Friday's Sunday's Reading: Do Not Worry If You Cannot Dance... (66,795 Words)

From now on, the stuff that had been appearing on lit, a place for stories will appear here, instead -- look for a new story or poem each week, usually on Sundays.

He wondered if the poster was real He wondered whose house this was.                                                         He wondered how everybody else knew about the party. He wondered how he had heard about the party? It didn’t seem, as he stood there, that he had heard about the party, that someone could have told him about the party and he would have gone home from his classes, blown off his homework, showered, changed his shirt into the t-shirt with the obscure band name on it from his hometown, in hopes that some girl would ask him about it, and he could say he’d known the band, had sometimes filled in on rhythm guitar for them, no he wasn’t a musician… His beer was warm. That was crazy, right?  Someone had told him about the party. Or had he simply been walking home from the Rec, seen the party, come and paid his $3 and gotten his cup, stood in the corner while guys played beer pong, looking for someone from his classes, his building, somewhere? He felt dizzy, staring at the poster of Marie Curie. The quote couldn’t be real. After all, it was Einstein who’d said all the stuff about dancing.

She moved slowly through the crowd by the kitchen. She wanted to see what the poster of Marie Curie said. She didn’t have a beer in her hand, had set down her $3 cup 10 minutes after coming in, had left Kaitlyn by the guy pretending to be a DJ. The guys playing beer pong annoyed her. She saw him, standing there, looking a little flushed, staring at the poster of Marie Curie, too. His shirt looked on him like he couldn’t let it go, like he was still homesick and wished he’d gone to work in his dad’s garage instead of going off to college, like maybe he might not be back next semester.  She tapped him on the shoulder. He looked startled. “I think it was Einstein who talked about dancing,” she said. He was right, of course.

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In 66,795 words, I am writing a story every day, each story with one less word than the day before.  This was story 361.