But, let me tell you about this year. This year things didn't go exactly as planned. This year, I opted for Plan B since there wasn't a damned thing playing at the cinemas that I was even remotely interested in seeing. Fucking slasher flicks—Jason, Freddy—in nearly every theater. Why anyone would pay money for that shit is beyond me.
Anyway, I was prepared. Books—two new novels by my favorite author—and cider were on hand. I made myself a great dinner, then spent an hour soaking in the Jacuzzi, reading. Then, I wrapped myself in my softest, oldest, comfiest bathrobe. "Relaxed" doesn't quite capture the way I felt, but it's the closest I can come. Geez, I'll take that kind of solitude over the mass hysteria any day!
I put on some soft instrumental music to drown out the raucous sounds coming from the street, lit a few scented candles, and curled up at the end of the sofa with my cider. The curtains were drawn and all the lights extinguished except for a tiny reading lamp. I was about two hundred pages into the first novel, and enjoying myself immensely, when I first heard it.
Initially, I thought it came from outside. A soft thump, kind of like an under inflated basketball hitting the roof. I listened for a bit but the sound did not recur. Oh, well. Probably kids. There was no way I was going outside to investigate, so no use wasting any more time wondering about it. |
