by kimberley veart
We
stumble out the door, overflowing with laughter and noise breaking the evening stillness.
The neighbours switch on their porch lights.
Then
everybody is gone; with the slamming of car doors and the hooting of horns.
They leave me with the tangled streamers on the floor.
I
suppose the party is over now.
They
said their goodbyes and thanks for a lovely night. They apologise for the mess they've left behind and I pretend (being
the good little hostess) that its fine, just fine. I added a shrug, a smile and
a mock 'boot out the door' to make it convincing. I am expecting Oscar buzz to
begin any day now.
I
come in from the cold. The house seems to have expanded; there is a sudden
silence after all the laughter, clinking of glasses and increasingly
nonsensical chatter.
I
deflate the balloons and watch them float to the ground. Scrape icing off the table,
cake off the floor. Wipe the spilled wine away. The artefacts of a good evening
swept away with a cloth and a rubbish bag.
Ephemeral
and fleeting, leaving a trail of unflattering photographs on cameras to
(hopefully) be soon forgotten.
Dirty
dishes are still soaking in the sink, left until the morning. I lazily pretend
this is a purely practical measure.
Oh
reality.
related posts.
somebody that i used to know by kimberley veart
the soiree: a recipe by charlotte guest
