Group of Steves: (chitter chatter)
Me: Hey guys, I see that you’ve formed a circle discussion at this party.
Group of Steves: (chatter chitter)
Me: Can I chat with you guys?
Group of Steves: (chitter chatter)
Me: The circle is pretty tight, you guys. You should let me in.
Group of Steves: (chatter)
Me: Okay.
Group of Steves: (chitter)
It begins innocently, with a conversation. I’ll politely tell some new acquaintance a joke. He’ll laugh, always, and I’ll politely chortle along to acknowledge the humor of the joke. The skies are endless and blue, and social butterfly wings can be seen splitting out of my back like the feathers in Black Swan. I launch into another joke, certain to forge forever this new friendship in the fires of humor.
Suddenly, Mike approaches from the distance with wild, reckless speed. He’s heading right for my conversation. _My_ conversation.
_No. Not this time._
Coolly I turn my body 90 degrees in an attempt to box out this social wannabe. At this point, I’m willing to make a certain sacrifice of smoothness, a sacrifice that involves acknowledging the inexplicable way I’ve turned my current conversation into what can best be described as a right angle of people. My back to Mike, I smile awkwardly at my dear acquaintance and pray that my realignment has caused a gravitational deflection of Mike’s oncoming trajectory. It’s no use. In a brilliant maneuver, Mike swings wide around my defending body and enters the conversation from the opposite side. He makes a joke of his very own. What a stupid joke, you moron.
But what’s this? My acquaintance laughs and turns his attention to him! Terrified, I jerk my head left and then right, surveying the room.
A few heads have turned and spotted my threesome. A few bored people saunter over. It’s all over now, I know. Nevertheless, I’m not giving up yet. I will fight to the goddamn death. With each new person added to the small mob, I try chipping in at the conversation with little witticisms to make my presence known. Again, it’s no use. My fruitless desperation slowly gives way to the imminent circle that begins to form and tighten.
I feel constricted on both sides. My arms are pressed against my ribs, and the intense wave of body heat shoots my temperature through the ceiling. Voices bounce and reflect across the walls of the circle, pounding at my small body and beating it backward until finally, here I am, standing behind the little crack between Mike and Steve. Steve isn’t that tall, so I can sort of crane my neck over his shoulder and peer in at the ensuing fun that seems to be going on inside the circle.
I’ve fallen. My ego is reduced. It flutters each time I make eye contact with someone from the group. I don’t quite make out everything they’re saying, because the music’s kind of loud in here, but I don’t really dislike Katy Perry anyway. Whenever Mike or Steve talk though, I hear their words easily, and I feel vicariously as if I’m a part of their words, as if in some small way, my presence has some bearing on the wind of influence that blows into the back of their heads.
My acquaintance looks at me from across the way, and I yearn for some kind of acknowledgment, some hint that he knows things were simpler once, more beautiful. There is no spark in his eyes though, and I can only guess he’s already forgotten my name. The group has everyone it needs.
I remember the joke I told just five minutes prior, and I chuckle quietly to myself. Yes, it was a good one. I tell it again in my head. Yes, very good.