The Party
Aarti Basnyat
I stood in front of the mirror and smiled. I thought I looked mature and sophisticated. A little swing to the left made my pink 'umbrella' skirt flare and my white blouse crinkle. My smile spread into a grin as I skipped down the stairs in my Mary Jane's and white knee high socks. "Daddy, Daddy its four, time to go" I sang, with my most winning smile. My father turned to see his little brown child with her normally mussed up black hair combed and parted. "Oh My! Don't you look nice" he said with a wink. I blushed as I brushed off his comment "hmmm, but we have to leave now". My father smiled and turned back to his book, "No party starts at four, Kali. I'll take you there at seven" he said indulgently.
I stared at him dumbfounded. Memories came flooding back. My friends asking if I would be there. Could I even call them friends? I had moved to Scarborough two weeks ago. A new place, a new school but same old me. I could see the hesitation in their faces. This had been followed by curiosity. "Nepal? Where is Nepal?", "is there even such a country?", "I thought you said you came from Dundee?" and countless other questions. The curiosity had been satiated but friendship was another issue altogether. Slowly they opened up and so did I.
This party was the first party of my life. This party was supposed to cement friendships. Two girls had bounced up to me in Art class, "what are you going to wear?" one asked as the other simultaneously said "my mom has promised to do my hair". I looked up dazed, 'Wear? Hair? Oh my god why didn't I think of those things before?'. Their enthusiasm was contagious and soon I was bouncing around talking about the party.
On my way home, an older boy with twinkling blue eyes had asked me if I was excited, my grown up reply was a nonchalant "umm yeah I guess" as I tried to hide the giggles that followed.
My father's dismissive hand changed everything. "But Daddy, my friend said four" I persisted. As my father turned to look at me again I realized the futility of my argument. "Did you look at the notice?" he enquired. I felt my face go red "No". "Then its not at four, it's at seven, no party in England starts at four, even if it is for seven-year-olds" was his final verdict. "But…" I started only to go silent as I saw the look in his eyes.
I waited, I fidgeted, I tried not to wrinkle my clothes. Finally three hours later my family started getting ready to drop me off. My mother fussed and my father tried to get my brother and sister into the car. Finally we were off. Dread and anticipation waged a war in my stomach. The school hall, suddenly, loomed large and I couldn't see anyone I knew. My heart sank as I saw my father's face fall. "Sorry", said the doorman, "the grade two party ended at six thirty, this is grade seven". "But the young lady may go in if she wishes", he added with a quick look at my face.
"Go on in," my mother gently prodded. I walked in, still hoping maybe someone I knew was still around. "Hey there", I turned around hopefully, only to squeak out a weak "Hi" as the senior I had met earlier greeted me. "What you doing here? Are you staying on for our party?" he asked. Mortified I dint have the courage to tell him I had missed my own so I did what came instinctively-I ran.
I clamored into the back of our car and blurted out "let's go!" My brother and sister couldn't stop laughing. "Did you see her face?" one asked, "What about his?" the other countered as they cackled, bent over with laughter. I was determined not to give in but couldn't help the single tear that slipped past my defenses. My father apologized in the rearview mirror with his eyes, shushed my siblings and said gently "Chocolate chip ice cream anyone?" I hadn't forgiven him but I understood, as I felt the smile creep back onto my face.
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