It was cold outside, but all the snow had melted weeks before. There was still some of the dirt speckled slush produced by cars, but it was more ice than snow and existed only in the sparse squares of untraveled land between houses and behind fences. It was unappealing and it reminded me of cities and the underside of cars, so I stepped over it and pushed the small wooden gate between the road and the house. I forgot to hold it open for the people behind me, but they didn't seem to mind. Even if they did they wouldn't have said anything about it. They aren't the type to unnecessarily stir shit up, I love them for that.
It occurs to me once I'm standing on the neatly placed wood slats of the house's deck that I don't know what I'm doing or why I'm there. I can't even begin to speculate as to what I'd thought I was getting into when I'd agreed to come, or what I'd been thinking when I asked if I should. I blame my sense of adventure and an insatiable lust for life, despite the fact that I possess neither of those traits. In all honesty, I do know why I went, but the reasons are too pathetic and teenage to be discussed.
It was loud when we entered the house. The kind of loud produced by old-friends reuniting and the anticipation of what would become of the night (though I'm sure the presence of free wine helped.) I take off my jacket and place it onto the pile with all the rest. I don't care that my cell-phone and wallet are sitting in the pockets, I never use my cell-phone and I only brought my debit card for money. I feel out of place with my coat off. The labels of my brand-name clothes are now exposed, like bright green lesions indicating some foul disease of the mind. I do my best to keep them covered when I'm meeting people, leaving them as a surprise for later. I shake hands with people I've never seen before and then take my place behind the people I came with, on the stairs which divide the house in half.
All the furniture has been cleared out of the main entertaining-room, and there are low, bright candles lining the walls. It's pretty, but I can't shake the feeling that it looks as though an angel has thrown-up all over the walls. There's no religious paraphernalia adorning the walls, but it seems like there was at some point. It wouldn't be unusual for someone to remove all evidence of faith from their walls prior to a gathering of friends. Expressing belief has become immensely unpopular.
A drunk girl with a wide mouth and tall hair is laughing across the room from me. I recognize her as Renee, and she recognizes me as Tyler Cannon's younger; too young, brother. I don't care though, I've acquired a general feeling of apathy when it comes to other people's attitude towards me. She thinks she knows what I'm about, and at one point she would have been right, but time and sobriety have given me a new perspective.
Music is played, but I don't remember any of it. I'm too busy trying to articulate my thoughts and decide who to talk to and what to say. Before long, everything has settles into clay. The candles are all out and everything is in it's right place, myself excluded. The more time I spend around these beautiful people, the more I realize how much I don't belong. I'm surrounded by pretty freaks, and I'm just not one of them. More than anything I just want to flee. I want to run from this insanity and beauty and escape, but I don't. Instead I stare it in the face and feel nothing, and it stares into me and feels nothing in return.