Celebration

New Years is a bit of a blur, of activity, not booze. My house was packed to the rafters. Everyone seemed to have a good time. I managed to not mess things up. That's a success if there ever was one.

At midnight, I got a kiss from Sarah Jean. That's the sort of thing that makes all the post party clean-up easier to deal with doing.

Ahhhh.

A Moment

The house is quiet. Sunlight streams in through the windows of the kitchen but that reminds me that it's cold outside. Sunlight and winter mean cold. My coffee is hot and I am not bothered by the external temperature.

The house is mostly cleaned in preparation for this evening's festivities. As plans will, they grew. At first there was a 'well Sarah Jean and her friends will still be in town' aspect to it that got augmented during last weekend's gathering and now I've mostly lost track of what's going on apart from the fact that it's going on here. Some of my interns have said they'll at least stop in, Mike said he's coming along, I expect Chris will at least visit and I don't know if Julia will be with him or not. I'm expecting a crowd at this point which means there will probably be three of us: Sarah Jean, myself, and one of her friends keeping a watchful eye on me. Not us, me.

For the moment I'm not worried. It's not the number of people that make a party but the people at the party. So long as we have a good time and things don't get too out of control, I don't care if there are three people here or thirty. Thirty might be a snug fit so maybe not thirty.

All that is for later. For now, it's just a moment of peace and resting, a deep breath while sitting in a warm sunbeam. Then lunch, then more cleaning. I'm still finding popcorn in the living room, left behind from last weekend. Jamie just had to start throwing it around. There's always something.

Take care. Have fun.

Still a Bit Lost

Again, I didn't say anything. I didn't bring the situation to everyone else's attention. There was no 'hey look at this fine peach of a bottom' or anything like that. It's not that Sarah Jean would want me to say something like that so I should be okay there.

Sarah Jean has spent some time with me and has been in my head plenty of times before. She is, or should be, familiar enough with me to know that I do appreciate the female form. Therefore, when presented with such an attractive example of the female form, I have to acknowledge it at least a little bit.

In her defense, she wasn't dressed in a manner that seemed, well, slipshod. Her jeans fit her and neither looked overly tight nor overly loose. Her shirt was long enough so that it didn't raise up to expose skin when she bent over. It was a very modest outfit. It may well be that, due to the modesty of the outfit, she didn't expect me to act in a manner that could be described as 'piggish' guy fashion. Does that make any sense?

If the outfit had been less modest, then it's a different argument. I think every guy has been caught with his gaze lingering on a female and has been reprimanded for doing so with words or a Look. Here's the thing about that.

We may be leering or transfixed or distracted or what have you but we didn't dress you that morning. If you decided to wear a super short skirt or a shirt that's cut down to your belly button or any other item of clothing that displays vast amounts of attractive flesh, that's not our fault. Our hormones make us want to have a look. That's how it works for us. From our perspective, that's what we expect you to want to have happen. It's like going to a store and seeing items in the window. You expect that the store is trying to sell those items that are on display. So if your shirt displays a good portion of bosom, we figure it's because you want it to be seen. This is why we get confused when women complain.

None of this is what happened that night. I had a completely clad bottom in my face and found it to not be an unpleasant situation. I'm not sure why that's a bad thing.

Like I said, I don't understand women.

Confused But Not Entirely Unhappy

Sarah Jean had been sitting next to me on the couch in the living room for most of the evening. I occasionally had my right arm on the back of the couch or near her but we weren't spooning or anything like that, we were just in each other's proximity. Comfortable. She rose to go do something or other. She said she'd be right back but didn't express to where she was off. I probably didn't want to know anyway. As she rose, she bumped into the end table and knocked something from it, a remote or something, nothing that sounded like it broke. At the sound, I turned to see what had happened.

Now, there are two basic ways to bend over and pick something up. There's the way where you bend at the knees and lower your entire person down to collect the item in question. There's also the way where you hinge at the hips and your upper section heads down to the ground to collect the item. You look a bit like a 'V' this way. This is not a recommended method of picking things up but can be useful for collecting small objects quickly. It has the side effect of sticking your butt out. Guess which method Sarah Jean chose?

The remote fell. Sarah Jean bent over to pick it back up. I turned to see what happened. Bam! There's Sarah Jean's posterior inches from my face.

Now, I didn't say anything. Not a peep. I may be dumb but I'm not stupid. I was even planning to turn away quickly.

Here's the problem: my friend Sarah Jean is telepathic. She's told me that she is skilled at filtering out background thoughts from people around her, she said they sound like whispers, and she doesn't just pop herself into people's heads to see what they're thinking. I believe her. I have no reason to not believe her. She's also mentioned that some thoughts are like 'shouts' and are ignore, especially as they tend to be the communications people make in moments of crisis. “Help!” and things like that. Evidently I shouted something in my head when I turned and saw her like that. She turned on me and gave me one of those shocked 'how dare you!' looks before stomping away.

Now I don't remember really thinking anything specific. I don't recall having, like, a dirty thought or anything. I'm guessing that I had a 'Wow!' or a 'Yowzah!' sort of thought which, under the circumstances, was not inappropriate. Not an inaccurate thought anyway. I remember it being a very nice sight indeed.

At this point in time, I don't know what exactly bothered Sarah Jean in my reaction. She's still talking to me and, after some brief coolness in her reaction to me, things have gone back to more or less normal. I did try to bring it up but was quickly informed that 'now is not the time'. I've tried to not think about it but it's bugging me.

What exactly did I do wrong here?

My Skills Remain Sharp

I have never been accused of understanding women. I've had enough friends and a few good friends of the female variety that will readily tell you that I am a knucklehead. I deny none of their claims. I mean well but have a skill at messing things up.

I do try to be a gentleman. I hold doors. I am able to carry on conversations with the female of the species while looking them in the eyes. For that matter, I've been able to carry on conversations with females on topics they were interested in speaking about. I've held conversations with women where I've not spent the time picturing the females in the area wearing less clothing that they actually are, and with attractive females, not just the type of ladies that look like a maiden aunt.

However I am a man with what I believe are to be relatively normal levels of hormones. I react to things. I sit with other manly men and comment on those ladies that pass us by. I do appreciate the female form from an ascetic point of view. I am not made of stone.

I'm a guy but I try to behave a bit.

With the defense having had its chance to speak, here's what happened.

Sarah Jean, some of her friends, some of my friends, and, perhaps obviously, myself were hanging out at my house. It was going well. Surprisingly well. No loud arguments like some people have at their gatherings like this (who would do that? cough), no signs of trouble, no harsh words that I know about. Everyone seemed to be getting along and the groups were meshing well. Even Harry didn't give me any 'tough guy' lip when I reminded him he'd have to smoke outside. Music, beverages, and good company. A fine evening.

Clearly it was my job to mess this up.

Talking Myself Into Trouble. Or Out Of It.

“Greetings Patrick.” The light changed from being directed straight into my eyes to illuminating the metal lined room that we are in. Eric is seated in a chair that's positioned in a way so that he'll be above me. No doubt this is an attempt at mind games as it puts him a position 'superior' to me as well as de-emphasizing his lack of height. He looks exactly how I remember him looking in school. Either he kept well or the lighting is working to his advantage. “Now that the pleasantries have been dealt with, let's address the LIES you told in that house.”

“Are you off your medication again?” I wasn't trying to mock those with chemical imbalances who need help in order to function; this was me asking him an honest question because he's just not right.

“This is not about me...” Eric began.

I quickly interrupted. “It's always about you.”

“Silence!” He was not happy. “As I said, this is about the lies you spoke earlier.”

I sighed. “I was not lying. Heather is dead.”

“Not!” He had a brief tantrum, bashing his fists into the arms of the chair. “Not! Not! Not!” It made me recall a theory I'd once pondered over, that people who attempt world domination needed to be hugged more often as children. I wonder how many masterminds could be stopped with a little polite affection. I'm not saying that the next time Colonel Freedom faces off against the forces of Des CLAMP that he should try hugs instead of fighting them because that would be weird. If it works then I suppose it's not a bad idea though.

“Hey!” Eric's yelling roused me from my thoughts. “We have things to discuss here!”

“You're the one that gassed me asleep in the middle of the night,” I noted. “Not my fault if I doze a bit.”

“Focus!” he demanded. “Your lies!”

“Not a lie sadly.”

“Impossible! My love cannot be dead.”

“Eric, I never understood what she did to get you started. Maybe she said 'hello' to you one day or whatever but I'm pretty sure she didn't love you.”

“She did! She was waiting for me to prove myself before she would allow herself to express her affections.” The fact that he still believed this made my head hurt. It was this simple-mindedness that ended our friendship as he decided that the best way to prove himself to my, at the time, fiancée was to concoct complicated plans to humiliate me. Clearly he couldn't trust my inbuilt talent for making myself look stupid to accomplish this; he needed to be able to go 'Aha! Got you!' at the end of it for Heather to see the error of her ways and fall into his arms.

Tired and frustrated with his stupidity, I started snapping at him. “Oh, so she was just biding her time with that chiropractor until you could make me look stupid enough, huh?”

“Clearly.”

“Did you ever, I don't know, do anything to let her know that you were still working on this project?”

He sat up straight, pulling himself to his full height, trying to look Very Serious Indeed. “I sent the occasional token of my affections.”

“Unsigned of course. She'd just know they were from you.”

“Of course.”

“So you had their address?” I checked.

“Of course.”

“And they're gone now. Have been for some years now.” Eric agreed with my assessment of the situation. “Where is she now?”

“That I don't know.”

“Why not Eric? If she loves you so, why hasn't she updated you with her new location?”

Once again he got Very Serious. “It's a test of my love. She's a Hunter now; she's busy.”

“Oh, you know about that. Couldn't you hack deep enough into their computers to get her location?”

“Well, no. Not exactly. Her file has some encryption on it that I can't crack.”

“Why do you think that is Eric?”

He hesitated. “She's on special assignment. Clearly.”

“She may have been but she's not anymore. She's dead Eric, honestly.”

Eric grew upset again. “My love cannot die! She and I will be together! Forever!”

Verbally I swung hard, knowing that the words I was about to say were going to hurt me as well. “If she was so fascinated with you Eric then why didn't she cheat on me with you?” Eric began stammering, working to express his lack of worthiness again. I pushed. “No Eric, she didn't run to you to protect her from my stupidity. She went and fooled around with Martyn. Did she come to you when she tired of him?” He stammered again but I answered my own question. “No! After she left me, did you ever, ever see her again? Where she acknowledged your presence? Or went looking for you? In any way apart from you spying on her?”

There was a pause that lasted forever. Quietly he noted “No.”

“Is it at all possible that she didn't come to you because she didn't love you?”

He just stared at me. “I will find her.”

“Dear heaven I hope not,” I muttered. Then the gas kicked in again and I was back to sleepytime.


I awoke back in my car. In the haze of returning to consciousness, I did briefly panic that I'd dreamed the experience with Eric. Thankfully my awakening brain quickly found evidence to support the fact that the meeting had not been a dream. I was pulled over to the side of the road and not at the stop sign as when I had passed out earlier. The car was also shut off instead of running. The car was cold but I wasn't, which seemed to hint that I'd just been put back into the car.

I started the car to let it warm up as I shook off the cobwebs. Eric could have dropped me off closer to home. Where were we anyway?

I made it home safe and, at that point, that was what was important to me. Sure I got home four hours later than I expected and I was still dog tired but I was home safe. Unsurprisingly not much happened on Sunday. Lots of resting.

Weird weekend.

Of Course It Can Get Worse

I was shaking. I'm not often mad but when I do get that upset it is an impressive thing. Adrenaline was coursing through me and I had to fight to calm myself. Our...discussion was apparently loud enough to be heard over the music and other conversation in the house as I was suddenly no longer alone. As the red mist faded from my eyes, the first thing I noticed seeing again was Scott and Natalie. “Sorry about that.” I fought out a smile. “I think I ruined your party. I'll go in a moment once I calm down a little more.”

“Go?” Scott questioned. “Dude, you just got here. What the hell happened?” I got as far as “Karen and I...” in my explanation before Scott interjected. “Ah geez. I knew we shouldn'ta invited her along. If we hadn't, she'da found out about the party and complained so there was no way to win. She still got a bug up her butt?”

“Oh yeah.”

“Well, she's got a lot of room in that fat tail of hers for a whole hive a'something. She still giving you a hard time about Heather?”

I hunched over the table as the adrenaline faded and the weariness followed. Natalie brought me another beer and it became my new focal point. “Oh yeah.”

“That was years ago. Everyone else got over it, well, almost everyone else anyway, why can't she? Shoulda asked you before; you know where Heather is now? Tried to get ahold of her for this thing but the letter I sent to her address got returned.”

“She's dead.”

A few choice words slid from Scott in shock. “Really?” I confirmed that I was being serious. Scott swore a bit more. “How did we not find out before?”

“They were living in another state at the time. I didn't find out until well after the fact. The circumstances surrounding it were odd. All sorts of reasons.”

“Odd?” Scott repeated. “She sick or something?”

I considered that for a moment. “That too, yeah.”

“Well if that's the case, we should salute proper.” He got up to collect a bottle of whiskey and a couple of shot glasses. Once filled, he raised his glass. “To better times.”

I followed suit, adding “To absent friends.” And we drank.


For awhile, the passage of time quickly blurred, we sat there and talked. Others joined us at the table for a time, sharing in the stories, before leaving us again. Scott and I sat there, chatting, reminiscing, laughing, and drinking a bit. While the party had started roughly for me, the bulk of it was a very enjoyable experience.

There's something very sad about friends that don't see each other often separately. Everyone promises to stay in touch more or agrees to 'do this again real soon' and everyone means it but knows that day-to-day busy will prevent it from happening any more than it already has in the past. We are friends and still love each other, well most of us anyway, but our lives are just far enough apart now that we don't get to see each other regularly. There were hugs, there were handshakes, there were some kisses, and then there was leaving.

By the time I got back to my car it was past one in the morning. I was tired. It was cold but the rain had ceased. I'd stopped drinking some time ago so the effect of the alcohol had long since faded. I pulled away from the house and drove down the street. At the first stop sign I reached, everything went black.

Went I woke, I was still tired. My mouth tasted funny but familiar. I'd been gassed. I was held in place in my chair by metal clamps around my wrists and ankles. Having taking stock of my situation I was forced to wonder which villain had hosted the garage sale. It was a very 60s chair. Nice on the nostalgia but otherwise very dated. Who would do this to me?

“Ah! The reunion is not over for this evening!”

I'd missed the obvious. Apart from Heather, who as noted had good reason to not show, there was but one friend that hadn't appeared: my self proclaimed arch-enemy. “Hi Eric.”