January 1, 2004 — Like a penny

The night before the first day of the year has always been awkward for me.

I’d told Trisha weeks before that I would meet up with her to go to a show and then dancing. She made me promise. But really, I was desperate for company and I needed to spend time with her much more than she needed to listen to me be upset.

I’d thought long and hard about what to wear, settling on a collared shirt I’d never worn before. I only own two collared shirts, but I had convinced myself that the end of 2003 was something I should dress for.

We went to a hardcore show first. I hate going to hardcore shows, especially in Toronto. They seem very insular, and there’s a tension to everything that bothers me, though I might be imagining it sometimes.

Hardcore shows have been all the more strange lately because I can’t go to one without being mistaken for a person named Andy who lives in Detroit. I don’t know much more than that about him. I asked someone what he looks like; there was a pause and an exasperated look before, “Well, he looks like you. That’s the point, isn’t it?”

As I stood looking awkward and sort of paying attention to one of the bands, someone I’d never met before approached me and said, “Andy?”

“No. I’m told he lives in Detroit. I live in Toronto. My name’s Greg.”

“Oh. Yeah. You look exactly like him. But I guess your hair was longer...”

He told me that I was supposed to be staying with him in a couple of weeks, still addressing me like I really was the person planning to sleep on his couch. Trisha rescued me from the conversation, and I told myself that awkward conversations about people named Andy were one more reason why I shouldn’t be at hardcore shows.

We went to Andrew’s house for awhile, then dancing. I hadn’t been dancing for years, since the last time I’d been to a rave, which I guess was a very different thing. We hid our jackets and sweaters in a corner. I felt very self-conscious taking my sweater off because I wasn’t used to wearing a shirt with buttons and a collar. Trisha and Marika tried to convince me that I should undo the second button from the top, but I refused.

A bit after midnight a girl I’d met during the summer found me. She’d been the first person to kiss me the year before (though just on the cheek). I’d spoken to her only twice (and she’d been drunk both times), so I was surprised that she remembered my name. She kissed me three times. As she kissed me the first two times, I remembered telling E         two weeks before that I would be happy if she were the only person I could ever kiss again. When the girl with wine on her lips kissed me a third time, I kissed back.

And then it was over.

The rest of the night didn’t seem to matter. Part of me had given up, and there wasn’t much left to do. At the very end of the night, I walked home alone.

I brushed my teeth and washed my face. I looked in the mirror, thought about E        , and worried it was going to be a difficult year.