Lasagna

And there’s a girl at a party and she’s much prettier than you are or at least that’s what you think and you keep glancing over at her, watching the way her fingers seem to caress the air in front of her as she speaks and how her hair falls onto her back as she sweeps it over he shoulder and you wiggle your ring around your finger and it slips off and you feel your eyes tearing up and you’re not sure why and you squat down and tug on the hem of your dress and pluck the amethyst from the milky tile. You stand back up and think everyone must be staring at you, but they’re all whispering in someone’s ear, or poking the olive at the bottom of their glass and no one’s staring at you at all but you can still feel their eyes and Heidi is across the room, on the edge of a circle of people who all seem to be nodding their heads at something and you remember the time you lifted a couch cushion and found the ace of spades that disappeared the night he told you he loved you and you called Heidi and she asked if you wanted to come over and make lasagna and so you did and she seems like a nice person to see right now so you walk over and tap her on the shoulder and she jumps at your touch but then wraps her arms around your neck and asks how you’ve been and you say great because what else is there to say and everyone is still nodding but no one is really saying anything so you bring up the lasagna story and laugh as you tell it so everyone knows that it’s funny and you ask if she remembers how she threw the tomato across the room and how the two of you nearly finished the entire tray of lasagna by yourselves and everyone is laughing but it reminds you of the way they were all nodding and you’re reaching for your ring again and you only just got here but no one will notice if you leave so you walk purposefully towards the door and before you go you look over your shoulder and there’s the beautiful girl again and she’s being twirled around and you can’t help but think that she’s a match, brushing against shoulders and lighting them on fire and never looking back at the trail of flames behind her.

The door slams shut and the wind hits your face and it feels dramatic and you’ve switched arms twice before a taxi finally stops and you lie down in the backseat, thinking about how you could bite off your own fingers, and why you ever called Heidi that night and why everyone was nodding and why you’re always wishing you were someone else.