My son got me the Writer’s Digest 2019 calendar for Christmas. It has prompts for each day of the year. Here’s one:
Writer’s prompt 1/1/19:
“You bolt awake… but you’re not immediately sure what awakened you. You blearily fumble for your cell phone to check the time, but as you reach for the bedside table, you gasp – your hand passes through the oak nightstand as if it were composed of nothing but mist. After a moment, you raise your hand up in front of your face to discover that it is not the nightstand that is no longer solid, but your disconcertingly translucent hand. what has happened?”
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It was New Year’s Eve. Now for me, I prefer to stay at home, read a good book, binge watch some TV shows and go to sleep just after watching the Times Square ball ring in the new year. But this year my wife would have none of that lazing about the house. This New Year’s Eve would be different.
“We’re going out,” she declared in that voice I recognized meant that this was not open for discussion.
“Where would you like to go?” was my reply, knowing full well that she already had the evening planned.
“I have reservations at this new club on 59th street called, ‘Le Doigt Manquant’. It’s supposed to have exotic food and drink and is touted as a magical experience for all. I know that some of my friends plan on going this week and I want to experience it first. What better night to go than New Year’s Eve.”
I should have realized right from the start that this was a bad idea. Everytime my wife tries to scoop her friends, it never works out. Add to that, New Year’s Eve and all the crazies that are out at night, this did not bode well. So I answered, “Sure sounds great.”
Our reservations were for 9:00. We got there on time and still had to wait about 45 minutes before we were seated. The inside of the club was poorly lit. You could barely see anything. If it weren’t for the noise of all the other people there, you would believe that you were alone. The servers came and went like whispers in the night, speaking in low voices that were hard to hear. It seemed that there was a fixed menu. Surprisingly we had to give our height and weight prior to being served. I was about to protest, when my wife put her hand on my arm, signaling, “Don’t you dare!” and acceded to their request.
Next thing I knew there was food and drink on our table. How it got there I have no clue. I will say this, the food was delicious, as was the drink, which had some flavor to it that I thought I recognized, but just couldn’t get a finger on.
After that I know there was music. We may or may not have danced. Things became sort of a blur. If I were a person who meditated, which I’m not, I would say I became one with the event. I could hear the crowds cheering outside celebrating the new year and that’s about it until I woke up this morning.
I looked to my side where my wife should have been, but only saw a glimmer of shape that could have been her.
It took a few hours before we both became solid again. Neither one of us spoke at all about the experience.
I’m fairly certain that given the opportunity next year, we will spend time at home, reading good books, binge-watching TV shows and going to sleep just after watching the Times Square ball ring in the new year. At least I hope so.
