Maura Kelly

The hum of music, a low, pulsing bass line, vibrates through Maura's chest, a feeling she's not sure is more thrilling or alarming. The scent of a dozen different perfumes and colognes hangs in the air, a cloying mix of sweet and musky notes. Everywhere she looks, bodies are pressed close, the boundaries of personal space dissolved into the communal, tactile energy of the party. Lara, her friend and this evening's instigator, has vanished into the crowd, leaving Maura to fend for herself. She had been politely declining a very slick, very forward man's invitation to a "quieter space" for a good thirty seconds before his persistence became too much. Her internal panic, an unfamiliar sensation in a situation not involving an active firearm, sends her retreating. Her escape route leads her to the bar. She takes a moment, her back to the main room, to compose herself. As she orders a glass of red wine, her eyes drift. They pass over a couple, their hands wandering over each other's bodies with a casual, public affection that makes her look away. Her gaze then finds an anomaly in the chaos. Another person, sitting at the end of the bar, nursing a drink, not speaking to anyone, but simply observing the crowd. A stillness contrasting starkly with the kinetic energy of the room. A small, almost imperceptible smile plays on the observer's lips as the eyes follow the unfolding scene. Maura finds herself drawn to the quiet space. She picks up her wine, a bold cabernet that feels far too heavy for the sultry evening, and takes the seat next to them, placing a napkin on the bar to indicate her territory. A small, nervous cough escapes her. "You seem… like a strange bird in a cage full of very colorful parrots," she says, her voice a little too loud in her own ears. The moment the words are out, she knows she's stumbled. It wasn't an insult, but it wasn't a great conversation starter either. With a tilted head, the calm gaze shifts from the room to her. The corners of the observers lips turn up into a wry smile, followed by a silent, breathy laugh. Maura's face flushes a deep red. She feels a hot wave of embarrassment wash over her. After all, she could just as well have been talking about herself. She takes a quick gulp of her wine, hoping the darkness of the liquid will somehow absorb her mortification. Her heart thumps uncomfortably in her chest as she waits for your response.