At the End

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: True Confessions  |  House: Booksie Classic


What happens at the end of the night, after the party's over and you're on your way home?

Submitted: March 05, 2018

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Submitted: March 05, 2018

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One of the most pitiful scenes I’ve watched is at the end of the night on the town as everyone’s going home, calling their cabs, and settling down. It’s still dark and the wind is still brisk but there’s rays of the morning creeping from between tall buildings. It’s a signal that you’ve wasted your night partying and it’s time to go home.

You’re walking towards the next train station because it’s a few bucks cheaper than an uber. Your friends are in tow – drunk. You feel more like a shepherd than you do someone who let loose last night. In fact, you didn’t. You had planned to but were worried someone was going to die… or worse. As if that was possible.

They call you – momma bird. It’s a tragic label.

You’ve removed your heels because you have nothing to prove. You also don’t care about the countless warnings regarding that nastiness of the city streets. After all, you did sneak a few drinks in. You weren’t driving. Who cares?

You watch as people pass you in droves, all heading to the same place. You aren’t sure if you want to walk faster or just linger at the same place. Your friends know how to get home but you’ve got this burning loyalty to see to it that they do. Damn it.

You watch as one couple is struggling to make it the next few blocks – but not because they’re drunk. The man is dragging his woman down the cobble stone streets. It’s still a little wet from a rainstorm that I don’t remember having. I enjoy it but I’m sure that the stilettos she’s wearing don’t feel the same. She’s dressed in the same skimpy outfit that every other woman is.

She’s tired and worn out, carrying whatever furbaby she could find on her shoulders. I could imagine that at the beginning of the night she was fabulous and at the top of her game. Now is when the demons arrive. She tugs back at his hand, “Where are we going?”

More of a statement than a question as she’s trying to warn him that her feet won’t last that long. He drags her a few more steps, “It’s just a few more blocks.” So they’re heading to the train station as well. It doesn’t look like they can’t afford a cab or uber.

Then again, everyone puts their best foot forward.

She can’t take it anymore though. “Let’s just call a cab.”

He shakes his head and continues to pull her along, “I told you that you shouldn’t have worn those shoes. Why would you wear heels like that anyway?”

The million-dollar question. Why do women wear such dastardly fashions? It’s to impress other women and to show off just how much you can accomplish in 5 inch stilettos.

But at the end of the night?

No one cares about you and your fight to get home. Once the party is over, I could care less if you stripped out of that dress because it was too tight. In fact, I would understand you. I feel your pain. But women don’t want to show their inferiority and so they’ll tough it out in heels that feel uncomfortable the moment they’re put on just for a few compliments and looks.

Me? Yeah, fuck that. Ima be comfortable and if not, I’ll show up to the party like a fashion model. Halfway through, who am I kidding? You’re going to see exactly who I am.

No shoes.

Because, let’s be honest, who am I actually trying to prove something to?

Myself.

And me, myself, and I have nothing to prove.

 


© Copyright 2020 D. Nic. All rights reserved.

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