Mood Piece February 22 2018

He sat outside, watching the small coils of mist his breath made between the yellow light behind and the inky night ahead. He didn't know why he had come here in the first place, he hated parties and everything about them. That wasn’t exactly true though, he thought. He knew exactly why he had come. He had come because being alone right then had felt like dancing with the devil; because his safe soft home had started to feel like something slowly winding its tendrils around his mind in a patient act of consumption. He had come because he had refused so many invitations and worried that if he didn't answer at least one, then the opportunity would dry up forever. He had come because there was something inside of him that needed something he couldn't find alone.

Yet here he was, outside drawing lines between his wayward thoughts and the twinkling stars above; wishing he was anywhere else but here. How did they do it? Move and talk and laugh so easily in there? The whole production left him feeling like every gazelle he'd ever seen on a national geographic special. It was too much to take in at once, too many things to keep track of, too many unknowns. How did you tell a person you had never met you wanted to talk with them when wanting to talk with them was your only reason for saying so to begin with? It was like something out of a bad dream; no pants on the day of the test you didn’t study for and the suspicion that all your teeth were feeling a little loose.

He had tried though, in his own way. Lobbing the occasional comment from the edge of a conversation, trying to find places toward the center of the activity rather than clinging to the edges. Once or twice someone had had the incredible grace to make that first move for him, and he had welcomed that like rain on the dust-bowl fields no doubt. Somehow though, it had still felt hollow; the by-the-numbers rundown of questions that became just so much white noise. What did you do? How did you know so and so? How long had you been in the area Did you like the music WhatdidyoudoforfunWasn'tthisagreatpartyHadyouheardaboutthisorthat?

Christ, he thought, it was like filling out forms at the DMV. Part of him knew that this was how it was done, in some way, just a way of finding some common ground. But it always tasted plastic in his mouth and sat hollow in his abdomen no matter how cheerful the other person seemed. Something in the eyes that betrayed the fact his words were being processed, but nothing being said was really heard.

So here he was, outside, hugging the border between a well-lit world of confusion and a cool dark night of solitude; caught between nature and necessity's command. He rolled his shoulders back, feeling just how stiff he had become. If home was a depth do drown in then this party was a puddle that threatened to do the same. That made him smile. There was something absurd in being so bad at basic things, he thought. A change in the music evoked a muted cheer from the people inside. It seemed like this thing was only getting started, the night was still young enough after all. Perhaps it was time he made his way in again, he mused, it was certainly too early in the night for Irish goodbyes. Besides, in a pinch he could always go hang out with the dog in the kitchen.