Dragonfly by Jax Hill 

New Year’s Eve seems like another prime holiday for freaks and losers. No, I don’t mean it that way. You know how Torstein wanted to be at the casino on Thanksgiving because he figured desperate people would be there, and they would be glad to eat with us? New Year’s Eve strikes me as a time when people are desperate, too, desperate to have a good time, to be at some crazy blow-out, to make a memory they can cling to all through the coming year ... and of course it never works out. For me it never had, anyway. New Year’s Eve, to me, is overrated.

Torstein had gotten over whatever melancholy had possessed him at Christmas, and the day after, we were back in the park for Story Hour and mingling with all our old friends. He was back on the street, handing out sunflower seeds to passersby, inviting them to stop and chat if they had a mind to. Toward evening, most of his “regulars” had gathered around. He said, “Here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to make this a real New Year’s Eve to remember.”

As I say, I was not that wild about New Year’s Eve to begin with. I was only 30 years old, roughly Torstein’s age I guess, but I was over New Year’s. The past few years I’d gone home from the fish market and gone to bed early, didn’t even watch the ball drop or anything on TV. I don’t know. It was always a disappointment. It kind of cheesed my dad off because he and my step-mom usually had a party. But even their parties were stupid. It was a bunch of older couples, the country club set. What was I supposed to do? If I brought a date, she was bored. If I came alone, I was bored. So, yeah, Torstein’s pronouncement about a New Year’s Eve to remember just didn’t hold any promise for me.

But I didn’t say anything ... I mean ... it was Torstein.

He said, “We have five days. Here’s what we do. Everybody go home and invite your friends, from your neighborhood, people who wouldn’t normally hang out here with us. Tell them it’s going to be the worst New Year’s Eve party, ever. No Alcohol. Bring the kids. What else makes for a terrible party?”

“Karaoke!” Franz called out.

Torstein laughed. “You’re right, you’re right, that’s awful. But no, people still think that’s fun. No food. There won’t be anything to eat. And it’s only going to be 20 minutes long. A 20-minute New Year’s Eve party from quarter to 12 until 5 after. With no food, no drinks, and no noisemakers and no party hats.”

“Why would anyone come?” Marigold asked.

“Because I promise, if they come and they want to make a new friend, they will. It’s going to be the most intense 20 minutes of the year. If they want to see and hear and do something meaningful with the last 15 minutes of this year and the first 5 minutes of the new year, then there is no other place to be.” He grinned. “Yeah, it’s going to be so sober and so meaningful, it’s not even enough of a party to be called a bad party. It’s the anti-party. An Anti-New Year’s Eve party.”

“If it doesn’t start until 11:45, a bunch of people are going to come already drunk,” Bruiser said.

Torstein nodded. “You’re right. OK, there’s a condition for getting into this party. You have to be sober.”

“What are we going to do, breathalyze people?” Ferdy asked.

“Yes!” Torstein said. “We are. We’re going to hire some off-duty policemen with breathalyzers, and they’re going to check. If you’re over the limit, then you get sent to the fireworks show in Patriots Park. If you’re ok, you can come to our anti-party.”

“Any music?”

“No, of course not. No music.”

“Where is it going to be?” I asked. I had assumed we’d be in Patriot’s Park. The city put on a musical show and fireworks in our park on New Year’s Eve.

Torstein looked at Ferdy, who held his hands out, palms up. “We’ve been broke since Thanksgiving,” he said.

“It has to be close by here so we can send the people who aren’t sober over to the fireworks show,” Torstein said.

“Look, if there aren’t going to be any drunks, and there’s not going to be any food, music or dancing or anything like that, maybe I can get the lecture hall in the museum,” Bruiser said.

A dozen heads whipped around in his direction. The lecture hall in the museum?! The civic art museum was just down the block from Patriots Park, in the opposite direction from Sharky’s. It had a big lecture hall, or concert hall, where they sometimes had lectures (or concerts). But if we’d been broke since Thanksgiving, I didn’t see how we could rent the place.

“How can you do that?” Torstein asked.

“The physical plant manager, he’s a friend of mine.”

“The janitor?” Franz asked.

“The maintenance man.”

“And he’s going to let us into the lecture hall?”

“No, but there’s a gala there from 7 to 10 on New Year’s Eve. They wanted to make sure the guests could get away in time to celebrate or go home or to the show in the park, whatever they wanted to do by midnight. So my friend, he has to hire a team to clean up after the gala. If some of us will go help him, I’m pretty sure he’d let us stay in the hall until midnight. As long as, you know, no one is drunk, tearing up the place or wandering through the museum. It’ll be blocked off after the gala, anyway.”

“I love it!” Torstein called. “Perfect. So, I’ll definitely help clean up after the gala. Now, I wonder how many people will come?”

“Who wouldn’t want to come to the worst New Year’s Eve party ever?” Franz said.

Torstein laughed again. “Right, if all of you invite about 30 people ...”

“I don’t know 30 people,” I protested.

“The people in your apartment building. Just put flyers in their mailbox or something. I’ve got to try to find Sig and see about hiring some policemen with breathalyzers ...”