Frankly Told : A New Resolution
The room was filled with warmth and laughter as the group appreciated the last presenter. They sat cuddled on the living room furniture, in couples or alone, wrapped in blankets, glasses of wine, and finger foods sparsely spread between them.
“Okay, who is next?” the host bellowed as a conclusion to the laughter and the high fives as the last presenter sat down.
The next presenter stood up from his lonely armchair, cleared his whiskey with a single big gulp and skillfully made his way to the TV screen between the tangled blankets, limbs and bean bags. He tapped on the laptop and quickly switched screens to his PowerPoint presentation. The looks on the faces of his friends slightly dropped in confusion and sadness.
“Bro, are you sure…?” one started with great hesitation.
“Just let him,” his lady cut him off with a sharp finger to his lips. He obliged, reclining back and putting his glass of wine to his mouth, taking small sips.
“Okay,” he exhaled loudly, readjusting himself. “So my presentation is one that I didn’t know how to write because the prompts y’all gave were hard and I drew the shortest stick.”
The room shortly chuckled the awkward air out. It seemed to calm his nerves as he leaned into his presentation aura. Clearing his throat, he gunned forward.
“A letter to my ex-lover, who I am choosing to leave behind with this year,” he projected his voice as he toyed with the controller in his hand.
A bubble of sadness rolled up from his gut into his throat and held strong in a lump that seemed to choke his airways. His eyes welled up a little and the room almost seemed to want to stop him from this unintended form of self-harm. One lady went to stand but was stopped by his gesture.
“I can do this,” he dropped his raised arm. Several heads in his audience nodded and he continued.
“I didn’t quite know how to make a PowerPoint presentation of this prompt but let’s see if what I have done reads as cohesive as I think it did when I was practising in my mirror last night,” he gave a half smile to the encouragement of his friends.
“This has been a difficult year for love,” he clicked the controller and the slide changed. “Possibly the hardest year but I suppose the darkest of nights let the light, though small, shine brightest.”
“As you can see here on this graph, I have tracked the trend of quality of my relationships…” He gestured to the screen. “Here we can see lots of valleys not too many peaks and a general decline over the years. At least, until here.”
A few scoffs punctuated his animated presentation style.
“Here is where I met you,” he flashed a smile at the memory. “The year I had just graduated college. I was but a young man with my small peanuts they called a salary and not a worry in sight. Save of course for the impending doom that is the end of the world, with a global pandemic and all. Still, it was a time. I remember, on my vision board, that year I had ‘ get a girlfriend’. It was Q2 and no luck.”
“So when you walked into that party,” he walked his fingers in the air. “I knew my new year’s resolution would again be ticked off that year. Well, as it had, all the other years but none of those ever made it to term.”
“So when you came, you were the first time that resolution never got active again,” he switched the slide to the first picture they ever took and the room gushed in “aww”s. “And that’s the funny thing about resolutions. They always seem to be reflected upon only when there is real change. I didn’t notice that it was on my vision board for close to five years.”
“I suppose that’s the funny thing about your love too,” he clicked the controller through a few more slides that held a collage of pictures. “It made me reflect on all the shortcomings I had built up over all the slew of failed relationships. It made me reflect too on all the ways I learnt to be a healthy individual for the sake of us.”
“So as I am writing this letter,” he clicked the controller to a blank screen. “I am also rewriting the resolution. It sucks to have to do so after celebrating so blatantly over five years,” he kissed his teeth and swiped at his run away tear. “I don’t know what the new year has in store for me.”
He turned to the screen to hide the emotions just a little bit and breathe through the next slides.
“Will I finally get that new car? Move into a new apartment? Figure out how to be more active… I don’t know take up running or hiking like those influencers we used to make fun of? Will I try out new restaurants? Will I go see the world; all the parts we didn’t see but say we had to?” he scrolled through stock images as he spoke. “Will I find a new partner?”
“I notice I said a lot of new things on the list,” he contorted his face, trying to stop the tears. “There are still some old ones.”
“Like still trying to beat my 100 books in a year challenge. Like calling my parents and siblings more. Like making plans with my friends to meet more,” he scoffed and the group laughed through the bitterness. “Like finding new ways to hate cancer.”
He stopped and grabbed the box of tissues on the coffee table. Pulling out a number, he wiped his tears and blew his nose. In the whole room, there was not a dry eye.
“Most of all,” he spoke through the tears and sobs. “It’s planning a visit to see the drunk driver that took you from me.”
He pulled off his mavin to reveal a bald head that reflected the screen's glow and put up the controller like an empty cup. He clicked it and the last slide flickered onto the screen—their first picture in black and white.
“Cheers. To a New Resolution.”
