{"id":2090,"date":"2020-12-09T21:23:07","date_gmt":"2020-12-10T04:23:07","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.evardsson.com\/blog\/?p=2090"},"modified":"2020-12-19T19:13:49","modified_gmt":"2020-12-20T02:13:49","slug":"never-a-new-year","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.evardsson.com\/blog\/2020\/12\/09\/never-a-new-year\/","title":{"rendered":"Never a New Year"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

prompt: ” Write a short story about someone who does not spend December 31st celebrating New Year’s Eve….<\/em><\/em>“
available on Reedsy<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n

The diner hummed, packed with people eating a quick meal before heading out to New Year\u2019s Eve parties, leaving only one seat at the counter. The man entering took the last seat next to a tall, thin woman nursing a cup of tea and waiting on her meal.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHappy New Year,\u201d he said as he sat down.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHmph.\u201d The woman offered as a non-acknowledgment of his sentiment.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSorry,\u201d he said. \u201cHi, I\u2019m\u2014\u201d she cut him off with a raised hand.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou\u2019re you, I\u2019m me, pleasetameetcha, blah blah blah.\u201d She picked up her tea and sipped while he ordered. \u201cThis isn\u2019t a bar, so don\u2019t try chatting me up.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSorry,\u201d he said again. \u201cYou have plans for tonight? Watching the fireworks over the lake?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She let out a heavy sigh. \u201cYou just don\u2019t know when to stop, do you?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cProbably not.\u201d He took a sip of the bitter coffee the diner served and looked at her again. \u201cIt\u2019s just that you seem a little down, and the fireworks are always breath-taking.\u201d He shrugged. \u201cIt won\u2019t fix anything, but it might take your mind off it for a while.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI suppose that\u2019s what you\u2019re doing tonight?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cEvery New Year,\u201d he answered. \u201cThere\u2019s just something about the play of light reflected off the lake that makes it so\u2026 I don\u2019t have the words for it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cA romantic, huh?\u201d She paused as the waitress sat her plate in front of her. \u201cOr just trying a different tack?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo, I\u2019ll cop to being a romantic.\u201d He chuckled. \u201cIt\u2019s not manly or cool, I know, but I can\u2019t change who I am.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cFine.\u201d She talked between bites of food, less annoyed by the intruder than she wanted to be. \u201cSo don\u2019t change.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat do you like best about New Year\u2019s?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI don\u2019t.\u201d Her answer was curt, around a mouthful of salad.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI see.\u201d He said it like someone had just told him that an invisible pink unicorn was walking through the diner. \u201cSo how do you celebrate the new year?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI don\u2019t.\u201d She popped a bit of steak in her mouth, hoping he\u2019d get the hint that the topic was off-limits.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cEver?\u201d he asked. \u201cI mean, you must have, at some point. With family, when you were younger?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She was ready to tell him off, but realized she didn\u2019t want to. Not yet, anyway. \u201cI\u2026 used to.\u201d She took a sip of her tea. \u201cAbout seven or eight years ago I stopped.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat happened?\u201d His green eyes had an open curiosity that she found difficult to ignore.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2026 got drunk one New Year\u2019s Eve and tested a prototype machine before it was ready.\u201d Her face turned to the half-eaten plate in front of her. She pushed it away, her appetite gone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDid\u2026 did someone get hurt?\u201d The curiosity turned to concern.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo, it just\u2026 didn\u2019t work as expected.\u201d Her expression turned sour. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

“So your experiment failed?” Curiosity returned to his face. “Did the prototype get destroyed? Can you try again?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“I didn’t say it failed.” She sighed. “It just worked in an unexpected fashion, which I might have been able to foresee had I been sober when I fired it up.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Well, that’s a good reason to not drink while experimenting, it hardly seems reason to give up celebrating at all,” he said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIf you had to….\u201d She sighed. \u201cI don\u2019t want to talk about it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cFair enough.\u201d He ate in silence for a minute, then put down his fork and turned in his chair to face her. \u201cWhat I like best about it is a fresh start. A whole new year to try again, start over, or start something new.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“It’s arbitrary.” Her appetite had returned, and she picked at her plate. “If it was a Solstice, then yeah, days are getting longer or shorter depending on which you choose.” She cut another bite of steak and popped it in her mouth.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“There’s no reason,” she said after swallowing, “that the change from December to January should be any different than the change from March to April.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“But the year is changing, marking another trip around the sun.” The man ignored his cooling plate and continued to face her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Do you really think the year makes the difference?” She frowned. “Maybe for you it does. For me, it’s always the same. Tomorrow’s just another day.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Another day, another year.” His eyes smiled.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“So you really think 2020 will be different from 2019?” Her brown eyes locked on his.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Probably,” he said. “Likely better.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“A romantic and<\/em> an optimist, huh?” She chuckled. “That’s an odd and unlikely combination.” Her voice dripped sarcasm.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“You said you stopped celebrating New Year’s Eve seven or eight years ago.” His eyes turned curious again. “What have you done since?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She frowned. “Every year, for the past seven? Yes, seven… years I sit here on December 31, in this seat, and have a steak dinner before going home and going to bed.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“That would be sad, if it was true.” His eyes narrowed. “Since this place only opened last year, I know that’s not the case. But, you want to keep it private, I understand.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“You really don’t,” she said, “but thanks for trying, anyway.” She left a fifty-dollar bill on the counter and walked out.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Once back in her third-floor walk-up she locked the door, changed into pajamas, and set some music playing lightly on the stereo. She plugged in her phone. December 31, 2019 10:03 PM<\/u><\/em> the display showed. Will I just cease to exist in 2020? What happens for them?<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

She soon fell into a fitful sleep. As she slept, she relived starting the machine in her dream. Even in her dream she experienced the hazy excitement of what it would mean if her machine worked. She tried to stop her dream self, but to no avail.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

“Stop!” she screamed. “It doesn’t work the way you think!” Her dream self ignored her. The dream continued with the machine humming to life and then a blinding light.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She woke in the morning and looked at her phone. It showed her morning list of top tweets. The first was an all-caps greeting from the president, wishing a happy New Year to his “enemies” and the “fake news.” She knew it by heart. As much as she had hoped for a different year, it was the same. She locked the phone, the display showing January 1, 2019 8:04 AM<\/u><\/em>. <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

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