The Girl Who Made No Resolutions: A Short (Love?) Story

[Using the below photograph as a prompt, I wrote the following short story.]

So this is the new year.
And I don’t feel any different.
The clanking of crystal
Explosions off in the distance.

So this is the new year
And I have no resolutions
For self assigned penance
For problems with easy solutions

-Death Cab for Cutie, “The New Year”

Rita loved New Year’s Eve. It was the brink of a clean slate, a fresh start. And this year she was hosting. She had on her form-fitting black party dress, she had carefully straightened her hair, and now she was beaming at her guests as they arrived in droves. 

“Welcome!” Rita said to each invitee as they arrived. “The party’s downstairs; let’s get wasted!”

When the last of Rita’s guests trickled in, she followed them downstairs and proceeded to…get wasted. But something strange happened to Rita’s usually carefree demeanor that night. With every shot, every Beer-garita, every game of beer pong she played, Rita grew increasingly philosophical. And every time she had a deep, mind-bending thought, she would share it with whoever was nearby.

“You know something?” she said after her first round of Jell-o shots. “Hair is weird. Like, how it grows so long out of your head and, like, super short on the rest of your body. Way weird.”

“You know something else?” she said twenty minutes later, interrupting her friend Beth’s conversation and hip-checking the girl who was chatting with Beth aside. “None of our ancestors were infertile. Just think about it. Think about it, Beth! What are the chances?”

Another half an hour passed. Rita won two games of beer pong and sauntered up to a quiet young man on the other side of the room, squinted at him with booze-soaked eyes, and pointed a finger at his face. “Yaknowsomething, Oscar,” she slurred, head bobbing back and forth, “if a tree falls…in th’ fuhrest an’ no one’s around, I think it does makea sound.” She shook his shoulders and worked her face into what she hoped was a serious expression. “It does! It does!”

Oscar nodded and sidestepped away, leaving Rita to slump into a chair.

“Hey!” she would shout at people as they passed by. “Are two heads really better than one? I mean, really?”

“Rita!” Beth chided her friend as she slid into a chair next to her. “You’re making a scene. Here, have some water; you’ll feel loads better.”

She did. Rita felt so much better, in fact, that she caught a second wind and got to her feet again, determined to make others listen to her deep insights. As the night wore on, her philosophical musings grew grimmer and more depressing. She retrieved a black hoodie from her closet, put it on over her party dress, and pulled the hood over her head with the solemnity of the Grim Reaper.

“What is true happiness?” she would ask, jabbing a finger into her friends’ chests. “Does anyone really know?”

She paced around the room, wide-eyed, shooting menacing stares at all her guests.

“Do we really have any choices in life? Hmm? Or is it all fate?”

“What is evil? Who decides? Maybe you’re evil and you don’t know it!”

“What will happen at the end of the world? Maybe it will be tomorrow. Maybe…New Year’s Eve doesn’t even matter.”

Rita’s guests tossed each other nervous glances and began edging their way out of the room, up the stairs, and out the door.

“Hey where’reya going?” Rita shouted after them. “It’s not even midnight yet…not that it matters. Not that any of it matters.”

She grabbed a party hat and placed it on her head. “Come back!” she demanded to the last of her guests. “Look how much fun I’m having!”

“Umm, Rita,” Beth clasped an apologetic hand around her friend’s shoulder. “I’ve gotta dash. They’re hosting a party at Toby’s Bar and there’ll be free shots at midnight. So, uh…nice party. Later!”

“Fine,” Rita said, slumping onto the stairs and bringing a paper party horn to her mouth. “I’ll have a good time by myself this New Year’s Eve. Just you watch!” Rita blinked her eyes at the basement, steadying her vision. It looked like the aftermath of a battle field, full of dead Miller Lite soldiers and fallen red party cups.

“Full of the echoes of death,” Rita muttered ominously to herself, “and I’m the lone survivor.”

“Not entirely alone,” a voice issued from her right.

Rita started and looked toward the voice. A skinny young man wearing thick-rimmed glasses and a checkered shirt walked toward her, holding out his hand. “I’m Nathan,” he said, grasping Rita’s limp hand while she still held onto the party horn, “and I think you’re brilliant.”

“Well, you’d be the only one then,” Rita said, waving her hand around the room.

“Not the only one,” Nathan said, excitedly. “My spiritual group would feel the same way.”

“Spiritual group? I don’t think so; I’m not really into that.”

“Just hear me out. I’m a member of the Naysayers, a group dedicated to questioning everything, coming up with the worst possible scenario, and bemoaning it loudly. And from what I’ve heard from you tonight, you could easily be one of us. No–” his eyes grew wide and he grasped Rita’s hand once more, “you could be a prophet.”

“A prophet?” Rita whispered, sitting up taller and straightening her shoulders. “I like the sound of that.”

“Totally,” Nathan said. “I really think you have it in you.”

“Hmm, maybe I do.”

The bird clock in the corner began to chirp midnight and Rita looked down at her hand, realizing that Nathan was still clasping it.

“I would say have a great New Year,” Nathan said, giving her hand a squeeze, “but what does great really mean? And what is the meaning of a day? And what does any of it really matter?”

“Exactly,” Rita said, cracking a small smile. “I think I like you Nathan. But is anyone ever really physically attracted to anyone else? Or are we just projecting our need to be loved onto others and imagining we care about them when we’re really just looking out for ourselves?”

“Woah,” Nathan said. “I have the urge to kiss you right now, but maybe that’s just the imagined attraction acting out, like you were talking about.”

“You can kiss me anyway,” Rita grinned. “It’s a New Year’s Eve tradition.”

“Not that traditions actually have meaning,” Nathan said, shooting Rita a wink.

Rita and Nathan locked lips for a few moments and pulled away, ringing in the New Year together. They might have even enjoyed it, but then again, enjoyment is a subjective term and who’s to decide anyway? Not that it matters.