Alone in a Crowd; or, The Satisfaction of Isolation

Cook Heights is a small suburb in the north of Sydney, Australia. It is known for its large properties (in terms of both houses and land), long roads, and minor celebrities. It can only be

reached by car, as its residents rallied against a train station and the consequential influx of outsiders in 2016.

Thus, if one of these outsiders was for various reasons obligated to attend a birthday party at one of these large houses, she could either stay for the party’s duration and utilise a spare bed, or drive for multiple hours during the night. Harper had opted for the former, as she was not under the impression that sobriety was her friend, however she had no interest in letting alcohol overly influence her in such an environment.

The architecture of the birthday girl’s house was modern and sleek, clashing stylishly with the antique European furniture, a phenomenon that could only occur to full effect in this part of town. An eagle-footed bookcase dominated the wall to the right of entrance, with the white marble kitchen opening to the left, however one immediately saw past these to the empty space of the living room/dancefloor, which contained only a pushed back couch, decorative fireplace, and a locked cabinet filled with silver eating utensils that would never touch human lips. Harper had taken up residence across of this, leaning on the kitchen counter beside her boyfriend (and reason for her presence), and as he was conversing with someone who refused to meet her eye, she settled into her bemused smile and wandered.

The bookshelf brimmed with histories of the ANZACs, by Peter FitzSimons and other white men Harper assumed had also been concussed one too many times. The first genuine smile of the evening crossed her lips at the idea of expressing this thought to the patriarch of the house and getting herself banned immediately, or if not immediately, right after she asked him how he thinks migrants who have been fired upon by ANZAC soldiers (and their descendants) felt on his holiest of days. Or if he cared much for the opinion of migrants.

She glanced around the room, noting how diligently the guests adhered to their unofficial uniform- chinos and button-ups for the boys, cocktail dresses and fake tan for the girls. She had donned a T-shirt, tucked into a pleated midi skirt that revealed her unshaved legs, which had been neglected just for this occasion, and a pair of well worn sneakers. She felt a pressure on her leg, and leant down to pat Don, the house’s golden retriever. He was a vivacious puppy in the body of an adult dog, and his happy face made her shake the suspicion of who he was named after, and instead wonder if there was a way to ensure he was safe from the girl with drink in one hand, lit candelabra in the other. She ushered him outside, drawing out her papers and… “tobacco”.

She had placed herself at a comfortable distance from the domicile, however soon enough there came the slamming of a door and a teeth shattering cry of:

“What are you SUH- MOKING?”

This query was of course followed by a forced giggle, to defer any interpretation of confrontation, a punishable offence in these parts.

Harper neither turned, nor responded. This was by far the quickest way to lose their interest, and if they were inebriated enough to approach her she would be presented with the joyous opportunity for a verbal slap. The door closed behind her, and within minutes a group of chattering attendees emerged and headed for the back of the property, giving her a wide berth and smelling as she did. Don followed them.

When recounting this party, our protagonist delights in detailing how almost every guest who engaged in conversation in her vicinity refused to look at, let alone speak, to her.