A Night to Remember

I watch the moving truck pull out of its parking space below, leaving me behind in my brand-new apartment overlooking the bustling streets of New York City. It took me a few years to upgrade from being crammed in a dingy loft with three roommates to finally living on my own in the big apple. With a killer view, no less. But I finally did it.

I check my phone for updates from Key. She’s my best friend from art school – as well as the only person I’m still in touch with from art school. Rather than throw one of those fancy house-warming parties most twentysomethings would be dying to host in a place like this, I’m having Key over for a slumber party; thrillers and salted caramel popcorn all night long.

No updates yet. Just her most recent text from twenty minutes ago. On my way.

I hear a knock at my door. That must be her.

I go to open it, expecting to see Key’s dark, trademark curls and sun-kissed skin, but instead find myself facing a handsome young man with chocolate brown eyes, and dimples that make him look effortlessly unassuming.

“Why, hello there! I’m actually your neighbor from down the hall… 3B?” He states his apartment number like it’s a question. “I saw you move in and wanted to welcome you to the building. I know the city can feel a bit cold at times, and neighbors around here aren’t exactly the friendliest, so I thought it’d be nice to at least know each other by name. I’m Troy.” He sticks out his hand to shake.

I don’t remember seeing him when I moved in, or any of my neighbors for that matter. But then again, I let my movers do most of the heavy lifting. Chances are he barely caught a glimpse of me, but saw the movers and wanted to do the neighborly thing.

Somewhat in awe that a New Yorker has gone out of his way to welcome me to the building, I stumble on my words. “Uh, yeah… Of course! I mean, it’s good to know at least one of your neighbors, right?” I shake his hand. “I’m Arizona. Sometimes Ari, for short.”

“Arizona. I like it. And are you from there, too?” He asks with a mischievous grin.

“No, I’m actually from New York. But Yorkie was a bit too eccentric for my parents.”

Troy laughs. “Well, Arizona from New York, I like you already! And I must confess, I don’t welcome all the neighbors to the building,” He pauses. “I sort of had… a motive to come say hi to you.”

“And what is that?” I ask, bracing myself for some cheesy pick-up line or comment on my physical appearance.

Troy looks around before lowering his voice to a whisper. “You’re the only other person under thirty-five in this place… I assume.”

Relieved, I laugh.

Just then, the buzzer in my apartment goes off.

“Sorry, that’s my friend,” I say, buzzing Key in.

“Oh, no worries! I’ve got something to get back to, anyway. I’ll see you around.” Troy is already turning the corner of the corridor before I can respond.

At the same moment, Key bounces up the stairs. “Hey! Ready for that Scream marathon?”

I laugh. Our favorite thriller franchise. “You bet.”

It’s been two weeks since I’ve moved in, and Troy is proving himself to be a rather useful neighbor. He helped set up my internet, install some new shelves, even showed me the best hole-in-the-wall bookstore in the neighborhood. Turns out he’s originally from a small town in Iowa, which makes sense. People from small towns tend to blow us New York natives away with their keen hospitality.

My phone pings. A text from Troy. A picture of a flyer with the words Freaky Friday scrawled across the front. It’s time to get freaky this Friday the 13th, 9PM.

And underneath the photo, another text: Don’t worry, it’s not as weird as it sounds. They need to fire whoever does the copyright for these things.

I laugh. It could do me some good to get out there and meet new people. Besides Key, and the fact that I’m from New York, I don’t have too many friends in the city. But I have a feeling Troy’s about to change that. He’s spontaneous, extroverted, full of life. The exact kind of person I tend to get along with best, given that we’re opposites and all.

A nearby club is hosting the event. Apparently, they are known for their Friday the 13th extravaganzas, which happen approximately once a year. Since Troy will be working late that evening, we've planned to meet up at the club.

I surprise myself with how excited I am to be going out on the town, something I haven’t done since college. I walk over to my closet and take inventory.

If Friday the 13th comes around about as often as I do, I'm making sure this one’s a night to remember.

I walk into the club. It’s underground. Dark. Sweaty. Way too loud. I know Troy is in here somewhere. I purposefully came later than I knew he would arrive, because there’s no way I was about to walk into a club like this without knowing anyone inside.

I bump into a girl dressed as a pink alien. Scraggly antennas spewing out of her head that look a lot more like that of the bug variety. She looks down at me and smiles, “My bad, Thumbelina.”

At first, I can’t tell if her apology is genuine or sarcastic. But then she cracks a smile that conveys reckless abandon; a sort of carefree, vulnerable innocence. The kind that almost feels too intimate to be receiving from a stranger. There’s no way this girl could be snarky with anyone right now, she’s having the time of her life.

I glance down at my outfit. Ripped jeans, a white V-neck top, and purple glitter eyeshadow. I’m not supposed to be a fairy. I’m not supposed to be anything, for that matter. I had no idea this was a dress-up event.

I look around me. A guy with a cardboard box for a head to my left, an old-school emo kid to my right, circa the early 2000s. How did I not know Friday the 13th was some low-budget version of Halloween? And how am I supposed to find Troy if everyone’s in disguise?

I look down at my supposed costume. Well, Thumbelina it is.

It’s nearly midnight and I still haven’t found Troy. I did only get here quarter after eleven. Maybe I arrived too late?

I check my phone for updates. A text from Troy.

Sorry I couldn’t make it… Boss had me stay late for a major client. Will make it up to you.

Well, I guess that’s that. But coming here wasn’t a total waste. I chatted with a girl dressed as a dinosaur for a good thirty minutes and bumped into a wizard who ended up giving me his number. It’s a start.

I walk the three minutes it takes to get back to my building and climb the stairs. Curious, I turn right at the top rather than my usual left. I haven’t been to Troy’s apartment yet. He says it’s more of a sleeping pad than an actual living space. That he works too much to keep it hospitable enough for guests.

I look down the grey, dimly lit hallway. I didn’t realize how long it was. I walk all the way down until I reach 3B.

It’s well after midnight now and I don’t want to wake Troy up with a text message, so I write him a note on a napkin I carried home from the bar and slip it under his door.

Missed you at the party. But I had fun, met some new people. P.S. I’m waiting for you to make it up to me!

– Arizona

I wake up the next morning and check my phone, expecting a reply from Troy.

Nope, no text yet. Maybe he’d rather slip a note under my door, too.

But I do have one from Key. Three, in fact. As well as five missed calls.

Are you OK?!

I remember you mentioning a Friday the 13th party? Call me.

Something happened… I need to make sure you’re OK!

Her messages are a bit vague, but I sense the urgency behind them. I call her phone. She picks up on the first ring.

Key sounds out of breath, as if she’s been sobbing, “Oh, thank God! You’re alive.”

“Yes, I’m alive… What’s going on?”

“Did you go to that event last night, the one around the corner from your place?”

I remember casually telling Key about the club event in our last text exchange. “Yes,” I draw out slowly, confused. “But I’m home now, I’m safe.”

“Oh, thank God!” She repeats. “Listen. Something happened last night at that event. Something horrible. A girl was murdered! And when you didn’t pick up, I was so worried it was you!”

Murdered? All the blood drains from my face. A girl was murdered at the event and I didn’t even notice?

“What! Where are you getting this information from?”

“It’s all over the news, Ari. Check your phone. It happened in the alleyway, just outside the club!”

She’s right. It’s all over the news. I skim the first article for details.

Happened between the hours of 12AM and 2AM…

Victim was a young woman in her mid-to-late twenties…

Sometime after midnight. I shudder, realizing I match the exact description of the victim. It’s a good thing I left when I did.

After hanging up with Key, I decide to check in with Troy. I know he wasn’t at the party, but maybe he saw something suspicious on his way home.

Just as I'm about to head out the door to his apartment, I hear a knock. I look out the peephole. Troy.

I let him in. He’s carrying a tray of iced coffees. One plain, the other with whipped cream and chocolate flakes. He hands me the one with whipped cream.

“My treat for ditching you last night.”

“Oh, that’s sweet, thank you.” I take the coffee, realizing it’s the exact iced coffee I always order on hot summer days. But Troy has no way of knowing that. Probably a lucky guess. I’m sure he’s seen tons of women my age order the same thing in line at the coffee shop.

Troy walks over to the island and takes a seat. “So, you made it back home OK?”

I brace myself for how I’m going to tell Troy about what happened last night.

“Yeah, didn’t you see the note I slipped under your door?”

Troy stops to think. “You slipped a note under my door? Damn, I must’ve walked right past it. I was so groggy before this coffee woke me up.” He holds up his iced coffee.

“Troy, listen – ”

“Whoa!” Troy interrupts. He’s looking at my wall now, a framed photo of a frozen pond taken by one of my favorite photographers. “That’s a beautiful picture. Reminds me of winters in Vermont... We had a frozen pond just like that in our backyard.”

I thought Troy said he grew up in Iowa...

How well do I really know this guy?

“Oh! I almost forgot.” Troy seems frantic, bouncing from one subject to the next. “Look what I found on my way home!” He digs into his backpack and pulls out a pink hat. But not just any pink hat, a pink hat with two sticks poking out the top.

I gasp, recognizing the bug-like antennas. The pink alien girl from the party.

A woman in her mid-to-late twenties…

I look down in horror at my drink, realizing I’ve already taken two sips.

Maybe Troy didn’t get my note because he doesn’t live here.