I was alone

“I was alone.”
I was 18. I’d been at work in a greasy little café wearing my greasy little waitress outfit—filling the coffee cups of hung-over, perverted old men since 5:30 am. My feet hurt. A middle-aged guy in a minivan had smashed into my car as I was driving home, thereby totaling it. I’d asked my mom if I could borrow her car that night, but it didn’t go over well. So I had Jake, my ex-boyfriend, arrange for his best friend Derek to give me a ride to a New Year’s Eve party.

In retrospect, I think I'd only dated Jake to get closer to Derek. Derek was my high-school crush. Since my freshman year I’d been sheepishly flirting with him, always feigning friendship but secretly wanting more. If I called Derek directly, that would’ve been like asking him out. Since I’d made Jake do it, it was just a friend asking another friend a favor.

I took a shower—a few showers, actually—due to several hair mishaps. After a dozen or so clothing changes, I decided on my tightest-fitting pair of jeans and a white t-shirt with brown flowers. It was nothing special, but I’d caught Derek eyeing me in that shirt a few weeks prior. I wore red lipstick, not something I would normally do but a). it was a special occasion, and b). it matched his red Javelin, which was the car I imagined we be in when he asked me to be his girlfriend that night. I was looking perfect, hot even. My day had begun to improve. It was going to be a good night.

I waited, I paced, I nervously looked out the window for Derek. I checked my appearance about every 30 seconds and reapplied lipstick when necessary. I tried to play Solitaire but most hands were short-lived as I imagined the sound of a car pulling into the driveway, and I kept getting up to look out the window.

When Derek didn’t show up, my options disappeared. Agonizingly, the party was only four miles from my house, but it was too cold to walk. Cell phones weren’t around at the time, so I couldn’t call him. I sat in my bedroom. I was alone. I spent the night listening to Radiohead and sobbing. It was the worst New Year’s Eve ever.

-Patricia Johnsen