21 February 2015 fiction, "When the Ice Melts"

It isn’t over until the ice melts. No matter if the streamers are fluttering and slipping off their marks, no matter if the balloons are deflating at rapid speed, no matter if the chips in the bowl have started to inherit the taste of stale air, the party isn’t really over until the ice melts.

When the ice melts, everything that was once hopeful must officially be crushed. the balloons will go to the trash, a few moments glances will go over the chips until eventually they too, will be discarded, somewhat guiltily. however, it is understandable to throw them away, especially after they’ve been left out all this time and the bag for them was lost in the flurry of preparation.

When the ice melts, the time of staring at the walls will be finished. The ice signals the end of stagnancy. melted ice demands recognition, the sweating ice cube holder cries to be poured out. next to the unopened sodas, those two liter bottles that were no match for the real brands. Funny, what she had assumed might hinder the party’s success was the brand of soda.

It wasn’t my birthday on the day the ice melted. Not anymore. Somehow I kept my house cold enough that the ice lasted almost eight hours after I left it out, before the last solid piece of white was absorbed into metallic silver reflection. midnight, 12:07 and finally the ice signaled the end. I suppose I should have seen it coming, after all I hadn’t invited anyone to my party. Hadn’t sent out a single invitation and yet there was the cake on the table, frosted and sprinkled in a way that looked haphazard but was actually carefully crafted. I hadn’t thought to invite anyone, and yet there was the nice tablecloth on the card table, the cleaner for the bathroom out of its cupboard for the first time in weeks, there were the throw pillows out from their places absorbed into the sections of the couch that had invited them.

Disgusted by the cake, I stuffed it into the sink, plate, knife, forks, and all. I swigged one of the sodas, then shook the next one up and opened it to a stream of orange foam. Like shaving cream, I let it run rampant over the card table, smearing it deep into the tablecloth and laughing wickedly. There were no presents, but I ripped into an old paper bag like it was Christmas morning and there was a kitten inside. (there wasn’t).

All this time and the ice was staring back at me, melted as a popsicle on the street and yet I hadn’t the heart to dump it out.

I fell asleep with chips in my hair. At noon I awoke, and stripped, throwing my party clothes under the bed. staring with a shimmer of tears, I sunk against the wall across from the card table and ruined tablecloth.

Finally I picked up the metallic bowl. the water drummed against the side menacingly, beckoning. It sensed my cowardice, laughed as I set it down once again. Running to the fridge, I withdrew an entire bottle of cheap vodka. Uncapping it quickly, I poured it like a mad scientist into the ice bowl. Letting the bottle roll down the hall when empty, I put two shaking hands on each side of the ice bowl. With a deep breath and closed eyes, I quickly turned it upside down over my head. I was immediately awake and laughed in pure shock. I sunk to the floor, accepting the embrace of the carpet. The ice had officially melted, and finally, so had I.