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There’s something a little pathetic about being alone on New Year’s. It’s hard to say exactly what, but every unattached guy out there knows the feeling. Maybe it’s the realization that you were single last year, and so really, whatever relationships or hook ups you experienced in between, didn’t last. And so one year later, you still, invariably, are alone.

On the other hand, maybe it’s for the far more practical reason that when midnight approaches, as everyone counts from ten down on to one, they’ll be looking at their friends, and loved ones, and more importantly, at the girls they’ll end up kissing. Whereas you, the single schmo, will be standing there with your hands in your pockets, looking at your single guy friends. And as your eyes catch each other’s you will realize you are both thinking the exact same thing: New Year’s sucks!

I’d rather be alone on Valentine’s Day than New Year’s. At least with Valentine’s day you can blow it off or just not go out. With New Year’s, no matter how good your excuse, your friends never seem to let you stay in.

It is late, really late. I am tired and kind of have a cold. It’s New Year’s Eve, and I am being forced to take one of the few remaining buses downtown, so that I can attend my friend’s New Year’s Eve party. I don’t even feel like going out tonight, but like I said, your friends never let you spend New Year’s alone.

My pocket vibrates—texts from my friends.

“You are a fag.”

“You suck dicks.”

“Hey can you pick up some chips?”

I grab a seat on one of the bus station benches, slump down, sniffle, and wait for the bus.

A few minutes go by and a girl sits down beside me. She is a redheaded cutie. She’s bundled in a purple winter jacket with fuzzy pink ear muffs and a pink nose from the cold weather.

I realize that I am staring at her when she finally looks over at me. It’s funny how you have to pretend that strangers don’t exist sometimes. Our eyes meet. We both look away shyly. Neither of us smile. Neither of us acknowledge that we even looked at each other’s faces.

My phone vibrates again with new text messages.

“Is it wrong to scream your own name during sex?”

“Is it wrong if Dave screams my name when he masturbates?”

“Can you pick up some condoms?”

I smirk and check the time on my phone. I still have at least ten minutes before the bus will come. It’s cold, I’m tired, I don’t feel so good, and the girl beside me is still keeping her gaze fixed away from me—probably for the best.

Part of me thinks I should say something to her. Maybe just something as simple as “Hello”. How can it hurt? It can’t. Maybe we’ll end up talking. Maybe I’ll end up making her laugh. Maybe she’ll end up smiling, and in some distant fantastical world she’ll end up being my date to my friend’s New Year’s Eve party.

But I dismiss it. Deep down, I’m really just shy, and a girl this cute would never go for a guy like me, so I lean back and shut my eyes and just try to wait it out.

There’s something pathetic about being alone on New Year’s.

A few minutes later a bus pulls into the stop. It’s the bus I’ve been waiting for. I start to stand however, I pause mid-motion.

People are packed so tight that as the bus doors squeak open a handful of passengers literally fall out of the bus. Several people on the platform try to push their way into the bus, as the freshly fallen passengers race to re-enter the bus themselves. It’s a brief and vicious struggle which culminates in the untimely closing of the bus’ automatic doors. Those unlucky enough to still be on the platform as the bus begins its slow getaway are extremely verbose and animated about their misfortune. Several people strike the departing bus with their bags and yell in outrage.

I sigh to myself and reluctantly fall back to my seat.

Twenty more minutes until the next bus.

I again catch the eye of the cute redhead beside me. This time however, we don’t look away. This time, we have a commonality. A socially acceptable reason to interact, if ever so briefly. She sighs at the prospect of having to wait another twenty minutes. I nod and shrug, showing my sympathy for her disdain in mime form. She drops her head a bit and looks away again.

We had a moment… sort of.

I lean back in my seat and close my eyes. Twenty more minutes.

Next | Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8

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