To someone walking through the hallway, it probably sounded like a party for people who had speech problems. Several of us had arrived early, and sober, far before 9pm, and at 9.30, when the well lit, luxurious apartment was seemingly assaulted by the rest of our friends, me and my tiny group were far beyond baseline drunk. It didnt take very long for the others to catch up. By ten minutes till midnight, we had turned into a gang of slightly pissed off, hysterical young twenty somethings, cradling boxes of wine, a beer bottle in each suit-jacket pocket as we Indian-danced and howled like dogs. Brent and Veronica and some other red headed girl had turned on 'Back to The Future', which they were watching at absolutle full volume, their faces no more than 9 inches from the 56 inch screen. I couldnt hear anything else, save for Erin repeatedly saying "I'm on a roller coaster, I'm on a roller coaster" as she lay curled in a ball on the floor, holding her stomach. I went into the kitchen.
Nick had, as we all knew he would, rapidly descended into his drunk-only-alter-ego, 'Vincy', and he crouched over a flattened box with Jimmy - who had nacho cheese smeared deep into his semi-short beard - and Micah, the only black guy at the New Years Party. The three of them talked jive and acted tough as they laughed manically, throwing a pair of dice down onto the box, and onto the many crumpled bills they had each put in as their gambling pot. I shook my head, the scowl on my face suggesting that i was more positive than ever that i had somehow become sober. i turned and tripped over the doorway, literally, and proceeded to call the doorway a string of curse words in a southern accent. Dave walked past, his face buried in a plate of hot wings.
Rob Chelsea called everyone into the living room, turning off the blaring Back to the Future VHS tape and replacing it with live coverage of time square. We all drunkedly stumbled over to the sofas, standing and sitting and crouching, Jeff Scott still slutching his box of wine with suspecting wide eyes. The ball was going down, and we were all screaming, and all i could think about was that i wanted to talk to Scarlett, i should call Scarlett.
I pointed at the television and let out a spontaneous howl as the ball hit '8', which apparently fooled some of my compatriots, who also started to emit loud yelps of joy.
"Not yet, Faggots!" screamed Rob Chelsea, he then threw his head back and laughed.
I took my phone out and tried to find the address-book button.
"I just wanna talk to Scarlett," i said out loud, softly, to no one. It of course went unheard as the ball reached zero, and everyone erupted to their feet the way european soccer fans do when some new signing scores a 90th minute goal in a rival game. I instinctively stood up and started cheering, jumping up and down with the rest of my wasted friends; all of us hugging and dancing, not even knowing or caring why New Years is such a big deal.
I split away from them, dissapearing into the kitchen, now empty, the remnants of the guys' dice-game still on the floor. I dialed her number, and she didnt answer.
"Hi, Scarlett," i said to the answering machine. "I just wanted to say that i hope you have a great, Great ... night. I hope you have great night. I hope you're well, i hope school is going really well for you." I paused, trying to overcome the urge to speak in slur-drunk-speech. I licked my lips and focused and continued. "I miss you, and i really really hope you're doing awesome, have a good, good night."
As I hung up, Willie and Powder-Dame came running through the kitchen, shirts off, torsos littered with body-paint.
"Its 2010, its 2010," screamed Willie, grabbing me by the shoulders and shaking me, his smile covering half of his face. "Can you fucking believe it! GAHHHH" and he was off running again, whooping and clapping. Someone in the other room dropped a glass, and its shattering was followed by a cheering of 'WHOOAAAAA" and then rauscuous laughter. I smiled and started for the living room as my phone went off. The screen said 'Incoming Call From Scarlett'.
"Oh!" I yelled to no one. I answered.
"Hello? Scarlett?"
"Is this Jake?" said a male voice. I cocked my head, that strange spirit filling my stomach, replacing the booze that bubbled there.
"Who is this?"
"This is the guy who is telling you dont call this number again,"
A frog in my throat, my heart leaping, i switched the phone to my other ear.
"I'm sorry, I'm confused."
"Dont call this number again bitch," said the voice. "Scarlett dont wanna talk to you."
"Who is this?" i said again. "Let me talk to Scarlett about this,"
"Fuck you," he said. There was no anger in his voice; there didnt need to be. He had her phone. "She's with me now, she doesnt want you to call her anymore."
I shook my head, sort-of grinning. It didnt make sense, this guy telling me off. Scarlett and i had ended things well, and a while ago, and we had kept up with each other frequently.
"I just talked to her the other day," i said. "I dont understand."
"Hey, Faggot," he said as politley as possible. "Are you fucking deaf? I said you're done bitch, that was the last time you ever gonna talk to her again." I wanted to swallow but there was no spit in my mouth. I just kept shaking my head.
"I ... I just dont understand."
"Nothin to understand, she thinks you're a faggot bitch, and so do i, and if you wanna step to me come step to me, you faggot bitch."
I stood in the kitchen, scratching me head.
"You're not gonna let me talk to her," i said softly. "I cant talk to her?"
"Hell no you cant talk to her. She gave me her phone 'cuz she dont wanna mess wit you no more. Fuck you. Stay way. Otherwise i'll beat your faggot bitch ass. You understand?"
"No, i dont understand."
"Ha-Ha. Peace, Bitch."
And the phone clicked off.
I dont know how long i stood there, the phone pressed up to my ear, my head tilted, my mouth open. The drunk pleasure was gone, the joy and carelessness replaced with a confused silence, a dull void of not understanding what just happened. Like a deer in the headlights, i just stood there.
When Rob Chelsea came in and looked at me, the smile vanished from his face
"What the hells wrong with you?" he said from the door.
"Scarlett ..." i said. I couldnt find any other words, and after a moment I realized i had started to cry. His eyes got wide, and he stepped forward, putting one hand awkwardly on my shoulder. "I just..." i tried to speak, but i couldnt speak. Rob Chelsea put his arm around me.
"Screw that damn girl, man." He led me out of the kitchen. "Lets get drunk."
I smiled but i wasnt smiling.
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