Ten!

The flakes that descend around me are slow-falling. It's like we are experiencing time at different speeds.

Nine!

Giving my champagne flute a swirl, I join in on the countdown. "Eight! Seven! Six! Fi-"

A voice in my ear gives me pause and my smile falters in my confusion.

"Alicia?" the voice calls. It's right in my ear but I whip my head around to find no one that isn't in the thrall of the ball-drop.

Four! The crowd is reeling now, their energy infectious.

"I really think we can do so much better," the voice says.

Three! I close my eyes and just focus on listening. Maybe I can single out the disembodied messenger easier without all the distraction.

Two! I hold my breath, though I don't mean to.

"How about we try again?"

ONE! There is an eruption of cheers that causes me to jump right out of my skin. I clutch the delicate drink glass to keep from letting it slip from my shaky grip, spilling the contents onto my wrist. I'm distracted by every light and every sound as Auld Lang Syne joins the cacophony of joy and fireworks flash and pop in celebration.

Everyone is immersed in the moment together. Everyone is hopeful. I look around, feeling off. Is it me or is it them?

I look harder, searching for a tell. Searching for what the words could mean. Then I see it. Enormous numbers that shine so bright I have to squint. It must be a typo. But it's not. The same number is plastered on every surface, on the napkins, on the novelty glasses adorned by kissing couples and hooting partiers.

2020.

The message, somehow ominous and full of promise at the same time, echoes through my mind as a number, representative of days gone past, staring back at me. So much potential but I can't be bothered with responsibility. I'm already in action.

Tears well in my eyes as I fumble to set my mostly empty flute down somewhere, anywhere, so I can get to my phone. I rest it on the floor, desperate in my actions as I dumbly pat myself down to locate my cell. Tremoring hands wrangle the device free from my overcoat to smash the thumbprint icon.

Fingerprint doesn't match.

"Not now!" I screech, crowd forgotten. Who are these people anyway? The people from 'now' or the people from then? It doesn't matter. None of them matter.

I spam the thumbprint reader until I get a positive response. My phone unlocks and I scroll down to an abandoned text thread. I hadn't been able to bring myself to delete it. Hesitance builds within me. It tears me up inside to think this could be an elaborate hoax, my mind breaking, anything but what it appears to be.

One more affirmation of my surroundings before I hit the green phone icon. My heart is racing in my chest as the line rings.

And then, a familiar voice. One I could never forget, even without that precious voicemail.

My voice cracks. "...Dad?" 

WC 513

Dedicated to HEC - you'd be my first call.