What He Wrote

Chapter 11

I sat in an over-stuffed maroon chair with my legs crossed so that my right ankle rested on my left knee. My hand swirled an overpriced glass of sparkling water as I watched Cleo engage in polite conversation with a man who was smoking a probably expensive cigar. There was a joyful, drunken mood to the room, one which the holidays could only induce.

"-Isn't that right, Teddy?" Cleo snapped me out of my comfortable haze, presumably before I could embarrass myself.

"I'm sorry, what was that?"

"I was just asking Cleo how you two met." The man, who I still did not know the name of, said.

"Oh, English class. We had the same English class."

"And journalism, but we really got to know each other because of English."

"How sweet. Literature really can bring people together now, can't it." The man said in a tone quite opposite to the words which he had spoken.

"Yes, I believe it can." Cleo spoke with a touch of finality.

"Well, I'm going to seek a glass of red wine if either of you would like to join me. It was great talking to you." With that, the man put what remained of his cigar onto the ashtray and got up from his equally over-stuffed chair. I was still wondering how it was that adults were so open to us minors drinking. The number of times I had been offered wine, bourbon, and spiked eggnog was nearly astounding.

"This party is miserable. Absolutely miserable. The amount of small talk I've had to pretend I'm interested in is almost embarrassing. And why is it that everyone insists on knowing how we met? It's not like we're getting married anytime soon." I looked at Cleo intently, feeling slightly tipsy even though I hadn't consumed a drop of liquor. The glow of the string lights hung on the nearby Christmas tree made her look stunning. She had styled her hair so it looked vaguely 1930's, which was a great contrast to her modern plum blouse. Winter suited her, I decided to myself. It suited her more than anyone else.

"I'm going to follow Mr. Carthing's example and find myself a glass of wine. Are you going to come with?" I shook my head while Cleo stood and walked away on a pair of black platform heels.

I couldn't decide if I was enjoying myself or not. A part of me was, but the other part wanted to run away.

"Excuse me, is this seat occupied?"

An achingly familiar looking man pointed to the seat Cleo had just left. He was unusually tan, but not to the point of falseness. He appeared to be young, but it was his hands that gave him away. They were calloused and leathery, yet seemed to brag about adventure. This man had done things that I wouldn't be able to imagine.

I realized that I had been staring and waved an arm towards the seat.

"Enjoying the party?" The man said before sipping his glass of clear brown liquid.

"Oh yeah. It's wonderful." I said with as much enthusiasm as I could muster.

"You can be honest. I know my wife's shindigs can be rather dull."

I instantly sat up straighter. That's why the man was so familiar. He was Cleo's dad.

"Your wife definitely knows a lot of interesting people."

"They're really only interesting if you enjoy gardening and oblivion."

I took a liking towards Cleo's dad, for it had become clear who Cleo was more alike when compared to her parents.

"Personally, I think oblivion can be a serendipitous thing."

"What makes you say that?"

"People believe what they want to believe. We can find unfortunate joy-or at least content-in living a lie. A man going deaf may not realize it, but he subconsciously finds a symphony in police sirens and a screeching cat. He will not accept that he will not be able to hear, but he clings to every sound because there will always be something he is oblivious to."

"You sound like a philosopher."

"I haven't studied philosophy a minute of my life, sir."

"You should."

"Your daughter seems to be the best teacher one could have."

Cleo's dad smiled serenely, glancing around the room as if he were looking for her. "She really is an extraordinary soul."

"That she is, sir."

"Bill. Call me Bill."

"Okay."

"I think you're good for her, Teddy. Cleo always talks about you when she writes to me. It seems that you are equally extraordinary. I understand that you are part of a fairly popular band?"

"I play the drums, but we aren't as popular as Cleo probably made us out to be."

"Do you plan on going to college?"

I squirmed a bit at this question. "I don't really know yet. I understand that it's junior year and all, I just don't know if there's anything I'd want to do for the rest of my life other than make music."

You're better off going against the grain and doing what you love than conforming and being miserable."

"I'm assuming you went to college."

A hardened look came upon Bill's face and I wondered if my statement had hit a sore spot.

"My parents were not very supportive of my goals to be an Egyptologist. It was very much an uphill battle, I'm afraid."

"That sucks." The words slipped out of my mouth before I could stop them, but Bill just laughed.

"Yeah, it did."

"It's a relief to see that you two are getting along well." Cleo said, holding a painstakingly obvious glass of wine. She stood near my chair with purpose, almost as if she had been there the whole time.

"Oh yes, I was just giving Teddy the interrogation. He passed, by the way." I couldn't help but grin. "Welp, I'll leave you two to talk. Feel free to escape whenever. I'll even distract Josephine for you." Bill winked at us.

"We might go for a walk or something." Cleo said.

"Okay. What are you drinking?" I internally cringed as her dad studied her drink.

"Punch."

"Hmm. Well, make sure you don't drink too much 'punch' before you leave."

"Of course." She said with a smirk.

Then we were left feeling dreadfully alone in a room full of dreadful people. Looking around, I couldn't help but think that holidays were the biggest oblivions of all. For it was so foolish of us to believe that a little merriment could blow away the oncoming storm.