Alienation In A Crowded Room

Alienation In A Crowded Room

By Bill Rayburn

Glasses twinkling. Ice cubes clicking. Smiles fading. Eyes darting. Attention spans shortening. Desperation seeping into those looks.

Words are thrown out, into the air. But only a few sentences are formed. Is nothing being said? My fear causes my muteness. I linger in a corner. So much humanity. So little connection. How is that possible?

There is music. It provides no comfort. Shouldn’t music provide comfort? Can one be isolated while pressed up against another person? Human touch can take on so many forms. Push away. Gather inward. Hug. Punch.

Eschewing the whole game relieves one fear, creates others. The smell of the room is overwhelming. I watch as everything within my field of vision slows down. The ceiling fan is so languid as to appear somnambulant. Perfect.

Mouths are moving but nothing is being said. Hands grasp glasses a little too tightly. The occasional vein distends from the occasional neck. Party? Really?

Is tension always underlying? Sometimes I can see it. Now. Everywhere. A mirror slides on the wall towards me, or maybe I pass it. I look tense. Over my shoulder: people.

I am alone.