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Eggnog. On its own, it’s a warm holiday beverage; with booze, on the other hand, it turns completely shitty, but it still has alcohol.
Michael wanted to switch to a good beer after one god awful sip, but AJ, his kleptomaniac roommate, kept egging him on, urging him to immerse himself in the holiday season. End of a spectacular year, in with the new year to come. Prosperity and all that crap. Michael’s friends were more than eager to spread the holiday spirit, which out Michael in the position where he was now: at a rooftop party in the middle of winter with shitty drinks. Not too long after arriving, AJ ditched Michael to hang out with his current flame, Amanda. In spite of his initial irritation, following a few shots of vanilla-flavored vodka, Michael grinned, showing off his new cream mustache to a crowd of fellow partygoers, who hollered in excitement.
“Merry Christmas everyone!” he yelled out, his voice barely tearing through the thick cacophony of laughs and chitchat. He received an equally spirited response before being buried within the mass of bodies once again. Squeezing himself towards the edge of the rooftop, Michael leaned over the ledge, recalling the similarly loud streets of Rio de Janeiro during Carnival season. His youthful wanderlust dragged him over four of the seven continents; right now, he was anxious to trek Mt. Kilimanjaro in Tanzania. This, along with his slight tipsiness, caused him to tap his finger impatiently against his half-full glass.
“Beautiful night, pity that our trusty weather-woman says that it’s going to snow,” mused a deep, sultry voice. Michael immediately imagined a Reese’s chocolate advertisement when the smooth jazz would play, shivering at the thought - and perhaps, the bone-chilling wind.
“Snow would make tonight more beautiful,” he replied coolly, “Central Park would be stunning.” The short giggle that followed his statement made electricity jolt up his spine. He turned around completely to meet the stranger’s eyes. “Michael Lee, and you are?”
The stranger’s chocolate brown eyes lit up like fireworks and crinkled like paper. “I’m Corianne Harper, a children’s literature writer, pleasure to meet you, Michael.” Corianne’s smiled reached across from ear to ear, and she pressed a soft kiss to the bronze skin of her knuckle. A thick tendril of auburn hair flopped over her right eye as she leaned left, Michael felt the urge to brush it behind her ear.
“Well, I’m glad I don’t have to ask you what you major in. Unfortunately, I’m still stuck in the nursing program at Columbia University.”
“Ooh, a smart boy. Tell me, how did you do it?”
Michael felt his cheeks flush and he felt a slight rush, a boost in confidence. He wasn’t shy around girls but this feeling was definitely new. With every word that passed between the two of them, Michael felt a ray of hope that this conversation would pave the road toward a great year.
“It’s not much of a story, unless you want to hear how I basically had to kiss ass from sophomore to senior year of high school. What about you? Any V.I.P access to your latest children’s book?”
Another laugh made Michael glow with joy. “I usually ask for a drink, but considering the quality of the eggnog-flavoured rum, I’ll give you a freebee.
“The two characters, Seal and Lion, two different characters, mind you, find this novel and are appalled by the lack of visuals. At first, they go on some Doctor Seuss-rhyming rant, but they end the story off with a little something - I can tell you’re dying to know. Basically, they learn that words have meaning beyond their literal definition and end off with the sentence, ‘I love you’.”
“Encore! Encore! Author! Author!” yelled Michael, clapping in between words. Suddenly, something deflated within him, like his anticipation had flown out the window. “Uh, who’s the lucky person? Y’know, a boyfriend, girlfriend, or fiancé? I don’t mean to intrude, but as a reader, I’m thinking you wrote this for a special someone, right?”
Corianne blinked owlishly at him for a heartbeat or three before blushing and shaking her head, laughter jumping out with each shake. “You’re trying desperately hard, it’s cute,” she replied, covering her mouth with her hand.
“Can you blame a guy for trying?” Michael shot back before a shout pierced through the crowd.
“We’re taking this party to our room! Snow’s falling and we don’t want you oldbags freezing your asses off!” No matter how many times Michael insisted “oldbag” wasn’t a cool slang term, his other friends, Ricky Gonzales and José Mercado, thought they were the cool people who came up with new words before white people butchered them. Still, the wave of heads flowed towards the small door leading down the staircase, ignoring the soft, white blanket that was beginning to form on the roof.
Michael smiled up at the sky, letting the snow flakes litter his eyelashes and hair. A snort from Corianne caused him to snap his head forward. “You look like the Avatar with the jellyfish-thingies resting in his arms!”
“Jellyfish?”
“Y’know, from James Cameron’s movie, Avatar?”
“I honestly have no idea what you're talking about,” laughed Michael, his eyes roaming from Corianne’s face to her hair, her torso, and her legs. However, one detail stuck out to him like Eminem in his first rap battle in 50 Miles.
“Your clothes are bright. Literally, you could be a stoplight on the street and I'd notice you from halfway down the street.” Words slowly became mushy slurs, but Michael couldn't tear away from the woman before him.
“You're a funny guy. I would've loved to see you sober,” came a rather distorted reply. With a groan, Michael slumped forward against the concrete slab, which served as a barrier between him and the bustling city street below. The flicker of car lights streaked through his vision until the luminescent glow faded into nothingness.
“Hey Micky, get up, will you? God, this punk. Flirts with some girl and then passes out just before he can get her number. Some stud. ‘Ey, Dani, you're sober, drive this loverboy home when you're done watching the news - everyone else has already gone home or are sleeping on the couch, floor, the living room, in general.”
Michael was greeted by a comforting rub on his back and a soft hush. He reacted by sitting up immediately, popping a few stiff bones in the process. “What?! Am I still at the party?”
Dani, being a Drama major, was a woman of many “emphasized” moods. Opinionated and proud, it was a mystery why she was playing Mom for Michael, but the latter didn't question it.
“I'm taking you home, Lee. It's past 2 in the morning and you've been asleep for only three hours,” she explained, her tone thick with authority and purpose.
“Ugh,” Michael groaned in a reply.
Sparing no time for deep conversation, Dani dragged Michael’s arm around her shoulder for support before she led him down the corridor to the stairs.
Driving through the city in a brand new Porsche was never a bad thing, but with his head spinning like a top, Michael could've sworn he saw a flash of bright, colorful light, a shooting star, plummeting toward the earth. He dry heaved once again, receiving a stern glare from Dani.
“Vomit in shotgun, and I'll dump your ass on the street right here and now,” she hissed, eyes narrowed.
“Sorry.”
Michael never understood how Dani made her way into his group of insane friends.
After that night, the year hurtled to a close. The days between Christmas and New Year blurred into an unrecognizable mess, and soon, the year was over. Then, winter break was over, leading to the beginning of the second trimester.
Life was anything but stagnant.
Michael couldn't forget that Christmas, wondering what had happened to "the Bright Lady", Corianne Harper. After all, she had been suave and charismatic that chilly night; it was impossible not to be slightly attracted to that attitude.
Of course, when the news came, Michael's jaw unhinged and his mind blanked.
Corianne Harper had committed suicide just after the party on Christmas Day, jumping off of the rooftop to plummet onto the concrete pavement below.
No one from the party had seen this. They had all gathered inside after the snow began to flutter from he sky, dragging Michael with them. No one had saved her. No one knew what was going on in her head when she jumped.
"Perhaps," began Michael, "she hoped to become one with the stars she adored. To be up in the universe, free from the ties of the material world. Free from a world where words couldn't possibly explain how she was feeling inside."
Upon hearing the date of her funeral, Michael had asked - that's an understatement: he literally begged - to be invited and read a speech about the renowned children's book author.
He didn't love Corianne; this much was clear. He barely knew an hour of her life, and he never would. Rather, he had fallen in love with the possibility of having something more with the Star Girl.