Birthday Party

by Jessica Schouela


It was dramatic in that way that squeezes the juices out of your stomach but you go along with it because it feels like you might be someone inside the movies. I suppose it was a generic movie, where it is someone’s birthday party and everyone starts to think about their own mortality, their lacks and holes – like one of those dark sponges or like Emmental?


We were all a little drunk, taking turns in the bathroom to examine how our faces were changing, how much they’ve already morphed, trying, dying to imagine what they might look like one year from today. The kitchen was filled with empty beer: I was sure I wasn’t the only guest who could hear the wind using them as flutes, whispering the words You Are Too Old For This.


We kissed people that weren’t our boyfriends while our boyfriends watched from across the room, breathing with intent as if to lick their lips publicly as if to prepare them for a kiss goodnight, right before they take off their pants and spoon us from behind.