I was prepared to write something cute – whimsical even – to end the year. As unmistakably peppy as those vibrant, deafening rallies we used to have at my old school (even though I found the sheer mass of cheerleaders in the room to be almost suffocating). Staring at the empty screen, it took me all of five seconds to realize that it’s rather difficult to come up with something sweet and adorable when you are everything but.
Last year, through careful bribery and partially thanks to several cans of Coca-Cola, I persuaded Alex to put on a pink tutu and a wig at eleven thirty. At exactly twelve o’clock midnight, I popped a memory card in the camera and somehow managed to get him to pull up the frills and scream “HAPPY NEW YEAR!” while I hurriedly tried to hide my chortles.
Future bride of my brother? I hope you enjoy the video of him exposing his Spiderman underwear that I’m going to show at your wedding. I’m sure you’ll love having me as a sister-in-law. HeheHEHEHEHEhehe.
This year, we will eat banana-nut bread. Weiner will jump on the sofa. I will beat him on Mario Kart. Mother will give a dramatic re-enactment of some thoroughly exciting! thing that happened at work today. Father will doze off. The neighbors will light sparklers. The stadium next door will be lit, and the streets will be empty. Lights will flicker on. Spaniards will close doors, huddle in living rooms, watching the clock on the television bong. Laughter will spread, numbers will fall from lips, expectation will linger. Moments will be full tonight, instead of empty, as they usually are. Anticipation, fingers curled in fists.
When it comes, there will be screaming. There will be thrilled eyes and clapped hands. I will find it ridiculous, as I always do. Such excitement, over a calendar year, over a second unlike any other? But I can’t deny anyone their New Year’s, just as I cannot take away the joy they may feel, however absurd I find it. So there is really only one more thing for me to do.