I Throw The Best Parties
By Brad Pike
Welcome to my home, and might I say, thank you so much for accepting my party invite. As you can see, no one else has arrived yet besides me and the cats, but I’m sure they’ll get here soon. I’m positive they’ll be here soon. I have received assurances. Texts, calls, messages, etc. regarding lateness.
You’re probably wondering: how could so many people be two hours late to a party? Is there a possibility no one will come? Is there a possibility he didn’t actually invite anyone else? That, dear lady, is absurdity bordering on paranoia, I promise you. I don’t even know why I brought it up. Why am I even still talking about it? Just by acknowledging my overemphasis of the possibility that no one else will come to my party, I’m amplifying your discomfort. And now I continue, ceaselessly, unbidden, to direct your attention to the prospect I might be some kind of sleazebag who invites one girl to a “party” and no one else. Though as far as you know, that would be completely out of character for me, your charming innocuous friend, to set a trap of this kind, to deceive you into an intimate tête-à-tête.
Jesus, why did I say “as far as you know” and mention a hypothetical “trap”? I’m accidentally making myself sound super creepy, right? Isn’t that hilarious? Let’s laugh about it for a moment: haha. What fun we’re having, you and I. Don’t trouble yourself with wild speculations.
Why don’t you take a seat on my air mattress? I filled it to optimum capacity before you got here in case you wanted to sit on a soft object. I personally have no problem standing at all times, which is why there are no chairs in here, though I understand most people enjoy being cradled by furniture, to have their beautiful rumps supported, and so I accommodate these predilections. I am a warm and generous host like Walder Frey on Game of Thrones.
What? No, I didn’t watch the whole episode; don’t spoil it.
And if you’re hungry, I put out a tub of brown rice on the kitchen counter, the kitchen being the portion of the room with a stove. Go ahead and have a bowl, I don’t mind. The great thing about rice is it only costs a couple dollars but makes a huge amount you can eat for every meal. Observe, my dear, what a good provider I am, with my vast inventory of rice, my tubs of rice, so much I can offer it for free to beautiful guests like yourself. Don’t take too much, though.
Before you bring it up, yes, I’m aware the red light overhead makes my apartment look like a serial killer’s slaughterhouse/dungeon/skin-mask factory. But good news: I don’t harvest the skin off dead people’s faces to stitch onto sex dolls. No, this light was on sale at Target, and I didn’t realize it was blood red until I hung it up and turned it on. Bathed in its ominous glow, I thought, Is this the movie Suspiria? Have I opened a portal to a cenobite ridden nether-realm? Is this an apartment or a murder circus? So I understand your sense of unease, and we can move past it.
I wanted to put on music, but all I have are recordings of William S. Burroughs readings. I hope that’s okay. I guess you can plug in your iPhone if you want, if you’re a control freak or opposed to classic countercultural literature.
Mm, you feel that? I just crushed a moth that landed on your neck. We are becoming quite intimate now. Physical contact has been broached.
Maybe it’s better if no one else arrives, so we have this special time together. When I look at your status updates on Facebook, I always feel a strong affinity, like, whoa, this lady gets it: life, love, family, etc. I want to gouge out your eyeball, crawl through the socket, and live in your brain, nestled like a squirrel in a tree. You would use one eye while I peered through the other eye socket, and we could merge perspectives to achieve true clarity. Not that my friends aren’t coming because they will arrive eventually, definitely, unquestionably; I’ve made promises to you, and if they didn’t arrive, it would only validate your presumed suspicion that this is a trap. Which it’s not. I’m very reasonable.
Maybe this is weird to say, but you have flawless skin. I would like for every square inch of my body to be in contact with every square inch of your body, but that would only be possible if someone skinned us and laid the skins on top of each other like a pile of laundry. Gross, right? I mean, ew. Who imagines things like that? That’s awful.
Also, you have beautiful eyes. Like my mother’s eyes, blue and teardrop shaped. That sounded better in my head or at least less creepy than the skin thing. In fact, after mentally reviewing our conversation, I feel I’ve mostly instilled a sense of unease and dread, the opposite of my intention. I promise, our friends will arrive very soon, and then you’ll say, “Brad was so right. This Fourth of July party is as ebullient and well attended as he predicted. He is truly an honest and soothing presence in my life.”
Wait, is it the 3rd? Oh my dear, I think the Fourth of July party might actually be tomorrow. But don’t worry; you can still hang out here if you—and you’re gone.
And yet I continue to speak, casting forth speech into the oblivious void; expressing my thoughts to the wall, the mattress, and the cats, none of whom have a Wernicke’s Area for language comprehension, but that’s okay. I love them all anyway.