Story: Rapture, Pt VI (and last)

I had reached the bottom of the broad stairway when, across the room, a great cheer began to go up. I peered across the multitude to see the reason for the sudden expression of joy. At first, I saw nothing. Then, I saw the top of a brown head of hair that looked instantly familiar. I worked my way through the crowd, trying to reach the head of hair.
It was not an easy task. Numerous people were milling around the person with the brown hair, all of them talking joyously. Finally, I was able to get close enough to hear the voice of the person with the brown hair.
"I'm looking for a friend of mine," the voice said. "He has sandy hair and is wearing a gray sweatshirt." It was the voice that I heard thousands of times as I was growing up. It was the voice that had rejoiced with me in my brighter hours and consoled me in my darker hours.
"Jeff!" I shouted, waving broadly.
"Hey, Jimson," he called back, walking up to me through the crowd. "Are you up for a party?"
"A party? Is that where you've been?"
Jeff shook his head. "I haven't been at a party, Jimson," he said; "I've been preparing one for my friends. Didn't you get my note?"
I pulled out the note. "Yes, it said you had something to do, but I was worried that you had gotten trapped in the blizzard."
Jeff laughed. "Well, don't worry about it, Jimson. I'm here now."
"Jeff!" Meghan exclaimed joyously, walking up to him from the couches.
"Hey, Meghan," Jeff said, hugging her. "It's time for the party."
"I'm ready," she replied.
We started out the door with about fifteen other people, all of whom were friends of Jeff. Before we made it to the door, a familiar voice crackled, "Just a minute there, sir." We all turned, and there stood the old man I had talked with on the balcony. The red tint on his face matched the color of his sweater, and a resentful flame burned in his eyes. "I've been up here for years," the septuagenarian continued, "and I know all about you, Mr. Jeff Bardot, although I admit I am surprised to find that you are real. Why am I not invited to the party? After all, I've been up here for years, and I know more about you than maybe even your closest friends. I should be invited, and it’s unfair that I’m not!"
Jeff looked somberly at the old man. "I don't know you, sir, and there is no extra room at this party. You've had years of chances to get to know me, but you took none of them. If you had talked to me sooner, I would have been able to prepare a place for you, but this party is for my friends only. I'm sorry."
He walked out the door, and we followed him.