365 Cups of Coffee

Seven: Frozen Cappuccino

    I’m alone now.  No one to fall back on.  I make my way onto the beach, looking around through the crowd of people, all whom I don’t know.  Daniel said he’d be right back, said he went to look for Raven, but it’s been three minutes and I’m still alone.  And either way . . . It isn’t as if Daniel will help me if I have an emotional attack.  He doesn’t know.  He wouldn’t know what to do.  So I have to hold myself together.

    I draw myself up to my full height, trying to stand out in the crowd, to keep a grip on my individuality, so I don’t feel so lost.  I look around at the others.  There are girls dressed in all black and girls dressed in colors so blindingly bright I blink; girls in dancers costumes and girls dressed like guys.  There are guys in suits, guys in uniforms, and there’s even a guy wearing nothing but a pair of sweatpants. 

    The costumes range from elaborate to simple, and I’m finding it hard to take it all in so suddenly; there must be at least twenty people dancing, cups of soda in their hands.  Some people are holding bottles of what at first appears to be beer, but when I lean in closer, I can tell that it’s actually root beer.  But I wonder.  Would Daniel take me to a party with real beer?  Is he that type of person?  Something in me doubts it.  A small piece of me holds on to the idea that these kids . . . are good kids.  Like our theatre group back in Georgia.

    Suddenly, I miss everyone with a sharp ache that cuts down deep into my core.  I would have given a lot for the chance to have a party on the beach with all of them just last year.  They must think I abandoned them, when they needed it most.  They must think I’m weak.  But they just . . . They don’t know what I know.  I scold myself.  I can’t think of that now.  I came here for a reason, and there’s no changing that now, no changing my mind.

    “Hey,” Daniel says, scaring me.  I jump as I feel his breath on my neck.  Turning around, I see a girl behind him.  She must be Raven. 

    And holy hell, she’s stunning.  Out of everyone, she has gone full out for the costume.  She’s wearing a floor-length dress, deep purple in color.  She’s painted herself in swirls, starting from the neckline of her dress and swirling up one side of her face.  But the swirls become silhouettes of birds, and they fly across the bridge of her nose to the other end of her face, upwards, reaching.  Her eyeshadow is bold, completely black and smokey.  Her eyes are screaming for attention; she has deep purple contact lenses.  She’s tall, with black heels, and curvy, although her collarbones stick out prominently.  She’s got cinnamon stick hair: exactly the perfect color, and stick straight.  I feel myself pale in comparison.

    “This is Raven,” he says, and she sticks out her hand.  “She’s my best friend.”

    Damn.  No one ever sticks out their hand to greet anyone, at least not at this age.  I am entranced.  I take her hand and find her grip is firm and fleeting, like a politician. 

    “Hey, Aspen,” she says.  “I’ve heard about you from Daniel.  Feel free to just go ahead and talk with everyone.  Eat food.  Enjoy yourself.  I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other a lot in the future.”

    I nod, smiling.  But when I turn away, I can’t get her image out of my mind.  She looks like a goddess, from another world.  And I feel so . . . Insignificant next to her.  She’s Daniel’s best friend.  And once again, I’m left to wonder if they’re dating.  She seems just like the type of girl he would date, and she’s gorgeous.  Creative.  Sincere.  Probably intelligent.  And she’s not broken.

    Turning away from Daniel, I get myself lost in a crowd of sweaty bodies, dancing to a blaring beat.  I let my arms raise until I’m dancing just like I used to at school dances and cast parties.  I lose all sense of my surroundings until I feel a tap on my shoulders, and I look over to see a guy wearing a Batman costume.  I nearly laugh out loud, because it’s somehow fitting.  Maybe saving Gotham is really Batman’s true self, despite the mask.  And maybe this person is trying to make the same type of statement . . . That sometimes a personality someone thinks of as a mask can end up being who they truly are.