Outside of her head

theories of the party girl

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I was antsy and pacing. It was just four of us for a while. Now I am on a constant march up and down four flights of stairs on account of the broken buzzers. There are two types of party anxiety. The first: no one is coming. The second: everyone is coming. I experience both tonight. Forty people, but I lose count. Five hundred or so square feet. I tell Maddie before the multitudes show up that if no one comes it’s a reflection on me. No one likes me. Then people start arriving with bouquets of flowers and red wine. A spread of beautiful fruits. Intentionally phallic-shaped candy spills out on the counter. My friend bakes a cake I want to eat with my hands.

I love you until you call the cops on me, Lorde sings through the speakers barely audible over the crowd. Then the neighbors do. It’s 11 pm on a Friday. We don’t flee. Krysten looks me in the eyes and tells me to be calm. I feel immense guilt. We don’t have to go outside to talk them, I’m instructed. Nearly in tears, I tell someone I don’t want to cause a problem. Even though I created the problem. Forgiveness easier than permission. Instead, we stay safe tucked in between folds of person after person.

I forget to watch the door for someone I want to show up to show up. I knew the chances were slim. I forget to miss them for the most part. My friends are all around, conversations to be had, more punch to spill on red clothing that no one will see. I’m forgetting myself. It feels good. The anxiousness I felt earlier peels off like the layers no one had to wear because of the freak February warmth. Yes, I barely remember to miss them until I’m standing on the street waving everyone off into the night.