New Year's Eve

• Liam Luangrathrajasombat, Grade 11
• Short Story
• 2013

I rest on my armoire to the account of far too much merlot accompanying a supper of wine, wine and more wine. There is a calm this eve, the heaviness of my eyes a subtle testament to that end, for sleep begets but another day of existence, does it not? Many men take pleasure in the disparate silence spent recalling moments of thine own past, and as I flip along rough pages of tales to which I state with sheer confidence that ‘I experienced that’, and ‘I was there’, some moments are simply forgotten stains on the bedroom carpet.

'Today I met someone, an elusive soul not unlike myself. Her name’s Anna, and I think, no. I know, I am already in love with her.'

Our paths crossed on a similar eve. Such was a gathering of lonesomes far and wide seeking someone to hold tightly and press their lips against by the strike of twelve. Lest the new year prove intimidating, I always found comfort in the immersion of collegiate students who were just as single and just as scared of being alone as I was.

To no small amount of disappointment I arrived with few minutes to spare before twelve, and by that point, all the potential couples had been tethered and bound by the angels themselves. Put off and disheartened, I gathered my coat and set off towards the nearest bus stop, knowing full well the next one wouldn’t arrive until an hour. As I walked along the path of the moon, I flung my hoodie back, letting the light sprinkle of snow fall along my face.

“If you’re headed towards the bus stop, you’re about to walk right past it,” an unfamiliar voice called.

When I’d finally lowered my gaze and shifted my head backwards, I saw her. Huddled in the corner of the shelter, her body scrunched so small that I could see was the depth of her brunette hair deeper than the oceans themselves.

“Thanks. I’m Landry, and yourself?” I playfully question as I seat myself next to her.
“Let’s just say I’m lonely enough to be talking to a stranger,” she says coldly.
“I’m no stranger to that feeling,” I joke.
“No kidding,” she retorts, clearly disinterested.
“I’ve got a notion to propose. Rather than wait, would you like to walk with me?”
“I suppose,” she agrees.

We pace along the pathway for a time, the distance between our bodies filled by silence. Seemingly uninterruptible, a soft chime erupts in the air. She finally looks up, as do I, and I can see her.
“Happy new year's,” we say, but we are no longer averted upwards.

Her eyes are fixed on my lips, mine on hers. And I don’t know why, but I want her, and our silhouettes can do nothing but fold to desire as we lock together our lips.

As I return, I gaze again upwards, gather the time, and close my journal. I place it into my back coat pocket and lay on the bed, eyes closed.
“Happy new year's Landry,” she whispers.