My Cardboard Balcony

This New Year's Eve by Belinda Roddie This New Year's Eve, I cut up potatoes, carrots, celery, and onions for soup, which I'd devour happily, my nose twitching at the delightful odor. Soon, we'd pour the champagne and sets out the sweets and salted nuts and chips. Soon, we'd cheer for the new year, despite the anxiety of what was to come: Politics, the world in chaos, polarized communities across the country. My fiancée was hundreds of miles away from me, with friends, waiting for confetti and fireworks. I hoped that this next year would not be too insane, but it would be crazy, I knew.

"Look, officer," I told the woman in blue, "my hands are clean. I gave you my alibi. I told you who could vouch for me. Yet I'm still in custody. So I have two questions: Am I going home, or am I going home?" The woman in blue said nothing. She stood there, frozen, moving her tongue across her upper lip. I suddenly felt a cold bolt of pain.