I need to work on first person narration for my grad school writing sample, so I’m using this post as practice. I’m basically freewriting, so expect this post to be all over the place.
I slowly make my way through the crowded hallways and down the stairs. Faceless, nameless people seem to be staring at me, but the lighting is poor. I’ve always been bad with names. All I need is a face to recognize you. Without a face, you’re no one to me, and that upsets me. I want to see what makes you you. I need the light to make me feel that I’m not alone, even though I can’t turn around without bumping into someone else. The only source, an old cage light hanging from the ceiling, shines warm yellow light down on the tables where everyone has gathered around. I try to talk to the silhouettes, but I can’t connect to them. I apologize, thinking it’s my fault.
As the night goes on, more and more people come up to me, and I get better at talking to the silhouettes. I know I never met these people, they never met me, and they’re having just as much trouble as I am. The difference is that they allow their imaginations to take over and make the most out of what little I have to offer. They see a tall, fairly muscular guy and I see all kinds of body types, all of which I find beautiful. Skinny, muscular, a little something to hold onto while we’re in bed.
I notice the light shining down on her head, similarly to how the sun melts into the blonde hair of the girl in my dreams. I image the mountains in the background, out of focus, just before the sun sets, the golden hour, another silhouette. I manage to find the similarities between her and the girl in front of me, even though the dark basement where seemingly everyone from the party is at is hot and reeks of body odor and cheap liquor. She says something. I can’t hear her, though. The music’s too loud. Again, it doesn’t matter.
I imagine her talking about how she loves guys that workout. Some other people come up to me, but they’re much closer. They feel my arms and I finally realize this is not my imagination. I’m finally confident enough to make a move. I pull her in close with one arm around the small of her back and kiss her. I feel that I need an answer to how I managed to pull this off, but I realize there are moments in life that just happen, where answers aren’t necessary. That’s when I realize that’s what my imagination is for. All I need is a silhouette.