When The Last Guest Leaves


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When The Last Guest Leaves

What a lovely surprise to finally discover how unlonely being alone can be.

Ellen Burnstyn

When the last guest leaves, I am free to be me.

When the final footfall is heard on the porch steppes, I can breathe a deep sigh of relief.

The dirty dishes will have to wait until morning, the half drunk bottles of wine will breathe the night long.

The bowl of nuts and the  platter holding a few remaining blue cheese stuffed olives, sit forgotten amongst empty wine glasses.

It had been a good night.

I smiled as I caught the eye of my lover who was talking to a group of friends at the other side of the room.

My body had found it’s own rhythm as it moved to the sweetness of the music. My soul doing it’s own unscripted dance as it rode the sound waves.

I was lost in a temporary space of lightness and nothingness.

Until the inevitable happened.

A new girlfriend of a long time friend asked me what I did for a living.

I dreaded the look of disinterest  that I knew was to come.

When I spoke the same words for what felt like the hundredth time.

Having no career to validate me but instead an illness which  labelled me as weak, I hesitate, always sure I could come  up with something interesting if I tried hard enough.

“Oh, I am so sorry to hear that” the pretty brunette with the perfect ten body replies as her eyes furtively look for a way to escape.

I am tired now.

The laughter and music which had  earlier buoyed my spirits, now jangled my raw nerves.

The heat of the crowded room, mingled with the various sweet perfumes, now threatened to turn my wine filled stomach into upheaval.

I wait in a darkened corner of the room  for the night to blessedly come to an end.

As the friends slowly start to leave in groups of four, all I want to do is lie down.

“Goodnight” I say smiling “Thanks for coming” as I hug each one goodbye.

I squeeze my lover’s hand whle we wave to the last guest, laughing at some joke I only heard the last line of.

Regretfully, I disengage my hand from his. My body longs to feel his familiar touch but fatigue wins out.

I am alone now.

I can stop acting like I feel fine.

I am exhausted.

Slipping out of  my too high black heels, my black party dress falls to the hardwood floor where it lays in a heap.

My cotton pyjamas cover me like a sheath as comforting as my mother’s embrace once was.

I will sleep now. I will recharge my depleted batteries.

My thoughts drift sweetly into nothingness as sleep comes for  me with the promise of escape.

I will rest now.

The last guest is gone, I am alone.

I am free to stop pretending.

Cindy Lee Lothian

March 8, 2013

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About Cindy Lee

I'm a writer, mother and lover of life who has learned that my twenty year dance with the disease MS, has given me Multiple Strengths. I write about love, laughter, healing and hope.
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4 Responses to When The Last Guest Leaves

  1. Lovely. We need to differentiate between ‘alone’ and ‘lonely’. I have similar feelings when my grandchildren leave–it’s like reclaiming my house and my way of life!

  2. Cathy says:

    Those with a chronic illness, especially one that depletes your energy and self-esteem, know exactly how you feel. You are never alone because we are right beside you. You should never feel lonely because we are here for you. BUT, I have lived through exactly what you wrote about. That feeling is all too familiar. Excellent post. Love your writing!

  3. Kelly Daniel says:

    You have read my mind it seems. Nice to know others feel the same way.

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