I Never Really Went to Parties
by JCB
I never went to parties much. I’ve probably only been to five in my life, including those grade school birthday parties where the moms collectively decided every kid should be invited.
The guys told me I was stupid for it. Something about my baby face would win some girls over while also making others realize how manly they were in comparison. I don’t have a single clue why they shared that. Didn’t they realize their ulterior motives would make me want to come less?
Guess it doesn’t matter because they finally got me to come, but they don’t deserve much credit. My parents are hosting something and having their friends—which I never realized they had—over, and I don’t want to be called downstairs every ten minutes just to stand there as my parents presented me like a trophy as they bragged about whatever I’ve done. They should be the ones getting the praise. Most of the time I just stay home, zoning out inside my own head, thinking about the stupidest things. Yet, they still find things to brag about me, and more remarkably, it is all somehow true.
“Geoff, man, why are you still in this room,” Arnold says, half-draping half-choking me with his arm and forcibly walking me to the living room.
“There’s an unbelievable number of Crocs in that mudroom,” I explain.
“Always the riot.” Arnold laughs. “But c’mon, time to get your game on. This party is basically a mixer, and you haven’t had a girlfriend since Emma Janson.” So, here’s the thing about Arnold, I’ve always known this guy. Actually, known isn’t the right word, but we grew up in the same neighborhood, went to the same school, and ended up in the same class many years in a row. I know that even if my life was at stake, I wouldn’t be able to recall when we became friends. On the other hand, Arnold knows every moment of my life like a rerun he watches every morning. To me, Emma never existed unless someone brings up her name or I see her at school. Our relationship was brief and a few years back, so it’s honestly weird to think we were considered a couple. Especially since she’s become some snotty, worshipped honor-roll chick.
“Let me eat something first.”
“You think you have time for that?”
“I can smell your breath,” I counter. Peculiarly, whatever Arnold eats gains a stronger odor after consumption. “Where did you find Doritos?”
“Get your priorities straight. You have food at home, but you won’t find any girls there.”
“Why are you suddenly into my social life?” That job belonged to Harry and Matt.
“This is your first party since Halloween Freshman year.” Prime example here of Arnold’s skill. I don’t even remember that party… that makes it sound like I got my hands on alcohol. Inconceivable. “We’re graduating in a few months, and I’m going out-of-state. Who’s going to watch over young Geoffie then?”
“That’s it. I’m going.”
Arnold ominously clamps his hand on my shoulder. “I’m going to leave you alone and look for Harry and Matt. If you’re not talking to a girl when we get back, then you’ll never. Eat. Doritos again.”
Knowing Arnold’s powers well, I take the threat as it is… an empty one. However, if he did return with Harry and Matt, I would be in trouble if I left or not. They spend a lot of time with their girlfriends, so if given a ‘game’ to go locate me and haul me back to the party, they wouldn’t have any qualms. They would do it with so much gusto that if a cop didn’t pull them over for some reason, that would be shocking. On the other hand, if I’m not talking to a girl when they return, I could picture them hauling me over to a girl (if not a group of them) and auctioning me off. At that point, all sense, reality, and what is desirable is lost on them. They once told a girl I give good massages because I turn into a gorilla every half-moon. Afterwards, they act genuinely surprised that their ‘matchmaker magic’ doesn’t succeed.
I scan the living room and realize Arnold’s left me to the one place where people have already met their match. Awesome, now I got a reason to head to the kitchen. A tanned girl with a blonde pixie-cut and a glowing Hispanic with long cascading locks emerge from what I assume is the kitchen with drinks in their hands. Even though they simply wear tank tops with short-shorts, they look like they walked out of a magazine.
“Oh, look,” the tanned girl says to the other as soon as she notices me. “He’s cute.” The girl closes the distance between us in a flash almost causing me to step back in surprise. “Hi, my name’s Hazel! You’re cute. What year are you?”
“Forget that,” the friend remarks, appearing at her side without me realizing when, “what school do you go to?”
“I uh….” I didn’t realize this was a mixer with people from different schools. How does one organize such a thing? Friends of friends? Does that mean these people know each other from middle school? Why does it shock me that childhood friends would go to different high schools?
“AWWE. He’s bashful.” Hazel moon-eyes me. “If this place is too stuffy for ya, we can go to your house instead.” SHE’S INVITING HERSELF OVER TO MY PLACE?
“Heaven’s sake, Hazel,” her friend cries, giving her a stern look before turning back to me. “I’m sorry for her. I’m Lola, and you are…?”
“Geoff….”
“You here with anyone, Geoff?”
“Yeah, my frien—” I stop myself too late, realizing I lost my getaway.
“Ohhh, you’re here with friends. How nice.” It doesn’t sound like it from her mouth. “You don’t seem like you go to these sort of things, am I right?”
“Lola.” I look over at Hazel and see her pouting at us. She asks, “How come you got him to speak?”
Lola says with a wink, “A win for one of us is a win for both of us, right, girl friend.” I don’t like this; I don’t like this one bit! There are two ways to take that, and I’m not going to risk it.
“I uh—I’m gonna use the john.” I depart in the opposite direction from the kitchen.
“But wait!” I hear the nearness of lightning-speed Hazel and feel the brush of her fingertips on my arm, but I sharply turn past the stairs and directly into a slightly opened room. Despite my admiration at an indoor sliding door, I immediately close it.
I listen to them stop outside the door. Lola asks, “Where did he go?”
“I don’t know! But he moves quick!” Hazel squeals delighted.
“Gah. Stop it with your fangirling; you’re making me sick.” I keep holding my breath as their footsteps move past the room. “Let’s see if anyone is in the bathroom.”
I slowly step backwards and slunk into the couch. “Hahhhhhh,” I deeply exhale. So, is that what girls at parties are like? With all those questions, they were more like the police… or actually, were they more like vampires?
I turn my head and notice a GIRL SITTING on the EXACT SAME COUCH. HOW did I NOT NOTICE there was ANOTHER PERSON in this miniature study?
She remains perfectly still with her head turned slightly away from me. She must be trying to go unnoticed—and what a good job she's been doing. I look away for a few moments before glancing back at her. She has a brunette-auburn bob, and her outfit is simple but becoming. I should… stop staring! For one, and two, I should start a conversation. I didn’t get the chance with the girls earlier, but the guys have always told me to be the one to start the conversation so the ball would be in my court.
“When was the last time you went to the symphony?” NOOOOOOOO! Why did SHE SPEAK FIRST?! Why are girls these days so aggress—okay, that’s going too far. Am I overreacting? I am overreacting. Why’s that? Is it the pressure of the party? But I don’t even care for parties, so why should I feel any pressure?
I need to get my head straight, or as straight as my head has ever been. She asked a question—so what? Needing to have the ball in your court is either for dominance or insecurities—neither which I ever really considered. So, what was her question… right, the symphony…. I think the guys once told me that having similar interests is always a good thing, and since I only have temporary or nonexistent interests, perhaps I need to pretend here. “Just last week,” I lie.
“Really?!” The girl gazes at me for a few seconds before looking ahead of her. “I didn’t even know people went to those.”
“Huh? Why would you ask if….” Did I hear her wrong, or is this some sort of code? She was by herself in this room… do they do drug drop-offs at parties?
“Well, either I don’t know how to start a conversation, or I get tired of the usual ice breakers.”
“I would assume the first.”
“This isn’t a Q-and-A,” she replies with a chuckle, “and you guessed wrong.” Her grey eyes finally meet my face.
“I’m Geoff,” I tell her, dismissing the idea that she is here for illegal purposes. “Sorry for intruding on your hiding spot.”
“I’m Autumn. Who said I was hiding?”
Realizing people meet up secretly for several purposes, the side of my hand covers my mouth slightly. Although embarrassed, my tone remains the usual even. “Am I interrupting a rendezvous?”
“What would make you think that?”
“If you’re not hiding, then, would you not be waiting for someone here instead?” Why did my mind think drugs first instead of romance? Am I that lacking in social conduct?
“Well… I’m not.”
“I see.” Looks like Harry and Matt won’t have an event to make money off some guy forcing me into a fight because he thinks I’m moving in on his girl. I don’t even need Arnold to remember this—that milestone happened in 10th grade, and I lost, unsurprisingly, and anticlimactically. I told myself I’d never let it happen again.
“Don’t sound so smug,” she not-so-angrily snaps.
“My voice didn’t change any.” Although that’s true, a smug smile now starts spreading across my face.
“Pffft. You only know because you’re hiding too.” She gains her own devious grin.
“Okay, yeah… so let me correct myself from earlier, thank you for letting me use your hiding spot.”
“Well sure,” Autumn says. She moves a strand of hair back. “I know how Hazel can be.”
My eyes bulge. “You know her?”
“The petite Usane-bolt, scary-bubbly blondie,” she pauses as if considering whether she could still withhold the informative part of her sentence, “is my cousin.” She gives me a grimacing smile at that fact before admitting, “She’s also the only reason why I’m here.”
“You’re not a party-goer like her I presume.”
“That’s right! I never really went to parties.” Her vigor at that proclamation wears off as she says, “I dunno. To me, I never really saw the point, I guess.”
“Shows in your icebreaker.” I repress a laugh, but she ends up poking me with her elbow because of it.
“I’m being sincere when I say I tire of regular icebreakers. When I’m interested in someone, of course I’m going to ask a question about their interests.”
“Interested?” I blurt out without thinking.
Her sigh resembles an eye roll. “Well yeah. I’m not a sociopath.”
Okay, that’s valid. I too am interested in her because she’s a fellow person, and not for the sole reason of false attraction created by romantic party fantasies and mixer ambitions. “Still though, you should ask what they like instead of focusing on one thing, which they would assume you are into.”
“I knew it, you liar. You just made up going last week to impress me like guys do, huh?”
I put my hands up in surrender. “I don’t know why you are so pleased with yourself. I’m not going to pretend that it’s not true.”
“Hmph.” If her hair was a few inches longer, it would’ve made contact with my face as she swishes her head away from me in play anger. It smells pleasant although I can’t distinguish what the scent is…. When did we get so close? Weren’t we at opposite ends earlier? “Anyways,” she continues, “when you ask people about their hobbies, they either ramble, brag, or become nervous or stale. When I drop something unexpected on them, it makes for interesting interactions.”
“That’s like ethnomethodology, right?”
“What now?” Her expression is puzzled before she giggles. “You do like your big words, Geoff.”
It's the first time she says my name, and a little shock passes through me that I would instantly notice such a detail. I revert the topic. “What you said doesn’t make sense. If what you said was true, why were you so surprised when I replied yes?”
“Easy. It continued the discussion. If you actually went, you would’ve justified it or something, and if you hadn’t then you would’ve agreed or made a joke. Instead, you expected me to relate and when I didn’t, you realized your assumption to get on my good side failed.”
“I feel like Sherlock Holmes and John Watson,” I say, which makes her giggle. After a few moments of listening to it, I admit too, “I never really went to parties either.”
“Oh, that’s obvious Mr. I-run-away-from-girls-and-don’t-know-how-to-make -conversation.”
“I think I’ve been doing a pretty good job.”
“Mmmm, perhaps.”
She’s silent for a couple of moments, and when it is longer than comfortable, I realize she’s testing me! She wants me to keep the conversation going. Hmmm… “How do you spend your time?”
Autumn sing-songs, “Bor-ing.”
“Yeah? So what?” I challenge. “For you not to answer, would be rude.”
“Touche,” she says. “Productively.” She jokingly winks. She pauses for a few seconds before giving in to my expression for elaboration. “I work. I make jewelry. I study. I bother my brother to teach me how to repair a car.”
“You make jewelry? There's not even a single piece of it on you.”
“So you’ve been looking at me that closely?” Although she says this teasingly, and it does cause the desired result from me, she doesn’t escape a rosy tint on her cheeks either. She carries on anyways. “Just because I enjoy making jewelry, doesn't mean I have to like wearing it. Now, how about you?”
The way she speaks, the way she thinks, I just want to deconstruct it all. I want to make out the patterns in Autumn’s brain… I’m weird, huh? Figures. “I’m a mindless thinker.”
“A mindless thinker? You use big words, Geoff; you’re not that mindless.”
“This evening has been a good evening. I legitimately was thinking about why there are so many crocs in the mud room here.”
“There are, isn't’t there?!” she says, the alacrity in her voice irrefutable.
What’s this? Someone who speaks my language like a visitor from another planet, who narrows in on the smallest of things. “I was thinking. I think it was how people were invited. You had to know someone who wears crocs. A bridger among us all.”
“You’re so right.” We both laugh at this baloney. “How can you be such a grand thinker and yet not use that mind for interesting conversation?”
“You would get along really well with Arnold,” I say feeling like I just heard a feminine version of an Arnold point.
Autumn raises an eyebrow at me. “Why does that not sound like a good thing?”
“I guess it depends. He can be a real handful, but he’s also my best friend. He’s the reason I’m here.” I imitate Arnold’s voice, “You need to find someone to look after you once I graduate.”
“Mhm. He goes in the top ten people I need to meet. So, is he here tonight?”
Monotone mortification enters me. I bluntly state, “You do understand that if I introduced you now, he’d think you’re the one who’s going to be my caretaker and girlfriend?”
Autumn sharply intakes and puts her hand to her mouth. “Geoff, I had no idea you saw me that way.”
I plainly respond, “You two would really get along.”
She giggles before standing up and stretching. “Whether I’m that girl or not, I was kidding about trying to meet anyone else tonight. Are you hungry?”
“Am I ever.”
“How do you feel about breakfast for midnight snacks?”
“It depends.”
She twists her upper body to face me. “Pancakes.”
“What kind?” I narrow my eyes.
She counters, “You tell me that.”
“Blueberry.”
Autumn grins. “So, you are worth talking to.”
She pulls out a pair of keys. “Those…” I say slowly, “are not house keys.”
“Oh no, these are the keys to the diner I work at. We’re going in after hours.”
“Are you sure?”
“The owner can’t survive without me. I’m like second-in-command, PLUS, would you really turn down my blueberry pancakes? It’ll knock your socks off.”
“Can’t do any better than that?” I tease, resulting with her pushing me as we leave the study and house.
Should this change my perspective of parties, I wonder. I’ve met an intriguing girl at it, but then again, Autumn doesn’t care for parties just like me. The sprout of situational irony pleases me, but, that might not be the only reason. I can’t tell yet if this bubbling feeling is the beginning of friendship or a relationship; however, what I do know is, I’m going to follow her, join her in “breaking in”, and dine on her blueberry pancakes at this very late time of night.