The Last New Year Read Online Free Page A

after seeing him through the window one day
and barring any new information I don't see a reason to refer to him as
anything else. All I really know about him is what he looks like, that he walks
around in a blue terrycloth bathrobe almost all the time, and he watches the
news constantly.
    He must be taking the day off today, though, as I can just
make out on his big 48" Sony some kind of big budget Hollywood action
movie, something with big orange explosions. This strikes me as slightly
unsettling, though I can't say exactly why.
    But then my mood shifts back to barely contained exultation
and I no longer concern myself with the television viewing habits of the
ugliest man in the city. So he wants explosions to ring in the new year . What's it to me? Nothing, that's what . I giggle and slap my hand against the window, leaving
a foggy hand print.
    Ape-head glances up from the TV and out the window at me. I
toss him a quick, friendly wave, like usual, but he just stares at me with wide
eyes for a long moment, then goes back to his program. This reaction is a
little off, but my mind immediately goes to the bemused thought it reaches most
mornings: he really does look like some kind of semi-evolved gorilla.
    I laugh and stretch and then pick my way past a few piles of
clothing to the bathroom.
    Piss. Splash. Brush. I emerge a man reborn.
    A man with the whole world stretched out in front of him, a
world of possibilities, of potential for long walks through parks, furtive hand
touching, and maybe even soft kisses under moonlight.
    I might be getting ahead of myself, I think as I pull on pants and a new t-shirt, I only met her yesterday. This
line of caution is not convincing in the slightest, however, and so instead I
think about lying on a picnic blanket counting and naming all the stars in the
sky.
    I grin wide at the thought and push my way through my bedroom
door.

 
      the day before.
4:34 pm, December 30, 1999
     
    I push my way through the door to the coffee shop and am
immediately annoyed with the number of people milling around. I guess since
tomorrow is New Year's Eve a lot of people have off and have therefore decided
to spend some of their precious holiday time being places and doing thing
specifically with the purpose of making my life miserable. All I want is a hot
drink and a chance to read for an hour away from the distracting banality of
home.
    I struggle through the throng of people taking up space by
the door, and I just keep smiling and nodding defensively. Hi, how are you?
Don't mind me, I'm just gonna slip past here. Whoop,
all right, let me just slip past here then. Oh hey lady, nice stroller.
It's especially nice how you've got it positioned right across the only open
space. Oh, wow, hello, sir, didn't see you there, you smell really terrible.
    Eventually I emerge from between two almost identically
bearded and bespectacled bald men facing away from each other, talking
animatedly and looking as if they might be dancing to electronic music back to
back. A few feet from my goal, my foot hooks an ankle and I take several
stumbling steps and manage to get out a hand before I brain myself on the counter.
I struggle to pull myself back up.
    I hear a feminine giggle over my left shoulder as somehow I
make it to a standing position.
    The guy behind the counter looks at me without empathy. Without anything. It's creepy. "What can I get
you?" he asks mechanically. He looks very slightly too old to be working
at a coffee shop.
    I squint at the menu. I know what I want, but I always
forget what it's called. "Could I please," I say, stalling,
"have one of those vanilla things? I got it last week. It had vanilla in
it."
    A blank look. I'll have to be more
specific.
    "Or caramel," I say hopefully. "One
of the two." No good. Still nothing.
    I fumble through a few more flavors, and we work it out
eventually, though it takes long enough so that there are vague rumblings and
throat-clearings happening behind me. I take my