Another Short Story

Here's another first draft for my writing group, which I'm finally getting back together with after a long hiatus. The assignment was to in some way reference or connect to the author Lewis Carroll.

I hate parties, mostly. I don't care to drink, which seems to be one of the two main items of business at these things; and I'm not interested in going home with any ladies tonight, which is the other. And yet, for some insane reason, I'm here. Sitting uncomfortably on a stained couch, surrounded by pompous frat boys and their brainless bimbos. There's nothing like a large group of stupid people to make me feel unsocial and hostile. It doesn't help that the stereo in the corner is hurting my ears and shaking the walls. I've noticed that bad music is usually played very loudly, as if the decibels might make up for the poor quality. I prefer my music with more than three chords, thank you.

I can just see Lewis from here. He's in the kitchen, surrounded by people all talking and laughing. A girl with red hair whispers in his ear and he grins goofily. God, I hate him. I should just go.
A blonde bounces up to me with a drink in hand (not her first if her breath is any indication) and bats her eyes ridiculously. She's hardly wearing a thing; its a wonder she doesn't explode out of her dress at the slightest movement. I expected this. You hear how cliquish people are at college parties, but its not all true. You can't sit by yourself for long before somebody feels like they have to come over and make you feel included. I could be making idiot jokes and drinking myself into a mindless stupor if I wanted, but I'm not because I choose not to - and yet some tender hearted girl always feels only she can make you have fun. If only these people could see themselves they'd realize how utterly wretched they are. I've found that refusing to make eye contact and speaking in monosyllabics usually ends these encounters relatively painlessly.

“HI,” she has to shout to be heard. For a supposed “social function,” the music sure does a fine job of making normal conversation impossible. “HI! I'M KANDI!”

“Hello,” I say, studying the carpet.

“I HAVEN'T SEEN YOU AROUND BEFORE! HERE WITH SOMEBODY?”

I nod. That's an butt-ugly painting on the wall.

“WHO?”

I point into the kitchen, but there's about a million people in there. “Lewis,” I mouth.

“WHO? OH, LEWIS! I LOVE HIM, HE'S GREAT! SO FUNNY!”

I nod and smile weakly. I think I'm going to be sick.

“DON'T YOU WANT A DRINK?” she points at her full cup.

Shrug. Please, please go away.

“WANT ME TO GET YOU ONE? WAIT RIGHT HERE.”

And she's gone, leaving me a chance to escape. I have to get out of this crowd, away from the music, from everything. I should just leave, but instead I wander into a hallway looking for a bathroom and soon find it. The line of drunks waiting to take a leak and/or throw up gives it away. There's too many people, and this small hallway makes it worse. I feel like I can't breathe, and I don't think I can force my way back through the crowd to the front door, so I open one of the doors in the hallway and throw myself inside. It's relatively dark and quiet inside and I take deep breaths, calming myself.

I think I'm in a bedroom, and for a moment I worry that I may have interrupted some kind of clandestine make-out session, but a quick glance around the room confirms that I'm fortunately alone. I sit on the end of the bed and put my head in my hands. I was an idiot to come here, I knew I'd hate it. I don't like parties, its not in my nature; you can't just change who you are because somebody asks you to. Its not like I owe him any favors anyway. I was crazy to come; I should just leave. I stand up to go and catch sight of somebody moving out of the corner of my eye.

I jump back, startled and suddenly full of adrenaline. My hands are shaking, but its just a large mirror. I hadn't noticed it before, and so my own reflection had scared me. How ironic. Its pretty dark in here, though the light of the moon and various car headlights filters through the drapes, and I have to get quite close to the smooth surface of the mirror to see my face clearly. Messy, unkept hair, weak stubble on a weak chin, dull, stupid looking eyes and a crooked nose. That's me, alright. Sometimes I wish I could reach through the surface of the mirror, like that story, and strangle the kid on the other side. He mocks me. He's always there.

“Go away,” I whisper. It's my custom to say something similar whenever presented with my own image. It has never obeyed.

It's time to go. If I wasn't in the mood for this before, I'm certainly not now. Screw Lewis, let him find his own way home. He hasn't said one word to me since we got here, anyway. He'll never know I'm gone.

I step out into the hallway, and into Lewis. Classic.

“Hey, buddy,” he says, weaving a little, “I've been looking all over for you!”

Right. I saw how hard he was looking. Guess he thought I'd turned into a big-bosomed blonde.

“I'm leaving, see ya later.”

“Whoa, wait, you can't go! The fun's just starting!”

“Lewis,” I lower my voice so the drunks in line for the bathroom don't hear us, “I told you that if I didn't like it I'd leave, and I'm leaving.”

“Didn't you have a drink?”

“I don't want a drink, Lewis. I want to go home.”

“Hold on, man, just hold on. You're my ride! I'd leave with you now too, only there's this girl-”

Classic Lewis. There's always a girl; a girl who's not like the other girls.

“I tell you, Carl, she's not like the other girls. She's something special, ya know?”

Whatever.

“Her name's Alice, she's around here somewhere. I want to introduce her to you, hold on. Don't go anywhere, ok? Come on, buddy....who's my buddy? Who's my buddy...?.”

I nod reluctantly. How does he do that? He can talk me into anything. I'm just a tool in his kit, and he loves me only when he needs me. I should just leave.

“Great, I'll be right back, wait here.”

What a miserable night. I press myself against the wall to allow people to pass back and forth in the hallway without having to stumble over me, and pray that Lewis will be quick. I should know better. Several minutes go by and there's not a sign of him. I'm about to give up and leave anyway when a girl bumps into me, spilling a bit of her drink on my shirt.

“Oh, I'm sorry,” she says pathetically. She brushes her long red hair out of her eyes, looking for a kleenex in her purse. “I didn't see you there.”

“Yeah, its ok. Don't worry about it.” She's still digging in her purse, and she looks for a moment like she's going to fall over. She's had a lot to drink.

“I just wasn't looking where I was going,” She babbles as she wipes at my shirt with a wrinkled receipt, “I was just looking for Lewis and I didn't know....”

“Lewis?" I take a guess. "You Alice?”

“Yeah,” she looks at me, puzzled, “how'd you know?”

“I'm Lewis's roommate. Carl.”

“Carl? Who?” Her nose scrunches up as she thinks. It's obviously a laborious task in her current state. “Oh, wait, Carl! You're his roommate, right?” Yeah, I just said that. “Yeah, I think he mentioned you were, you know.... here.” She laughes, much too loud and too long, an awakward laugh. “Nice to meet you. Where is he?”

She stares at me inquistively, yet not quite all there. Her eyes seem big and round and innocent, though I have no doubt that in many ways she knows more of life than I do. She trusts me, somehow, because of my tenuous connection to Lewis, because she's drunk and can't think clearly, because maybe she's just that kind of a person. Suddenly, an impulse seizes me. Before I know what I'm doing, I'm pointing to the door I just came out of, nodding my head in that direction. She stumbles to it, nearly crashing into the wall before entering the darkened bedroom. I follow her. I must be crazy, but I feel like I'm not even here. What does that mean? It's like... like I'm watching myself in a movie and have no control over the plot.

She collapses on the bed and looks around languidly.

“So where is he?”

“He, uh... he said he'd meet us here in a few minutes.” I'm such a bad liar, but fortunately she's too drunk to notice.

“He better hurry, I'm not going to wait forever...”

“He'll be here. Very soon, I'm sure. Have you known him long?”

“Just met him tonight.”

There is a long pause as she shifts on the bed, trying to make herself comfortable.

“Are you going to..... you know... do it with him?” I don't know why I said that.

“You betcha!” She smiles, “He's so hot, don't you think?”

“How the hell should I know?” That came out too rough. I didn't mean it to.

She glances at me, uncomfortably. My tone must have managed to penetrate her drunken haze.

“Mmmm, I'm so tired....” she closes her eyes. She's pretty enough, I guess. Big lips, high cheekbones, large arching eyebrows. Nothing I'd look at twice, but Lewis certainly seemed interested in her. I know him, though. Alcohol and hormones combine to get the better of him, and in the morning he'd want nothing to do with her. Still, there had to be something about her he found attractive. I mean, it had to be more than just that she has a big rack and probably laughs at all his jokes. I don't want to believe he's really that shallow, but I know, from personal experience even, that he is. Maybe depth and intellectualism are overrated. They haven't done much for me.

Quietly, I sit on the bed next to her. I hold my head up and grin, like he does, and softly stroke her hair. She smiles and mumbles something. My heart is racing, but I lean down on one elbow, putting my head in my hand. The movements come quite naturally; I've done my homework. After a few minutes of gathering my courage, I whisper into her ear.

“Who's my baby... Come on, who's my baby?”

She stirs and turns her face to mine. “Lewis?”

“Hey, baby,” I say, and then I kiss her.

I don't know how long we are at it. At first I want to stop immediately. Its not the guilt so much as her breath, which carries a sickly sweetness of beer and bile. After a few minutes, however, I'm lost in her lips, carried away by an excitement I can't explain. It flows up my back and down my arms, a tingle of something wonderful I have always wanted but didn't know it. I even allow myself, just for a moment, to touch her leg in a way I have seen him do on a few occaisions, and she sighs with the pleasure of it just the way other girls do for him. I'm terrified he might walk in at any minute, or that she might realize I'm just me, the dorky roommate, and push me away, or that she won't and we'll go all the way before I know what I'm doing and I don't know if I'm ready for it. My God, my God, I think I could die right now.

Not too much later, she stops returning my movements and lays still. I pull away and listen to her breathing and realize she is asleep. I suppose thats some kind of comment on my kissing abilities, but I didn't expect much better. It was my first time. I get off of the bed gently, so as not to wake her. I should just go. It's enough. But I don't go. I walk to the mirror slowly with measured steps. I get close to its surface and stare into its depths. Same eyes, same chin, same nose.

The mirror shatters, breaking my image into a thousand copies, cracking like thunder and waking Alice up with a start, sending droplets of warm blood down my hand and onto the carpet.

It wasn't who I wanted to see.