Sarah with an H…

I met Sarah and her friend when I was out with Joe in Chicago. He had come to visit me and I wanted to take him to a special bar; One I hadn’t been to since my night with Vivian. It was called Exit, and on Thursdays they had Dominatrixes. Volunteers could be tied up to a fence upstairs while the dominatrixes whipped them. I told Joe beforehand that I had been working on an Irish accent for a few weeks and was going to go the whole night as such.

Of course I had to meet someone that night.

Sarah, with an h, and her friend Sam sat down beside us. Of course a little Irish charm got them talking, and before we knew it we found ourselves in a booth, watching Joe get whipped by a few strong girls. We hung out for the rest of the night, and Sarah told a story about a blowjob gone wrong by a dog shitting on the carpet, to which she added the detail that she is great at blowjobs. I was, of course, enticed, despite the fact that most girls say that they’re great at blowjobs, but are dead wrong. We kissed at the end of the night and I got her number. Joe, meanwhile, was stuck with Sam, whom he was not fond of, yet his indifference got the better of him.

They said they were on their way back to Virginia in a few days and I made sure to get ahold of them the next night during live band karaoke. They showed up late and we went to a nearby liquor store to pick up a bottle of rum followed by a stroll across the beach. Sarah and I discussed her ex boyfriend and the reason for her spontaneous trip to Chicago. I, of course, seemed to attract broken girls. It was probably due to being broken myself. Regardless, we ended up having sex at my apartment that night. I thought that was it. She left the next morning with her friend. Not ten minutes after she walked out of my bedroom Joe walked in, flipping me off.

“Fuuuck you.” he said before shutting the door. I tried to fall back asleep, but he reentered with Sam’s ID, Debit card, and ten dollars. I pocketed the ten and called up Sarah, having her swing back around so she could collect her friend’s information. Joe told me later that day that Sarah had come into the living room to wake her friend up. Upon not waking, Sarah began punching her in an attempt to get her up. After what felt like a long enough time Joe chimed in, saying in perfect unison with one of my newfound craigslist roommates walking out of their bedroom, “Get up you stupid bitch.”

Probably a poor first impression on my part. Either way, it seemed that said roommate didn’t notice, as she never said anything about it. Then I thought that was it. I found a necklace that belonged to Sarah on my floor that day, and kept it as an heirloom. Funny story… We had a moment; a movie moment. It was special.

Why did I have to ruin it?

Whilst Nolan and I were on a road trip across the country, I brought up the idea of texting the Virginia girls and seeing if they’d put us up for a few nights. I could even give Sarah her necklace back! How romantic.

We couldn’t have picked a worse time.

Upon arrival Sarah was practically on her death bed with the flu, and when I gave her the necklace back she told me it only cost a few dollars so it wasn’t a big deal. There it went. All that romanticism, that movie moment, an eternity wrapped in a second, and I fucking ruined it by trying to get laid again. Not to mention I had to turn my Irish accent back on after three months of absence, and keep it on for two days. What an asshole I was. She probably wouldn’t have cared about that either.

I’m sure I was found out at some point, and I’m more than sure that I became all too real to Sarah to be that handsome Irish man who swept her off her feet in Chicago, where she just may have found what she’s looking for. The more you know about a person, the less appealing they become. Maybe I’m being egotistical, not that it matters. Either way it ends poorly for me because I have to deal with a negative outcome. I was most disappointed about the necklace. That was special to me. It wasn’t special to her.

She thought it was so cool that I had brought it, but not nearly as impactful as I had hoped. It was silver colored and seemed a collection of leaves strung together. It reminded me of a good night with a loving, lost woman. It reminded her of probably nothing. When a leaf falls from a tree I think of her. I think of that time together and my mixed feelings of deception about my heritage. Then I think of how I ruined anything and everything magical about that night by showing my presence once more. All of a sudden I was just another guy, and she was just another girl. Our moment had been seared off by the longevity of another.

One day I may be walking through Central Park on a cool fall day. I hope I shall be walking along Central Park along a cool fall day. A large gust of wind shall burst and I’ll be swarmed by a small tornado of orange and brown leaves, being engulfed by my wonderful first act with a Indie-lovin’ woman from Virginia Tech. I’ll bask in the glory of what was intended to be a one night stand and can only hope that, before my mind moves on to the weekend with Nolan, a terrorist explodes himself and half of the lower Central Park area, destroying us both in an instant, leaving little to mark our existence than a mutilated park bench and two mauled bodies. At least I’ll die an Irish born brother temporarily in love with a sweet girl who didn’t know which way was up.


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