The Quiet Hours After a Party
Reflections
I’m over it. I missed my bed, my quiet studio apartment. The silence finally brings me peace. I’m not mingling anymore, and my face relaxes from all the smiling.
I go straight into the kitchen, tuning into the hum of my refrigerator as it kicks in, cooling the few groceries inside while I remove the gallon of water. You can tell a single girl lives here.
I stand still, hearing the cool water quenching my thirst, remembering the Jack and Cokes I had tonight and the unforgettable shots that came my way. I close my eyes as I keep gulping down fresh water, listening to the waves running down my throat.
I place the plastic disposable cup on the counter, listening to my steps walk into the living room. I remove my stiletto heels, staring at them, thinking, “Girrrl, what a night!” They drop onto the wooden floor. I lean back with my hands behind me on my bed, wiggling my toes.
I get up and hear the floor creak once again as I walk.
Now I’m bare-faced, in loungewear, with a pint of ice cream in hand, notifications off. I click my pen open, grab my journal, and listen to the crisp pages flipping away to an empty page. It stares back at me for a minute as I prepare to dump it all down.
The sound of my swirling pen breaks the silence. I can’t help but first write about the uncomfortable awkward moments I had coming to this party. Although happy I got to go and socialize, I’m more excited to be home now. Then I write about the friendly faces, the laughs.
Good times!
The noise of the party finally fades in my head. This is me now, here in my New York City apartment, surprisingly quiet except for the dripping water of my kitchen faucet that my landlord supposedly fixed a few weeks ago. I’ve learned to live with it; I block it out somehow. Admittedly, it soothes me, so I ignore it.
I close my eyes, startled by the footsteps approaching the hallway outside my door. It’s my neighbor unlocking her door with her dangling keys. I wonder how many keys and keychains that thing has. Her door finally unlocks, swings open, and then locks after all that jiggling. Wait, it’s 3 AM; she must’ve been partying too?
I stop thinking about her, close my eyes again, hear the sound of my deep inhale and exhale.
I’m alone. Sometimes it’s a blessing, other times a curse, but also my favorite place to be with myself. I secretly love it. It’s so quiet I can hear a pin drop and a very distant siren outside my window. I keep scribbling my loud thoughts on the page; I love that even more.
I shuffle my bedsheets once my pen drops between the pages, laying them out nicely, preparing them for me to lay on. I fall asleep to the sound of my own heartbeat, hand over my heart, and the calming lullaby of my own deep breaths.
Inspired by my single days living in New York City and by Bella Smith ⭐ Weekly Prompt: In the quiet room after a party.
