The Elephant Addresses Itself
By: Aaron Berry
Tags: Flash Fiction, Elephants, The Junction, Humor, Short Story

(by Friedrich Wilhelm Keyl)

Quit acting like you haven’t seen me. You’ve been pretending I was never here since the start of this party. Not so much as a glance and friendly nod. I know when I’m being ignored. Usually, I pay it no mind, and enjoy the festivities on my own, but now I’m putting my foot down, and making sure it shakes the floor beneath me.

As soon as the first groups and couples walked in, I’ve been tiptoed around like the old futon everyone knows you bought from the thrift store. Remember? The one that gave you MRSA? You still haven’t thrown it out, and everyone at this party is criticizing you for it.

Not to your face, of course, but did you not notice the collective cringe when you made the speech about your new niece’s christening, and hovered right over that cushion? That figurative pin you heard dropping was less for your guests getting your full attention, and more out of fear you’ll catch another infection that eats a hole through your leg.

And speaking of that new niece, is everyone just waiting for me to forget about your sister’s husband not being the father? Because I didn’t forget. I can’t forget, especially when everyone fell silent at the delivery room. Some of those befuddled faces play back in my mind. Enough to make me snicker to myself. You know how you asked what I found so funny? It wasn’t “something I saw online.” It was more hilarious than anything you’ll find there.

Anyway, I feel like that deserves attention, especially since they’re here right now, sans the baby, and it’s on everyone’s mind. Even yours.

But what do I know, right? Other than every dirty little secret? I don’t use the word “hypocrite” lightly, since most of the people here who have problems (which is everyone here) aren’t in the same ballpark, but they’re ones to scoff about someone’s personal life, judging from five feet away. Going down the line, I see people that are either miserable themselves or made misery.

That woman in the cocktail dress has just returned from the hospital, nursing an eating disorder. That’s why this tall redhead guy here has been offering every passing cheese platter to her. He likes to show her he means well, when actually he just wants to bed her, which he won’t be very good at. I believe his exact words to himself were “Hope I don’t break a bone in her back.” Class act. You’ll make a lady proud. Just like the last girlfriend who tried to off herself. And I promise it wasn’t because of you. You convinced yourself of that.

Then there’s the couple by the window, open marriage for ten years, much to the chagrin of the couple by the record player. No, you by the window seem to have it figured out. If it lasted this long, you’re doing love right. It’s the ones who call themselves your friends I want to talk about. Not really a good idea to judge a couple for “going against the grain of marriage” when Hubby there is putting on the red light, and a lot of leather. And that man in the bathroom is cruising for him, just waiting for an opening to get private. A lot of baggage to sift through, honestly. I could do this all night.

I won’t though, because I see a lot of dropped jaws and shaking heads, some deflating sighs and all those signs of guilt. This is the result I’m always afraid of, but one I expect when I finally get pointed out. At any other date, I’m content with blending into the furniture. It gives me the opportunity to make my own scene that doesn’t get noticed until everyone goes home, then it’s up to the hostess to sweep up that mess. I suppose today I just felt bold, and a little annoyed. All this dirty laundry in one room, everyone getting hot under the collar, trying not to glance at that one big blemish.

No, sir, not your blemish. I’m speaking figuratively. But now that you mention it, yours has been talked about too. Someone came up with the nickname Mr. Cornflake. I would’ve laughed at it if I only knew how.

You guys seem to be good at that though, and you’re having a good time doing it too. It’s obvious I’m not wanted here, so in that case, I’ll leave you all to it. Do with all this info what you will. And maybe get me a doggie bag full of all the peanut butter cookies none of you are eating.