"Note #5"

A Story by Raef

"I think if being socially awkward was a sport..." Quietly his thought pandered off.

He wandered away from the entrance, following the wall until he reached the far side of the living room. There was a couch there, and as he took a seat he wondered why he couldn't just be that person; the one who people recognize on sight for good reasons. The kind of guy who lives off of life.

"Hey, man, mingle." She tapped him on both shoulders, leaning over him and pouting a little. "Come on."

She stood upright and pouted harder. "You're making me feel bad, Jake. Come on."

He nodded, a bit absentmindedly, tracing the outer seam of his jeans. This guy's girlfriend wandered over and sat down next to him, crossing her legs in that business-like manner that crossed swords with the air.

"Hey, Jake."

"Hey."

Silence. No eye contact from him, but she was trying to initiate; bobbing her head like some kind of lizard.

"Are you anxious," she finally asked.

"Um. What?"

"You look like you're anxious."

"How so?"

She switched legs; left on top this time. She tossed her hair in a slightly annoying manner and looked up at the ceiling.

"Well, you don't make eye contact. Like, I'm trying to make a visual connection with you and you're just avoiding it."

/That's a bit direct./

"So, are you?"

He fell back against the couch, picking up a cushion that lay next to him and twirling it between his hands.

"Am I what," he asked, knowing exactly what it was she meant.

"Anxious; are you anxious?"

He sighed. "I dunno. What's wrong with not making eye contact?"

She switched legs again. "Well, people might find that it makes you look anxious."

/Jesus Christ it's like talking to a cultist./

Out of the corner of his eye he noticed that she was still looking at him. He cleared his throat. Absentmindedly he noticed that his recent favorite by the Killers had come on.

"I guess."

She rolled into him with her agenda: "Do you have anxiety?"

/Holy crap./

"Not that I'm aware of."

"Hmm."

Her boyfriend came and got her then; they went out through the screen door, and since there was nothing out there but a table and the darkness, he figured it was to make out.

A few minutes later there was yelling in the kitchen; apparently one of the other guests had knocked over a two-liter and spilled Sierra Mist all over the floor. He got up and helped the offending guest (he couldn't remember her name) and the out-of-place youth pastor clean up by tying two towels to his feet and sliding around.

The guys playing billiards over by the sound system got tired of the playlist and decided to change things up; some slower music came on, and he found himself stepping to the rhythm.
The youth pastor noticed and laughed:

"Yeah, nice bro. See, he has the idea!"

/Oh shut up./

Of course he smiled a little so the guy would ease up.

Eventually he was the only person still cleaning, and as he slid he watched as the birthday girl's ex-boyfriend also metaphorically cleaned the floor with the youth pastor guy in pool. He smirked a little and did a little spin as the birthday girl came around the corner with some empty cans and greasy plates. She giggled and he rolled his eyes at her.

"Tell no one."

She smiled. "You're a lady bug."

He finished up in the kitchen and decided to walk around and check on everybody. Everyone had divided themselves up into their essential groups; the billiards guys, the conversationalists in the sitting room, the loners, the stoners, the couples making out. The weird might-be-a-furry guy playing Grand Theft Auto was trying to convince the birthday girl to show this extremely gory anime to her three year old niece.

He walked around all through the house. He felt like he was missing whatever it was that everyone else was feeling. Or maybe there wasn't this incredibly exclusive emotion that they supposedly had; maybe they all felt like they didn't belong here like he did.

/Maybe,/ he thought as he made awkward eye contact with a one of the girls who had come with her boyfriend that evening, /they feel this, too./

Another of the birthday girl's ex-boyfriends who had arrived earlier came up to him then.

"Hey, Jake. Nice shirt."

/Is that how a compliment is born?/

"Thanks, man."

"Where'd you get it?"

The boyfriend of the Anxiety Chick from earlier came up at that moment and agreed with Ex-Boyfriend #2.

"Isn't it a nice shirt? I keep telling him that it's a nice shirt and he won't believe me."

Jake smiled a bit and shook off Boyfriend's arm.

He walked away, leaving them to talk to each other; they were much better friends to each other than he was to either of them.

He went back to take his place on the couch. Might-Be-A-Furry switched from gaming to television; Family Guy, specifically. Birthday Girl came over and sat between them. She had Youth Pastor toss her a pillow from the other couch, which she gave to Jake.

"Lean back," she said.

He obliged; it was her birthday.

She laid her head against his shoulder.

"Why do you look depressed? Are you depressed?"

He sighed. "I'm not depressed."

She smiled up at him. "You're depressed."

It was a game they had; that whole dialogue about depression. They sat there watching the episode through half-lidded eyes as Ex-Boyfriend #1 and Youth Pastor sat down on the adjacent couch to watch as well. There was a lot of laughter going on, in this room as well as the sitting room. The party had divided into two sections, now. Birthday Girl, being the gracious host that she was, got up and went to go talk to her other friends.

As she walked away, he watched her go with a twinge of sadness. She was a sad soul, to him. He remembered what she'd said about Current Boyfriend (?).

/"Hopefully you get to meet him. He's pretty chill."/

He sighed again and leaned back against the rough fabric of the couch. The episode ended and Youth Pastor and Ex-Boyfriend #1 got up to leave.

He used to have a crush on the birthday girl. That was last year, so about four ex-girlfriends ago. He thought it was pitiful that increments of time could equal a certain amount of "love" interests. No feelings for her now, though; he was too wrapped up in worrying for her to feel anything romantic. He doubted he ever would again.

Fast-forward through the night; cake, pizza, games. The bulk of it was just frivolous, nonsensical, essentially non-essential. He wondered why he had gone in the first place. Besides Birthday Girl he had no business being there whatsoever. As he was driven home that night he wondered at what the purpose of the night had been. He leaned against the cool glass of the pickup truck and gazed lazily at passing traffic as Girl-Whose-Name-He-Couldn't-Recall-But-Had-Been-Kind-Enough-To-Give-Him-A-Lift and the birthday girl interrogated him from the front about his social life; why girls were always talking about him, how his eyebrows were expressive, if he ever thought about having sex with a guy. It was all in passing; not just the conversation, but the entire night. He thought that if he could bottle euphoria that he could be the most powerful anything, but later that night as they made the turn into his driveway he realized that his thoughts were s**t.