Paper Anniversary

The closer I got to the bar the more the crowd parted to let me through. I was like Moses, if Moses could part seas of over-sexed, under-experienced men. I'm aware it was probably less like that and more like I was wobbling so much people gave me a wide berth so I didn't knock their own questionable equilibrium off kilter. Either way I had my drink and they returned to the clump of sweaty humanity behind me.

I claimed a spot at the far outskirts of the dance floor. The music was shaking my fillings and reminding me that one can, in fact, feel internal organs if they're jostled enough. I took a cursory glance around to locate the friends I had come with. They were already lost; I was not upset. I was even less bothered when I caught the eye of a brunette swaying nearby. She smiled. I smiled. I held up my drink. She held up hers. I winked, because I was already buzzing hard. She did not, because winking is stupid when you're that age and she knew better than I did. I cringed at myself and turned away, nodding along to the music.

Moments later someone tapped my shoulder. I spun around. It was her.

“So you've come slumming?” I said, shocking myself with the flirtation or self-deprecation. I never could tell the difference.

“WHAT?”

Of course she couldn't hear me. I couldn't even hear me. I motioned for her to follow as I turned. I had no idea where I was going but I walked more or less toward the entrance, assuming (read: praying) we would happen upon a quiet place to talk.

Talk? About what? I don't have anything to talk about. This whole thing is getting out of hand. I need to stop. Abort!

Too late. We found a grouping of tall bar tables, mostly clean but all the way quiet. It was like we had stepped into a soundproof booth.

Had my ears stopped working?

“I'm Sarah.”

Ears still work.

“Paul.”

She sat gracefully. I however climbed into my chair like a toddler scaling his mom's leg. Perhaps I should cool it with the Red Bull and vodka, I thought. I didn’t of course. I downed the rest of it in one long pull as she looked on, either impressed or questioning her judgement. She was still looking when I slammed the glass down with more force than I had meant to. I winced. She smiled.

“So I haven't lost you yet, then?” I said.

“You had me?” I didn’t think I had, so I responded with a shrug. “Well, not yet. But the next time you go for a Red Bull and Grey Goose you better two.” She might have winked here. Or just had something in her eye. In my experience it's usually the latter.

“I'll make sure to do just that. So, Sarah, what do you do when you're not picking up buzzed strangers at a dance club?”

“Oh!” Her eyes went wide. “You're buzzed! Thank God! I thought you were having some sort of episode and I'd have to call 911.” She put another wink at the end of her sentence; the best kind of punctuation.

“Yeah. Did a little pregaming on the way. And earlier. And I guess kinda all day? Yikes! That sounds much worse now that I say it out loud.”

She tilted her head. “Having one of those kind of days?”

“Yeah.” I snorted. “Well, week. Month. Year?”

“Life!” Another smile. Another wink. I knew right then I'd be fucking this up in short order.

"Yeah, no,” she continued. “I get it. I had a hell of week myself.” She seemed to get slightly self-conscience. “It’s mostly why I'm here tonight. I don't really get out much. The girl I was standing with is a coworker of mine and she all but pulled me out of my apartment by the ear. She called me and was like 'Let's go get wasted and flirt with cute guys and get them to buy us drinks!' and before I could argue she hung up. She came banging on my door, tugged me to the El platform, and here we are.”

She had said a lot but I stopped listening after flirt with cute guys.

“Cute guys, huh? I'm flattered.”

“You're also buzzed and it took you far too long to get into that chair.” She sipped her drink, tinkling the ice in the almost empty glass. “And yes. Cute guys. In this case, that's you.”

“I guess that makes you the hot chick.” Whoops. I wondered if she saw me flinch as soon as that last k escaped my lips.

“Chick?" She considered this. Reached two slender fingers into the glass, extracted an ice cube, popped it in her mouth. Her nails were chipped pink and purple and glittery - she really hadn't planned on coming out tonight, not with three layers of old nail polish on. She crunched the cube. “But I'm hot, though?”

I wasn't sure how to respond so I shrugged again and hoped for the best. “Very.”

She smiled slightly, not quite trying to hide it but not exactly welcoming it either. “I'll take it.”

Bullet dodged.

“So, Hot Chick Sarah, what do you do?”

“Well, Cute Guy Paul, I'm a professional assassin and I poisoned your drink when you weren't looking. I hope that's okay.”

“Okay? Hell, it's great! I didn't realize I was famous enough for my death to be considered an assassination. I'm more popular that I realized.”

“Oh, I'm not that kind of assassin. At least not yet. I could be but the contract killer side of LinkedIn is very uppity and they expect you to have certain experience. Turns out I was lacking in the close proximity poison area of my chosen field. I'd like to thank you for your assistance.” She tipped her glass to me. “You know, while I can.”

“Fair enough. I mean, a girl has to get ahead in the world somehow after all. Just if you come across an online obituary for me can you please leave an anonymous comment about how dynamite I was in the sack?”

Sarah feigned offense. “That wouldn't be proper.”

“But offing me is totally acceptable?”

“Well, I just don't know how you are in the sack is all. Dynamite? I mean, maybe.”

I snorted a third time. “Is this where I ask you to get a nightcap and then something witty about how I can make sure you're not a liar when the time comes?”

Sarah bit the tip of her tongue and narrowed her eyes. “Yeah. It is.”

I hadn't expected that! And as if my body needed to prove it to the room and to her, at that exact moment I fell off my stool.

Hopefully no one else noticed. Sarah did though. She was trying to not wet herself with laughter. There was no point in trying to look suave. I got to my feet and mumbled a quiet ‘G'night' and turned to walk away.

“HEY!” I stopped dead. "Do you get out of bed the same way or is it cool that I have wood floors?”

I turned on my heels. “Do you treat every interaction like a meet cute in a movie?”

She didn't answer. Her eyes widened and focused on something behind me. Judging by the size of the burly gentleman with an earpiece who was quickly approaching us someone had seen my test of the laws of gravity and informed security. He probably required a size XXXL shirt but evidently all the venue had was a child's small. At least I hoped so. I hated to think all that was muscle.

“I believe the time has come to take our leave, Cute Boy Paul.” Before I could answer Sarah ducked under my arm and, slipping a hand around my waist, escorted me past the grumpy Buddha of a man with a well timed, “My brother just can't hold his liquor. Mom always said he was a lightweight.” I didn't look back to see his reaction.

The air in Chicago is rarely just right, but this evening was some kind of magical exception. Sarah and I found ourselves on the sidewalk outside, breathing in a mix of that Chicago air, cigarette smoke, and exhaust. In the late 90s and early 2000s this was as good as you'd get downtown and you knew how lucky you were to have it. You tried to focus and commit it to memory. Usually. Not this time though. Sarah was next to me and I could think of little else. I hadn't for a moment thought that this night would end in anything like...whatever this was. Or whatever this was about to be.

“So,” Sarah said, showing a slight bit of hesitation for the first time. “Still think you'd be dynamite in the sack even after a girl had to basically carry you out of a bar and down some stairs?”

"Not just any girl. My sister!”

She laughed. Hard. Almost doubled over laughing. Had I always been such a ladykiller?

“Okay. You can stop. I know it wasn't that funny.” I said.

Sarah straightened up and collected herself. “It was though. You're funnier than you give yourself credit for.”

“You've known me for all of like, what, twenty minutes?”

She extended a hand for me to shake. I did. “Well, then, Cute Boy Paul. Happy Twenty-Minuteversary.”

Damn it. She was good. And interested? I tried hard not to overthink it.

“What's the proper gift for a twenty minute anniversary?” I asked.

“Hmmm.” She licked her lips. I became jealous of them. “Paper,” she declared.

“I thought paper was for the first year.”

Sarah waved away my protestation with her small hand. “Well I just made a new rule that says it's paper. So there.” I couldn't argue that if I wanted to. And I did not want to.

“Paper. Well I don't have anything handy. I mean, I didn't expect to be celebrating any milestones tonight.”

“Fair enough. Here.” She dug into a small handbag I hadn't noticed before and handed me a pen and slip of paper. “I'll give you this paper, you write your number on it, then give it back to me.”

“So you want me to commemorate our twenty minute anniversary by regifting your own gift to me?”

“Technically it wouldn't be regifting. Once your number is on there that would become the gift.”

“My number is a gift? First time I've ever heard that.”

“Yeah, well, don't make me have to regift it to the cops and we'll be just fine.”

I didn't fight the smile that came. “Deal.”

I took the paper and pen, wrote my name and number. I handed it back.

“You wrote your name.” I detected a hint of condescension. Or not? “That's cute. Are you afraid I won't remember you?”

I shrugged. “What kind of sister would you be if you did?”

“The worst!” We both smiled. “But do me a favor?” I raised my eyebrows. “Let's agree to leave the brother and sister thing here. It would be super weird if we end up sleeping together.”

“Good call.”

She held my number between two fingers. “Hopefully, this will be a good call, too.”

“I think it will be.”

“Okay, Cute Boy Paul. I'm off to sleep, perchance to dream.”

“Of me.”

“Was that a request or a demand?”

“Whichever. Good night, Sarah.”

“Paul.”

We exchanged a lingering hug. I couldn't recall one that had more contact, from forehead to chest to toes. It made me warm.

She would call, for sure, I thought.

I don't know what she thought but I hoped my phone would ring sooner than later. And never not at all.