Partaking

I’m standing in the side of  a door frame.

I’ve got my hands in my pockets.

There’s a commotion about the room — a general buzz of activity.

But it’s all so exhausting.

The constant hum drum of activity in the air.

People having a good time, caring, communicating, developing relations.

There is something inspiring about the relentlessness of that.

Such a driving factor for everyone.

“Do you know him?”

“Have you met her”

“I have to introduce you to this person, you’ll just love them”

I’m sure I will, but at the same time there’s almost too many people, quality to quantity still applies to people you know.

People pass under the door way, they ebb, and flow meeting new people, rekindling old conversations unfinished from the last time they had the beat flow through them.

“You should’ve seen her she was so drunk”

“Yeah I don’t know how I feel about him it just gives me a weird vibe”

“Do you wanna head on outta here, and head back to my place?”

So many conversations, and no possible way to know the context of all of them, so whats the point in jumping into one at all?

The door frame is my spot in the middle. An eye in the sky if you will.

“Not partaking in the festivities of normative socialization?” she says to me.

A mop of dark hair, and a pair of blue eyes is looking up at me.

“Should I be? I ask tentatively.

“If you’re not why did you come?”

“Maybe I just like to listen to everyone else have a good time” I jive back.

“Do you think that makes you better then everyone else?”

That’s an odd question.

“What do you mean” I say in genuineness.

“Do you think…that because you’re just standing here instead of cutting loose with everyone else that makes you better then everyone, because I think you think that. I don’t think that it’s an issue if you do, but I think you ought to be aware of it.”

The answer is no, I think.

“Cause even if you do think that you’re better then everyone else, I’ve knocked you down a peg with this very conversation, so how about that?” she beams up at me.

She is right, I am officially partaking in this so called party, something I may or may not have been planning on doing anyway.

“Should I thank you for that?”

“Do you feel the need to?”

“No.”

“Then no, after all what good is thanking someone for something you need not feel the need to do so for”

We haven’t moved from the doorway. Only the party around us has shifted like a current of water back, and forth mixing, and changing shape but not in the components that compose it. Same people, different arrangement.

“I think you need some company”

Do I? I ask this to myself before asking her.

“Do you need company?”.

Is what I actually ask her.

“That is so not what I asked you”

“Isn’t it though?”.

“No”

“How so?”

“You know how”

Once again she is correct. I am definitely aware of how my question deflects off of hers. Maybe her company is warranted. Warranted. God maybe I am full of myself. Warranted implies permission granted by none other then myself. How vain can I be?

“You are more then welcome to stand under the door way with me if you like”

“Then I shall do so”

I can tell her hair is normally more curly then it is currently. Maybe she straightened it just for tonight. Maybe this party means more to her then she would like to let on. It swooshes back and forth as she walks. She wraps her arms around my back, and rests her head against me chest. Shes got some sort of necklace on that isn’t exactly pleasant when being pushed into my sternum. My back is still against the door frame, and we just kind of stand there for minute. A perceptual silence falls over us.

“You got a smoke”

“Yeah.” I say much quieter.

She looks up, and I can feel the point of her chin put slight pressure on me.

I pull out a pack of camels, and hand her one.

She pulls out her own lighter.

I haven’t pulls out my own. Only one for her.

She flicks the lighter, and breaths in. Of course I breath in a bit too, feels good. As if the oxygen isn’t cutting it.

“You partaking?” she asks when she sees me put the box back in my pocket.

“Not tonight”

“When then?” she inquires

“When I have to”

“Well I mean you don’t HAVE to do anything”

“You know what I mean”

“I can infer what you mean”

” But you don’t know I know exactly what you meant we did just meet”

It occurs to me that it feels like I’ve known this person wrapped around my waist for a very long time, but I haven’t only a few moments actually.

“If you won’t partake in the party, and you won’t even light your own cig, but you’ll give one away to a stranger, very generous by the way. What is you’re doing here?”

I look at her for just a little longer. I pause, and look away.

“Good question, wish I had answer for you”

She turns my head, and makes me look into her eyes.

“Pffft I think you know.”

And once again she was right.

She pushes herself a a little closer, she hugs a little tighter, and breaths a little deeper then she did before. I run my hands through her hair and just let the moments take as long as the want to pass by us.

The sounds of the party fade away, and the bass of the music becomes hollow compared to the sound of thumping heart beats, and by the end of the night I’ve partaken in something worth more then a pack of cigarettes ever could be.

 

-A Doleful Record of myself

4/22/2018

In response to the daily post Partake

 

 

 

 

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