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By Laurel Ahlfeld Date: 2009 Apr 05 Comment on this Work [[2009.04.05.23.40.20145]] |
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After the first date, I wasn't going to see you again. Actually, it wasn't really a date at all. It was a set-up. Invited out and conveniently left alone by mutual friends. You were so uncomfortable sitting across the table, barely looking me in the eyes. I couldn't understand a word in your thick accent over the music. We stumbled our way through conversation until the first pub closed. Everyone walked to the next bar of the night. You walked ahead of me with another guy. I remember thinking how great your jeans looked on you and couldn't I just have that instead of this complicated, bumpy night? And there was someone else in my life. Someone I promised forever to and broke his heart. I was trying to be the girl he needed me to be while my friends were trying to place me in your arms. I didn't go right up to you when we finally arrived at the bar. I hung back along a rail with my friends, but you turned around and asked me a question in your Portlaoise way and I had to get closer to understand. Would I like something to drink? Of course, I was broke and you were offering. I finally caught on to your accent. We talked about family and religion and music. All taboo subjects but what the hell. You bought my drinks. I remember laughing and touching your arm at something you said that wasn't really that funny. Your nerves disappeared. You thought you had me drunk enough to win. Really, you had me drunk enough to feel sorry for you. You walked me to my car. I held my shoes the whole way, but you found a way to hold my hand anyway. You looped your pinky through mine. It was cute. I gave you my number. You called. After the first date, I wasn't going to see you again. The first real date. Sort of. You asked what I was doing. I told you where you could find me. When you showed up, I was already two drinks in. You bought me another, even though I still had one in my hand. We talked about music. You loved Oasis. I liked Oasis. It was enough for you. You went on and on about them, and I humored you. My friend tried to save me by saying they ripped off the Beatles. The two of you fought it out, and I watched delighted from the sidelines. My friend stormed out saying how bad of a friend I was for not stepping in. I was alone again with you. We both kept drinking and we finally ran out of words. I thought about kissing you to fill the silence. You started to first though. It startled me wondering if I was so transparent, and I pulled away. You didn't give up that easily. All your friends were there watching. You came at me again, and I gave in. It was easier than talking. You were a sloppy kisser too, but I thought that could be worked on. Three drinks later, you made up some story about watching a dvd of a play you saw in South Africa to get me home with you. I was too drunk to drive and your place was close by. It was easier to go with you. I was too drunk to be taken advantage of. I passed out on the other side of the room from you but not before I noticed dried rose petals on your windowsill, a sign of someone else. I thought about asking, but it was easier to close my eyes. I woke to the sound of crackling and the smell of smoke. The apartment was on fire. I scrambled to wake you. We barely got out alive. As the paramedics tended to the tenants, you sat across the room from me. You didn't check on me. You lied to the firemen and said you didn't drink the night before. You said you didn't light any candles, which I hazily recall you did. And all I could think of was what if I had died in there with you never having told the boy who loved me what was going on. It would have been easier to walk away from you. I called him and told him what happened. He came over and held me all day. He slept next to me to keep me from crying out. I had nightmares for days. After the first date, I wasn't going to see you again. The first real date. You got my number from a friend after the fire. It had been a week. I was still having nightmares. You asked me to meet you to apologize. We met for a drink. It seems like we always met for drinks. You thanked me for saving your life, and I asked if we could never talk about it again. This time I liked who you were. I'd seen you at your worst, so now you had nothing to lose. You were genuine this time. You were sincere. You told me about the farm you were raise on. You told me I was the same height as your mom. You told me about being a prefect at your boarding school in Ireland and the universities you went to in Dublin and Galway. You talked about the clubs and hotels you worked in Rosslare and London. But the whole time a guilt was nagging in my mind about the boy who held me after knowing I was with another while you sat across the room not even asking if I was alright. I tried to push it away. I was really beginning to like you. You were staying in the hotel of the bar we drank in. You asked me up to your room. I said yes. I don't know why. My phone was on silent. The boy who loved me had been calling all night. I tried to silence my thoughts too as I surrendered myself to you. You whispered in my ear you wouldn't hurt me. I know now that was a lie. You asked me to stay, but I wouldn't. I drove home crying all the way. When I got home, something was different. Out of place. The boy had been here. My bedroom door was closed. I was too scared to go in. He would know. He would smell you on me. I locked myself in the bathroom and showered the guilt away crying into the stream of water spinning around the drain. When I got brave enough, I walked into my bedroom. The boy was not there. My guilt was pressing hard against my heart though. I told him the next day. After the first date, I wasn't going to see you again. But I did again and again. And now that it's over, I wonder if you're the only one who got out without getting burned. |