Tapping his foot on the floor he wondered what it would be like to have people to talk to again, or rather people to listen to since he could never think of anything to say.
Gripped by a sudden urge Jonah McAllister grabbed his coat, felt around for his room key and threw open the door.
The elevator doors breezed open and Jonah was struck by the pulsing of loud music somewhere down the once-elegant hallway. He winced as his ears adjusted as best they were able and marvelled at the strange pushing sensation on his lungs even at this distance.
As he walked in the door several people dressed in suits and dresses greeted him and at that instant he was halfway back out through the door. The clothes he had been able to rescue from his apartment before they had forcibly cleared him out (and in fact all the clothes he owned) were not suited for a formal affair.
But beyond the few party goers in their finery were several others dressed in simple jeans and long sleeved shirts. He breathed a sigh, half in relief, half in anxiety that he would have to continue.
As he walked resolutely up to where a small man, dressed in the uniform of the hotel staff, was taking the invitations of arriving guests his palms began to sweat. He wrung them together nervously.
He recognized no one and for a moment the feeling of having landed on some deserted island among a tribe of natives he knew nothing about was so overpowering he thought that any moment they would notice him and everyone would begin jeering at him until he was forced to leave.
The line in front of him dwindled and he approached the grey haired, slack faced ticket taker. He held out the small piece of folded paper bearing the graduate student association seal like a shield, his hand trembling. It was accepted skeptically and unfurled to an analytical eye. Even though the paper was legitimate he was certain he would be turned away because he looked like he didn’t belong.
The man slipped the invitation into a metal lockbox and doled out a string of ten paper tickets. Jonah furrowed his brow and accepted them, not having a solitary clue as to what they were for. He read their faces carefully as the next person in line shoved in behind him, pushing him toward the doors that barred the way into a darkened room.
The music, some strange beat that all the women and a few of the men in the room shouted along with at some point in the lyrics, was so loud that his hands started reflexively for his ears before he stopped them, looking around cautiously to make certain no one had seen the aborted gesture.
The room itself was massive, nearly the size of a basketball court, including room for bleachers. It was ringed with white-clothed tables and plastic chairs that might have looked more at home in a highschool assembly. The centre was void of anything except for a dozen or more moving bodies, most of them female, that waved at the air and shouted whenever the DJ set up in the corner stopped the music and pointed.
Jonah manoeuvred in around the outer rings of observers and minglers, searching for someone he might recognize. He was halfway around the outer edge of revellers when he felt a hand clasp on his back. He jumped in mid-swivel and found himself face to face with Josh Dude.
“Josh!” the first scent of his breath nearly knocked Jonah back a few feet.
He said something unintelligible over the throbbing of the music.
“What?” Jonah yelled back.
“I said ‘you made it’! Haven’t seen you around in a while. Been wondering where you got to.”
“Oh,!” Jonah stammered for an explanation. If he had not been into the lab in a while would they make him leave? “Well…”
His dim eyes turned down to Jonah’s empty hands and a look of disappointment crept across his face.
“You’re not drinking anything?”
“Uh,” Jonah looked around nervously. Several people Josh Dude had been talking to turned and he could feel the shouts of ‘outsider’ on their lips. “Not yet.”
“Come on. ‘Tis the season.”
“I guess.”
“Bar’s over there.” The grad student pointed shakily. “Oh, and… You got that fifty bucks?”
“Uh.” Jonah sifted through his pockets and pulled out three readied twenties. It seemed strange to him now that he had ever considered these strips of paper valuable. “Yeah.”
“Awright, you can give it to Amy. And… hang on, where is she? Brian? Brian! Where’s Amy? Oh! Okay, you can give it to Amy when she’s off the dance floor. Just hang out, relax man, I keep telling you you’re too high strung.”
“Yeah…” Jonah pocketed the money and turned away.
Already the smell of alcohol was filling his nostrils and he winced. The feeling that he had made a huge mistake in coming here was now so powerful that it shook his legs and turned his stomach to mush. But he was not leaving; on that matter he was settled. Anything to keep from going back to that hotel room of doubt and despair. He would stay for the duration, come what may, even if he only sat in the corner collecting dust.
He had never had a drink in his life, but he had one now. It remained half drunk in his hand as he had realized he hated the taste of it after about two small sips. Nevertheless, his low constitution caused a blurry high to seep into him.
He sat, sedate, at the empty table, allowing himself to lean back in his chair. He was thoroughly absorbed in watching the people who had flooded the dance floor for the latest
