The party

I am in the kitchen. Seated on the floor, back leaning against the fridge, black and silver party dress on, hi-tops. And my dog Kali on my lap. I am watching all the people come and go.

I am happy: these are the people I love.

Upstairs, there is a lineup for the bathroom. I have replaced most of the lightbulbs in the house with coloured ones - blue, red: my party lights. I don't know how my friends can see the lines they cut in that dim red light, but I don't mind; no one seems to complain, and everyone is sharing.

My best friend is in her bedroom with a feather in her hair. She is painting by candlelight, and keeping her door closed to all but a few treasured friends. She is having her own party.

She is in the in-between, her spirit open to more than I can see. And anyway - her pupils are too large for all the bustle and lights of the party below.

I love her, and I am happy.

Lovers past and present, friends and family arrive and leave in a constant flow.

I feel loved.

There are balloons on the floor, floating and bouncing to the music. Kali has gone upstairs to escape them and to nap with the cat instead. I love these two creatures more than I ever knew I could.

In the kitchen, people mingle. They refill their plates with chips, they refill their cups. They tell stories. The sliding glass door opens and closes, opens and closes. The party spills out onto the patio and into the lane beyond in clouds of exhaled smoke.

I am happy. I love these people. They are here because I am now 30, and because I invited them, and because they love a good party, and because they love me.

I don't yet know that my life will change this year. I don't know that I will leave, suddenly, before the year is through. Or that so many of these people will too have left long before my return. I don't yet know that this is one of the most precious moments: I don't yet know, and this is good.

I am here.

I am here in my party dress, in my home, with my dog and my cat, and the people I love.

And I am happy.