Post by ethan richardson on Oct 5, 2010 21:37:56 GMT -8
Ethan had been here before. While the faces and location were different, the people remained the same. People fell into predefined roles and alcohol served to intensify this. Masks slipped with enough to drink and allowed the person hidden within to be revealed. Alcohol didn’t change a person, soberness merely made it easier to lie. With a despondent sigh, Ethan allowed his attention to drift back to his immediate surroundings. His date for the evening sat on the floor, her back resting against his legs. She was nursing her fifth drink of the evening – a cocktail spiked with god-only-knew what. His finger idly twirled an auburn strand that had been missed when she’d pulled it back shortly after arriving as he pretended to listen to her prattle on about the others in attendance and how much fun she was having. It was the same diatribe she had delivered an hour ago – the only difference was that her words were now slurred and she was now unable to notice that he was no longer paying attention.
Boredom coursed through him, quieting the buzz of the evening in his veins and casting the party in shades of gray. His sharp gaze perused the crowd as he silently predicted how the evening would end for the others in attendance. A boy he recognized from school was dancing and singing loudly to a popular pop song on a side table. He held a bottle of cheap wine above his head, swaying haphazardly to the beat. Judging by his accent, Ethan surmised that he was American – fitting given his behaviour. He marvelled that people despised stereotypes when they so easily slipped into them. Boisterous American. Drunk girl. Apathetic observer. Everyone played a part they had cast for themselves. There was inevitability to it all. No matter what lies those in attendance chose to believe about themselves, their fates had already been sealed. As he watched the American boy topple from the table, breaking a lamp in the process, he found that his theories had been proven true once more. “Ethan,” his date whined, “You’re not paying attention to me!”
“Untrue, chérie, I have been hanging onto every word you have spoken.” His lie fell with ease. It amazed him how readily he could convince himself to believe his own manipulations. He no longer cared about the girl he had agreed to accompany for the evening. Her name was irrelevant, her stories forgotten. Everything about her was easy to discard, and if he was honest, that had been her most attractive quality all along. “I believe you said you were thirsty?” he murmured as he slid his legs away from her. She fell back against the sofa with a loud curse. He could still feel the heated daggers in her gaze as Ethan made his way toward the kitchen.
Once he was no longer within her sight he switched his path, weaving seamlessly through the crowd as he made his way toward the curving wrought-iron staircase by the entrance. Ignoring the protests of the people he pushed past, he made his way to the flats’ second story and made a beeline for the roofs door. The cool autumn air washed over him, rejuvenating his haggard senses. The thick film of the party peeled off him in thin layers. He felt raw, exposed. His fingers reached into the front pocket of the black leather jacket he had seen no need to remove when he arrived at the party – after all, he had had no intention of remaining long – and retrieved his now-familiar silver flask. The engraving had faded over the years, the ‘E’ no longer as ornate and prominent as it had once been. The weight of it in his palm still familiar and welcome as any embrace and as he removed the cap and raised the flask to his lips, Ethan allowed himself to settle into the moment once more.
Several other invitees had relocated to the roof. Lovers were intertwined on faded lawn furniture; bottles of beer and wine left discarded on the cement. Walking forward he grabbed an unopened bottle of inexpensive chardonnay and made his way toward the fire escape. He was tired of being here, trapped in a life of meaningless monotony. He longed for a single pinprick of difference, to recapture the feelings that had coursed through him with Juliette. She had awakened him from a life of slumber and now that she was gone Ethan often felt that he was adrift and without purpose. He dug his fingernail beneath the gold foil covering the cork and tossed it to the breeze. The iron felt cool against his hands as he quickly climbed to the ladder toward a narrow ledge of the chimney, the bottle of wine carefully stowed beneath his arm.
Ethan agilely lowered his body so that he was seated along the ledge and closed his eyes. For a moment nothing existed but him and the still breeze of the night as it tangled in his thick hair. Here he had no secrets, no past, no future. All that mattered was the moment and within it he was as content as he would ever be with this life. Then, like a ghost, her name whispered against his consciousness, forcing him to remember. Long lashes fluttered open, cerulean eyes searching for a distraction from the dull pain that echoed around the ragged edges of his heart.
He had spent his life with the knowledge that he was dying only to realize now that he had never truly lived.
