying couples making me feel old, and remember the times when I too was once part of the same heady giggly carefree bunch. I am the host, I should run in and see if there is stuff to manage, things to fix, DJ's, waiters or bearers to organize.

I hesitate outside, don't feel like plunging in as usual, and decide to get a drink from the terrace first. I stumble into the dark patio, contact lensed eyes unadjusted from the starkly lit guarded porchway. The party planner in me double checks the fairy lights twinkling behind the bar (normal tape wasn’t strong enough to hold the up earlier in the evening). I had asked one of the other hosts to get duct tape and think about going to kick him for not doing the job. The lights seem to be holding up, even though some of the white tape is visible. I consign it to hell, no one but me would ever notice anyway. I can see the dance floor from where I'm standing. My immediate friends are all tearing it up in one big happy herd.

Some things never change.

I greet a couple of acquaintances around the garden, settle onto a sofa. I start people-watching from my vantage, enjoying the cranberry juice that never seems to be around on normal days. I notice a group of three a little to my left, a couple I know, and someone they’ve brought along. I’m slightly amused, because the stranger seems to be noticeably a third wheel. He bends down to the girl’s ear, and I get a flash of the side of his face, and my eyes narrow in weird recollection.

Could it be? I'm squinting and trying to focus, glass paused halfway to my lips.

I watch him give a friendly jab on the guys arm, and turn around.

Well well well. I think to myself. It is him. But how disappointing. No skipping heartbeat, no heart jamming in my throat. After all these years. The sonofabitch. I try to feel anger, I try to feel disappointment, excitement, anything. Can just come up with a dull sense of nothingness. How weird. For my first love, for my first kiss, for all the good memories and the bad, nothing.

I decide to not bother getting off the sofa. I'll probably bump into him and catch up at some point in the evening anyway. I'll enjoy my party watching for now. I continue happily with my cranberry juice, then decide to try to signal the waiter for some of the hors d’oeuvres.

“Hi”. I hear from somewhere to my right.

“Oh hi! Its so good to see you!” I exclaim. I hope that doesn’t sound too fake. I have a 32 smile plastered on in full force. Small chitchat with people who don't know you is so painful. “I’m here with work buddies.” He gestures to the couple behind, gives a little roll of his eyes. For the sake of appearance, I look and then give an “Oh” of polite comprehension.

Awkward silence.

Strange and disappointing again. We never ran out of conversation before. I stare at his chest. It looks good in the gray t-shirt. He's still wearing that taweez. He always did manage to look good in an other-side-of-the-bridge kind of way. And also always managed to look so much younger (immature) than the old bored has-beens guys the "appropriate" age used to be. I look into his eyes, and he's just looking down at me, a little dumbfounded, probably as awkward as me. I still can't tell what he's thinking though. I never could.

"Well I'll see you around then."

I guess I should go back to making sure the bartender is not stealing any of the alcohol and the DJ is keeping the dancers happy.

I turn around and get back on with my life.

I wonder if I'll ever be able to find someone who I won't be able to step away from so easily. It’s a question I've been pondering on for a very very long time.

And the answer still scares me.