Week 13 - The Girl That I Saw

The Girl That I Saw (Standing by the Door That One Time)

Matthew Ryan Fischer

I don’t suppose I ever knew her name. She looked familiar, but it was hard to tell. The room was poorly lit and someone somewhere was smoking something and there was that general overall haze that happens at a house party. And of course, to be honest, I had had a drink or two. It was a good recipe for something. Not for memory. But for something.

She looked familiar. They say that people always looked so familiar. Even when they’re strangers. I’m not sure why that it. Maybe it’s a symmetry thing. Maybe because there are so few options when it comes to facial diversity. I read somewhere that there are basically only seven types of people out there. Seven faces amongst us all. Maybe a hairline or bone could be different. But faces only had so many combinations and so many emotions. Or maybe it was personalities. Seven souls. Seven personalities. I think I read that in an article about dating and why you should just suck it up and stick with someone you’re already with. You really weren’t about to find anyone who was that different from what you had already had. Just learn to settle already.

If that were true, then maybe I had dated her already. Not her specifically, but the other person that was almost her. Or just like her. Or however it really went.

If that were true, then there should have been at least seven more of her already at the party. I don’t know about that. I didn’t go around looking at people’s faces. That seemed like a strange and rude thing to do. Even when you look someone in the eyes, you don’t really stare at them to see if they look like five or six other people you’ve already seen. Didn’t seem like the social thing to do.

 There were always too many people at parties like this one. You never knew all the people. Not that that was a bad thing. Nobody ever really wants to know all the people. Where’s the mystery in that? Where’s the fantasy if you know everybody? Can’t have anything new or unexpected happen that way.

Still, it would have been nice to maybe have fewer people there and possibly know someone that knew something about the girl.

One of the problems with drinking was that you forgot that you could go over and be the person to talk to the girl and get to know her. Instead your brain simply focused on what wasn’t there or wasn’t happening instead of remembering what it could do to change things.

The situation wasn’t fair. No one knew each other and no one was going to get to know each other unless they took it upon themselves. The host wasn’t much of a “host.” “Host” was a bad title. “Host” implied that the person throwing the party did something more than just be the person that threw the party. But “person who threw the party” was a mouthful and “host” was easy to say.

A host might have introduced a few people to a few people. But maybe the person throwing the party figured that was what the alcohol was for.

There were always far too many names and far too many faces to remember. And it seemed like people were always showing up after the drinking had begun. That wasn’t fair, really. One drink, two drinks and maybe, just maybe you remember a name or a face. But that was always early on in the night. But after midnight? After all those people were coming and going and coming and going and new people were always showing up? And after the drinks had been pouring and everyone was feeling good?

No. After all that, a new name or face was the last thing anybody was going to remember.

People should wear nametags to these sorts of things.

They wouldn’t look good. They never do. But they would help.

I suppose it would also defeat the purpose of dressing up. Dress up just to put on something cheap and tacky. And they always look tacky. Stickers with sharpie scribbled names look cheap. Typed name tags seem way too formal for a party. And plastic holders with their clips or pins are just ridiculous. Nobody really wants to wear those.

It’s impersonal. It’s the world of strangers with strange focus on strange things. The name tag would reveal and draw focus to an unspoken idea, that true or not, was better left unsaid. A name tag admits that everyone is actually a stranger. No one knows anyone. Even in situations and locations where they’re supposed to know everyone. You get name tags at a convention. Or a reunion. Events where strangers act like they have something in common. A name tag just points out the hypocrisy of needing the thing in the first place. And who wants an existential crisis from a name tag? That’s a little more than embarrassing.

Nobody wants to go to a party and admit they don’t know anyone. No one has fun with strangers. It’s strange. Who likes that? You go to a party, it’s to relax or loosen up or drink or be someone else. Something fun. Strange and impersonal isn’t fun. So everyone looks around and acts like they know everyone and they chitchat and force laughter and paste on little smiles. If you added name tags into the mix, people might learn some other name and might actually put a name to a face and get to know another person. But then they might realize they had nothing in common with all these newfound party friends. And that’s a harsh reality that isn’t worth facing.

What I really meant to say was that she really should have worn a name tag. It would have been simpler that way.

I don’t believe in love at first sight. I don’t believe in a wink and a smile and a movie moment. But I believe those moments can happen if you want to believe they can happen. By not believing you prevent their ability to happen. All it takes is a little blind faith and willing suspension of disbelief and your subconscious mind will do the rest. See a girl, smile at her, and somehow, some way you’ll know and it will be storybook.

Or maybe those are just the chemicals talking. Pheromones. Or serotonin. Or whichever chemical it is in the brain that turns into the love chemical. Like the one in chocolate. Who needs a pretty face when you can eat a piece of chocolate? Is the brain that dumb that it can’t tell the difference? Or maybe that was for an orgasm. Hard to believe that a piece of chocolate pretty much does the same thing as a good go-round. Or maybe there was another part of that equation that I’m not remembering.

Whatever it was, she had it. She had it tonight. She exuded it. It peeled off her skin and reflected off her hair or whatever. She didn’t even look at me, but I didn’t need to see her eyes. I just needed to see that tone of her skin and the gentle glances she gave the room and the way she carried herself when she walked. All that, and the chemical compound mix was ready to tell me something. I was ready to believe.

If only she would ever look up from her phone. Then I would go and say something. Or she would see me. Our eyes could lock. But she never looked up from her phone.

What was she doing at a party if she wasn’t there to meet people? If she didn’t want to take some sort of risk, some sort of chance? There was no other reason to go to a party if you didn’t want to do the things that were done at a party?

She was doing something wrong. She could text or talk or whatever from anywhere. I thought about going over there and telling her, but my legs didn’t react. That didn’t seem voluntary.

I blinked. I’m sure I just blinked. I closed my eyes, but only for a little bit. Only for a moment, but the moment was gone. I’m not sure what happened. I blinked. And when I looked again, to where she had been standing, she was gone.

I walked a little bit. To the kitchen to refill my cup. To the patio to see who was smoking what. To a room in the basement where people had been playing beer pong. I walked the party. Always an easy thing to do when you had no direction but wanted to make it seem as if you had purpose. You didn’t have to stop and talk to strangers if you were walking the party. You didn’t have to be noticed if you kept moving. No one would wonder who you were or why you were at the party – you were already in the next room. You belonged. You were doing something. And if you really didn’t, you weren’t in any one place long enough for anyone to notice you were out of place. You were there. You were really there.

She wasn’t there. She was nowhere.

Had she really been there? Had she been there at all?

It happened. I swear it happened.

I’ll never forget her. That face, and the way she almost looked at people and things and almost acknowledged her surroundings? That was a face to be remembered. That was a face that could have mattered. She could have been everything I thought she could ever be, but instead I’ll never know.

Maybe I was drinking too much?

Maybe I wasn’t drinking enough.

Maybe.