Standard Time

Outside, the neighborhood smelled like imitation grape candy. So this is the new scent of laundry?

They said four, we're fashionably late, Brian said, pushing open the gate.

All set, Sylvia said, fluffing her hair checking her lipstick in the visor mirror. She climbed out of the passenger seat holding the bottle of wine with a red ribbon tied at the neck.

Every shrub and lawn was manicured to perfection. To lunacy. New England's version of Beverly Hills. Is this what they want? It's a mask, she told herself. I grew up in a town like this. I hated it. I still hate it. Give me urban walk-able colorful noisy diverse, give me ghetto!

Sylvia, come join us, Vanessa said, trying too hard. We're talking about breathing. The book I'm reading is amazing. It's called Breathe! How to become wealthy successful well-rested and stay young by breathing right.

Eh, I always sleep with my mouth open, Sylvia said, dipping the broccoli floret into the baba ghanoush.  I drool too. Vanessa's husband Marvin snickered, sipping his scotch. Ah yes the dirty mind. Sylvia always got there first.

Just duct tape your mouth closed! Vanessa suggested, pouring more sangria into her own glass. She slipped an orange slice in, splashing a little wine onto the white tablecloth. It will force you to breathe through your nose. Her silver bangles clanked against the blue blown-glass pitcher. Vanessa wore a turquoise mu-mu print dress imported from India. Her arms were tan.

Sylvia pictured herself in bed with Marvin, her mouth covered in silver duct tape. The room illuminated by moonlight. No thanks she thought. That's violent. That's insane. This is why she hated parties. The hostess thinks she's a genius. Sylvia thinks she's rude. One year Sylvia arrived came on time and was handed a vacuum cleaner. She was never on time again after that.

On the drive home Sylvia asked Brian, did you hear what she said about the duct tape?  Well, she's always been a little psychologically violent raising her daughter, Brian said. This is how she thinks.

And she's just a genius because it's her flagstone patio and her guacamole.

You can always have your own party, Brian said

I hate parties! Sylvia said as they turned off the highway. The digital clock in the car glowed. 

It's 1AM she said.

Standard time, it's actually midnight.