Proper Planning and Trepidation
Ryan Everett Felton
Imogene tore a check off an untouched pad and jotted down the name of the clubhouse in the payee line. She would drop off the security deposit tomorrow, but tonight was set aside for preparing the guest list. The party was two weeks away, to the day – her thirtieth birthday party.
“I don’t know,” her brother Neil had said at lunch earlier. “Don’t you think it’s sort of pathetic, throwing a big party for yourself?” In response she’d tossed a wadded-up napkin at him and told him he wasn’t invited, but the first RSVP card she filled out was addressed to him and his fiancé.
Amid the soothing gurgle and aroma of brewing late-night coffee, Imogene worked from the beginning of Letterman to the end of Ferguson, addressing envelopes and sealing them with Pixar character stickers. Fifty-eight invitees, all told: friends, family, co-workers. Eyeballing that stack of invitations put things into a shocking perspective. That she even knew this many people felt unlikely, but then, how many people did one meet over the course of thirty years? A thousand? A hundred thousand? Fifty-eight wasn’t that impressive, when she gave it some real thought.
The Late Late Show ended, an infomercial began, and more coffee was brewed. Continue reading