Clusterphobia

After two hours of being lost in a sea of noise and festivity, I began to feel a familiar feeling of suffocation - over a hundred people had gathered in the small bottle shop and they were overflowing with wine and good cheer, trendy fashions and the latest gossip. I began to watch the clock, trying to will the minutes away.

I've never done well in crowds, the pushing and shoving and shrieking laughter, the invasion of space and lack of breathing room bear down on me like weights. Even among friends and friendly faces, the urge to flee comes on strong, overcoming what few social instincts I have with an overwhelming need for quiet and solitude. I watch the crowd closing in on me like a swarm of angry bees and their faces dim, their smiles twist into leers. The noise and the chatter escalate as more and more people arrive and soon everyone is shoulder to shoulder - I think you could walk across them and not fall through. At the counter, a short and chubby little man takes a roll, piles it with roast beef and spreads it liberally with horseradish, then after a cautious look around, slips it into his jacket pocket. The silliness of this small act eases some of my tension and I can't help but laugh - the laughing helps me realize that I'm overreacting and I relax, take a second look at the crowd, and regroup. The swarm of insects slowly turns into a roomful of innocent party goers, a little careless, a little loud, a little too packed together, but harmless.

Even so, at the stroke of eight, I find a path through the revelers and make for the door, the cold night air, and the emptiness of the parking lot. Here there is stillness and room to move about, here there is quiet and dark and open space where I can hear my own thoughts and smile at my own faults and prejudices. Away from the crowd, I find myself again and am glad to see me.