Same Time, Next Year

Short Fiction: One side of a conversation

Note to readers: This might be a fun one to listen to… okay maybe not “fun”— fun is a lot to live up to.

You probably won’t remember me. We met at your friend’s holiday party. It was a long time ago.

You were excited because you’d just moved out of your parents’ place and were living on your own in the city. You had big plans. You were starting a new project that excited you.

I knew you didn’t wanna talk to me by the way you kept looking over my shoulder.

No, it’s OK. You weren’t rude at all. You were just young and so full of yourself, as you should’ve been.

Yes, it was a tray of Jell-O shots that rescued you. They were red with tiny marshmallows inside, as I recall. Your friend was passing them out with great fanfare. I think “Feliz Navidad” was playing.

No, we didn’t talk again that night, but your eyes did return to the corner where I was sitting a few times.

You’re right, I probably haven’t changed much. People say that.

So this is a bit of a different scene from that night, yeah? There weren’t any kids running around before. Are any of these yours?

Ah, yes, I can see the resemblance. They must keep you busy.

Whatever became of the project you were so excited about?

I’m sorry to hear that. But you know how hard it is—putting yourself out there again and again. It takes courage.

No, I’m not that brave. My work is more solitary, mostly one-on-ones.

I think you know what I do. I don’t need to explain myself, do I?

Of course. It’s good to see you. Please, go and enjoy the rest of the party. I’ll be around.

I didn’t expect you to want to see me again. Should I sit here, next to you?

I understand. This isn’t like you. But things change—we change. It seems like an obvious thing, but you can’t really understand it until you look around for the first time and see everything’s different.

Yeah, you’re right. Most people don’t really pay attention.

I can stay here with you as long as you need me to.

No, we don’t have to talk. It’s totally up to you.

Yeah, this is a nice room to sit. You’ve done well for yourself. When will your family return?

That feels like a long time. You were right to invite me over.

At the party, you were saying how you feel like time is running out. What did you mean?

I can see how that would be tough, feeling like you’ve not reached the heights you aspired to and this isn’t enough, that nothing is enough.

No, I can see you’re not one of those. We can do whatever you want. But I can see you don’t feel like doing much.

Yes. I can stay until you fall asleep.

Let’s go outside and get some air. I think you need it. It’s a little stuffy in here.

That’s much better.

No, I’m good, but you have one if you like.

You’re right. It is the same party every year—the same ugly sweaters having the same conversations.

Yeah, those two do look good together. Happy. But don’t be fooled. I spent two months with him last year, and I suspect I’ll see him again before this year is out.

You’re right—you’d never know to look at him.

No, I can’t tell you what happened. There is a code, believe it or not. You look cold. You should go back inside. You can’t leave Riley alone with the sweaters for too long. You’ll regret it.

You never get tired of this story, do you? I think we’ve watched it together at least once every holiday season for thirty years.

No, I’m not in the redemption business. It’s fool’s gold, that. But I’ll watch it again with you.

I’m curious, what’s your favorite part? Is it the downward spiral, his fall into wretchedness, or the heartwarming triumph at the end? Be honest.

Interesting. So you’re saying it’s changed over the years. I do remember your thirties. Misery loves company.

How about tonight, do you feel more drawn to the fall or the ascent?

I think that’s a good idea. We’ll keep our options open, take in the whole story. Maybe it will feel different to you this time.

What’s that? You hope this is the last year? Wouldn’t you miss me?

No, I suppose not. Well, I guess we’ll just wait and see.

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Hi Friends,
This was a strange little piece— a visit from the ghost of Christmas past. Imagine if depression was just some guy you met at a party who followed you home and then wouldn’t leave. Just another of the many little experiments we’re conducting over here in the lab at Catch & Release. I spent an inordinate amount of time tinkering on the little “Carol of the Bells” music with my meager piano skills, so I really hope it made your listening experience wildly more enjoyable.

On a serious note, I understand all too well how tough this time of year can be for some of us. Lower your expectations, open your heart a little, take a deep breath, a walk in the cold, and then do something frivolous. I’m considering doing one or two Substack Live broadcasts in the next couple of weeks to close out the year, maybe play some music, maybe have a conversation with some old friends. I’d love to know if that would be of interest to you.

If you’re looking for a thoughtful gift to give someone special, I might suggest a copy of my novel, The Memory of My Shadow. It’s an immersive story that any fiction lovers on your list will enjoy as a holiday read.

Peace and music,
Ben