First One In, Last One Out

When we began closing up the lab, I heard a voice directed toward me. It came from a nearby group of colleagues who were planning on going out drinking after work. I guess they noticed I had overheard them, which is why they decided to include me. It felt like pity.

The invitation did not come all at once. It arrived in pieces, half-heard words, a chair scraping back, the quiet assumption that anyone nearby could come along if they wanted to.

Looking at them more closely, I began to feel uneasy. They reminded me of the typical rowdy crowd, the kind that tries to pregame getting drunk by getting drunk first. It was not my scene at all. I tend to prefer more comfortable places, without the peer pressure and loosened inhibitions.

Not that everything needs to be quiet and orderly. Just more relaxed. I like to think, to dream, to imagine new ways magic could improve the world. These memory readers are impressive, but what if they could draw on more than just the user’s recollection? What if they could replay events exactly as they happened, rather than how they were remembered?

I do enjoy talking to people, but with no one to truly confide in, I usually end up talking to myself in the comfort of my own home, the television on just to add some noise. A bar or a club, wherever they were planning on going, was not something I wanted to agree to, especially with so many people.

While I was still considering how I would decline, a senior researcher walked over and accepted their invitation for himself.

“A drinking party? As long as one of you is paying, I’m in,” he said enthusiastically. He then placed a hand on my shoulder, the way a supervisor might with a child while introducing them to someone important. I flinched at the contact before forcing myself to relax, though I am sure my discomfort was visible.

He turned to me with a smile and asked if I was joining as well. I lowered my head slightly and declined in an apologetic tone. The group shrugged it off and turned their attention back to him.

“Oh right, I almost forgot,” he added. “Didn’t I ask you earlier to run diagnostics on the new prototype? Once you’re done, feel free to stop by if you want.”

It was an obvious lie, and I had a pretty good idea why he told it.

As people clocked out and left, the group followed suit. The researcher stayed behind.

“Don’t worry about the diagnostics,” he said. “I just wanted to give you an excuse not to go. But next time, you should try attending something. Get out of your shell a bit. Talk to people, make some friends. Everyone here is good people, and they appreciate one another. That includes you.”

He gave my shoulder a quick pat before leaving, offering a final remark without turning back. “Keep up the great work. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The lights in the building slowly dimmed as the lab shut down. I stayed until the last of them went dark before standing up.

“First one in, last one out,” I muttered. “I’m glad to see some things never change.”

On my walk home, I passed by the place they had gone. Even more people from the lab had joined them. I wished I could find comfort in going. I am sure there is a way to enjoy being there, even without drinking. Still, if I looked like I was not having fun, I would only ruin the mood. It felt better not to go at all.

It was the time of year when the sun sank below the horizon far too early, but I loved the sight of the quiet city, illuminated by dim crystals beneath a violet sky. Moments like this always brought a sense of calm. The view was beautiful.

If only I could share it with someone. Then again, what right did I have to ask for that? I deserved to be alone.

My chest felt heavy, so I stopped at a vending machine and bought a chilled drink. They usually helped me relax. As I took a moment to breathe, I wondered if my life were different, would I still be me?

When I opened the door to my apartment, I was greeted by the warmth of a clean, empty home. I turned on the light, dropped onto the couch, and began replaying the day in my head. All the possibilities, and why I had chosen the best one.

Spending time with others does sound fun. I just don't know how. People always say to be yourself, but does that actually work? I doubt anyone would want to listen to me talk about scientific nothings or whatnot. If I had gone, my presence would have dampened the atmosphere. I was sure of it.

What the researcher said still bothered me. He was kind, but I doubt he even remembered who I was. When he mentioned the diagnostics, I was convinced he had confused me with someone else. I had already prepared myself to finish the work, assuming the other person would never show up. Only later did I realize it had all been a lie meant to help me escape.

If he truly wanted to help, he would have invited me to something smaller. Something calmer. He would have stayed by my side and helped me ease into it. Instead, he thought throwing me into the deep end would be enough. I do not decline invitations because I am antisocial. I decline them because I believe it is the right choice.

I can talk to people just fine. I do it often. The problem is that once a conversation ends, no one ever bothers to start another with me. I suppose I am partly to blame. I never reach out either, even though I treasure every exchange I have.

I do enjoy life. I am content staying this way. A life without dreams sounds unbearably bleak, so I dream of having friends, of understanding social expectations well enough to enjoy being part of a large group rather than only being able to talk with three to four other people at most.

But if that dream ever came true, what would I have left to wish for? What other dream would remain? Sometimes it feels safer to leave certain dreams unrealized, just to keep life from growing empty.

After getting ready for bed, I paused beneath the kitchen light, the only one still on, and felt doubt creep back in. Had I made the right choice back then? I steadied myself by reminding myself that it was too late to change anything now.

I stared out the window for a while, wondering if tomorrow would be the same as yesterday. A quiet laugh escaped my lips as I remembered asking myself the same question the night before.

I'm glad some things don't change, even though I so desperately wish that many of them would.