She looks at the stranger. Carefully, she examines. The straightness in his dark hair seems unnatural but still well kept. His eyes sparkle with hazel, as if emitting light on their own like the moon that slowly stalks them from afar. He can’t do a thing to her. Not unless he wants trouble.
The white saucer is a witness to anything that’ll happen. At least that’s what she hopes. She doesn’t know a single thing about this man, but she followed him out of the club anyway. She’d do anything to get away of the stench of vomit and alcohol.
And there they are, sitting on the roof of some car. She isn’t even sure if it’s his or not. But people back in that club wouldn’t bother to care if they started making out on their property. They’re too drunk and dazed to worry.
The girl has no business there. As an adolescent, she says she wants to experience the nightlife for once on New Years Eve. And so far, it sucks. She’s sitting on a car with a dude she met half an hour ago. He bought her a drink with abandoned, harmless eyes. She doesn’t give a crap about his past or what he wanted to do with her. She just wants a soul next to her as the fireworks go off. Whether a rapist or drunkard, she sits with him. The ground, it seems, slowly rocks back and forth to the hard bass coming from the club. As people go in and out of the building, she can hear the screams of laughter and the incomprehensible rap music that swallows the crowd up.
Her nose crinkles and she hates it.
The man next to her isn’t even a man. He looks barely her age and carries that sense of loneliness in his calm eyes. He doesn’t look like a molester. The girl thinks. Anything ski related on a guy makes them a rapist. She doesn’t see a single article of clothing related to snow on his persona. She sighs.
“Come here often?” he speaks smoothly, the drink he’d had earlier showed no affect on his conversation.
“No.” the girl says simply, clasping her hands together. “Just for New Years.”
The guy nods and looks down onto the scratched and worn out red hood beneath his feet.. “Me too. I was dared by my friends. They say I don’t get out much.”
The girl laughs, her brown hair flows with the wind. “Ain’t that a truth. New Years was mainly bingo and late Christmas movies in my family.”
“That’s the life,” he smirks. “Hey, you cold? It’s getting windy out here.”
“If you ask me to go to your place, I’ll straight up slap you.”
He chuckles. “Don’t worry, I don’t think I’m playing bases tonight.”
The girl nods. “Good. I just want that damn ball to drop and go home.”
“Go home now.” he suggests. “You don’t wanna be out on your own with a bunch of dangerous men on the streets. What’s a little girl like you doing out here anyway?”
She scowls. “Little girl? Boy, you’re getting cocky aren’t ya? And to answer your question, my life is too empty for me to do anything else on this useless day. I’ll just waist away in bars like any other loner.”
“No boyfriend?” his brows rises.
“No,” they both say monotonously, but soon laugh at their misery.
“Hey,” he lifts up a hand and clenches his fingers into a fist. “New Year’s resolution number uno.” he extends his hand to her. “Get a partner.”
“You implying I’m lesbian?”
The guy starts to laugh, the girl joins in soon enough. She extends her fist to his and they fist-bump right as the countdown starts. The people from the bar start yelling out numbers obnoxiously as the big TV counts from ten and down.
Ten seconds later, the ball drops from New York, sending the world into 2013. The duo on the car watch; mesmerized by the amount of light a fire cracker can conjure. The night sky illuminates in a rainbow of colours before the sounds of gunshots. Boom, boom, boom, The crackers go off to the point where the two have to cover their ears, laughing to their heart’s content.
January 1, 2013. The year of new joy, love, and chances.
Happy New Years, all… and may this be the start of my first blog. EVER.
Meet someone new today. Hold a door open. Give a dollar to the homeless. Laugh at a cartoon. Buy a piano. Knock coffee all over the keys. Sell the piano. Instead, buy a violin. Screech on the strings until your neighbor willingly pays you to get lessons. Next thing you know, you’re Joshua Bell.