All-Night Cartoon Party
by Kirsty Logan
Last week I went to a Hallowe'en party dressed as Jessica Rabbit. The month before I went to a flat-warming party as Betty Boop. I don't know why I always try to look like cartoon characters. I had to get a taxi to the party, and the driver watched me in the mirror the whole way. As soon as I arrived I headed for the kitchen. Strangers make me nervous and I needed a drink.
I dug through the fridge and made a good strong drink, a little bit from each bottle. My hands were shaking and I spilled vodka on my dress. There was no-one else in the kitchen, so I slipped a bottle in my bag for later. I walked around the flat trying to find someone I knew. Everybody watched me go past, but no-one recognised my costume. I guess they don't watch cartoons.
'Hey, are you supposed to be from a cartoon or something?' said the Grim Reaper. I had to take a big drink before I could reply. I didn't know what to say, so I said 'Could I see your watch, please?' He looked down my dress while he thought about it. Then he shrugged and told me that the battery was flat. I just stared at his cardboard scythe, so he went into the kitchen.
I thought about following him into the kitchen; my glass was almost empty. After all, he seemed to be the only person here who liked cartoons. For a while I just stood in the unfamiliar flat, holding my glass and trying to decide. I finished my drink and went to get another. The guy who had recognised my dress wasn't there. He must have tiptoed past me when I wasn't watching.
I wanted to know if it was too early for me to leave, but a watch didn't go with my costume. I found some interesting things in the kitchen: a postcard of Venice, magnetic poetry, a bottle-opener in the shape of a fish. The magnetic words went into the pocket of my dress, but everything else was too big. I wished I hadn't tried to look like a cartoon character. The fact that I'd spilled my drink on myself didn't help. All the other girls in the flat were angels, fairies, princesses.
I wandered round the flat again, trying to find someone I knew. The zombies, tigers, witches and mad scientists watched me around their masks, but didn't speak to me. I had a drink in each hand, so I didn't care. I didn't care that I couldn't take the nice things in the kitchen. I didn't care that no-one here watched cartoons. I didn't care that I had vodka on my dress.
There weren't enough drinks in this stupid flat. I had better things to do than put on a dress and let idiots watch me walk past. I went into the kitchen, put all the bottles in my bag, then left this cartoon.
I dug through the fridge and made a good strong drink, a little bit from each bottle. My hands were shaking and I spilled vodka on my dress. There was no-one else in the kitchen, so I slipped a bottle in my bag for later. I walked around the flat trying to find someone I knew. Everybody watched me go past, but no-one recognised my costume. I guess they don't watch cartoons.
'Hey, are you supposed to be from a cartoon or something?' said the Grim Reaper. I had to take a big drink before I could reply. I didn't know what to say, so I said 'Could I see your watch, please?' He looked down my dress while he thought about it. Then he shrugged and told me that the battery was flat. I just stared at his cardboard scythe, so he went into the kitchen.
I thought about following him into the kitchen; my glass was almost empty. After all, he seemed to be the only person here who liked cartoons. For a while I just stood in the unfamiliar flat, holding my glass and trying to decide. I finished my drink and went to get another. The guy who had recognised my dress wasn't there. He must have tiptoed past me when I wasn't watching.
I wanted to know if it was too early for me to leave, but a watch didn't go with my costume. I found some interesting things in the kitchen: a postcard of Venice, magnetic poetry, a bottle-opener in the shape of a fish. The magnetic words went into the pocket of my dress, but everything else was too big. I wished I hadn't tried to look like a cartoon character. The fact that I'd spilled my drink on myself didn't help. All the other girls in the flat were angels, fairies, princesses.
I wandered round the flat again, trying to find someone I knew. The zombies, tigers, witches and mad scientists watched me around their masks, but didn't speak to me. I had a drink in each hand, so I didn't care. I didn't care that I couldn't take the nice things in the kitchen. I didn't care that no-one here watched cartoons. I didn't care that I had vodka on my dress.
There weren't enough drinks in this stupid flat. I had better things to do than put on a dress and let idiots watch me walk past. I went into the kitchen, put all the bottles in my bag, then left this cartoon.
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Author's Note
This is a prose sestina. I wrote it after a class on OuLiPo and a particularly boring Halloween party. It was in Wigleaf in September 2009.
Other stories by Kirsty Logan
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I can relate to this. The implicit promise of fun, and everyone staring, and no one dancing.
Beate, maybe it's just me, but I feel like your second sentence can sum up life in general.
enjoyed this - asking the grim reaper for time...nice morbid touch there! great last line, too. i'm a terrible party pooper, too, but i've never taken revenge as far as this girl. i wish i had.
It's surprising how much people reveal of themselves when they are in costume.
I enjoyed the complexity of this story, how the protagonist seems to start off with an expectation of disappointment yet manages to find more along the way.
Thanks, Finnegan! I recommend petty theft as a way to relieve boredom. Though not from people you like, of course. By the way, I think The Lovesick Taxidermist might be one of my favourite ever titles.
I agree, Neil. I'm a fan of masks and costumes and personas, though I don't use them often in my daily life. Perhaps I should.
Nice piece, Kirsty. I remember it from Wigleaf, and am quite happy to see you hear, posting it to boot. It has such a Wigleaf vibe to it, and that is a wonderful thing.
Very nice to be here, David. After reading so many stories about your son, it's great to see a photo of him. Now I can see why you're so inspired!
I think I noticed you at that party, Kirsty. I was the one in the stupid Wonder Woman costume stealing the bottle of Kahlua. A fun read.
Like. Deadpan prose. Deadpan humour. Have done the same myself with vodka. Only wasn't dressed as cartoon. Was cartoon.
Nice! As David says, this has the Wigleaf vibe to it.
This is a great form. Very fluid.
You capture the mood so perfectly. I really like this piece, especially the ending. Nice!
I enjoyed reading this story, and its memory returned to me later as well. I'd like to try to write a prose sestina.
Fave.
in the long and honored parade of masquerade party fiction this one walks wobbily & proud--is that lorrie moore up there, waving? why, yes. hi lorrie.
i like it, too.
Ha, love the Lorrie Moore shout, G. So fitting.
What stands out for me first is the voice, the feelings behind it, what drives this narrator to keep coming to these parties. Then, of course, the delight of maneuvering through people while we're dressed up not as ourselves. Nice.
Brilliant, Kirsty. I agree with Susan as well - this piece evokes the pleasure and loneliness of these parties. Well-done!
It's odd to have my writing compared to things I know nothing about! I've never read Lorrie Moore, but I've heard lovely things so I suppose seeming to be inspired by her can't be a bad thing.
Also, when I wrote this I had never heard of Wigleaf, but it's interesting to see I somehow caught its ambiance.
Kirsty, Thanks for your gracious comment about my story. Nobody ever complimented my syntax before! "Cartoon Party" is the best party story I've ever read. Love it!
I agree with Susan about the voice of this piece. Wonderful combination of aggression and vulnerability--seen also in her choice of cartoon characters. Great stuff!
Concrete images and a colorful voice transform a cartoon into a vivid three-dimensional story.
You come to my party, you will be frisked by armed Pinkertons before leaving.