Bottomless

I quickened my pace as the sun started to set over Washington Square in North Beach. I was twenty minutes late for the party, which seemed appropriate for it was an engagement party, and I was the girl farthest away from being engaged. In fact, being "late" had become my most prized accessory. I clipped my aversion to having kids into the brown curl that fell against my forehead, and tinted my lips with a shade of apprehension regarding the sanctity of marriage. I wore my lateness with pride for I couldn't figure out why our accessories had to change with age. Yet as I stepped into the candlelit banquet room, the soft ding of glass chilling my ears, I realized I was missing the one item that united us. The common denominator. Fortunately, the missing item was placed in my hand before I reached the newly engaged couple, and was respectfully filled with soft red wine. French, I think. For the next three hours, we danced around the room, pretending to know when the music stopped. Where and when to get off. With a bottomless glass cupped in my hand, I wrapped uncertainty around my bare shoulders, and walked out the front door. Late for my next party.