Me and My Big Mouth

The weekend did not start well. The original plan was for Sarah Jean to arrive Saturday afternoon, we'd spend some time together doing whatever, go to Scott's party on Sunday, and she'd leave early Monday that she could do some stuff at home with her friends. I managed to talk my way out of attending her Monday event by pointing out that I was scheduled to work on Tuesday and offering to attend the next holiday type even by her. Sarah Jean has access to trans-continental craft as well as a generally more open schedule so it's easier for her to visit me than me her. While she could have taken me home with her Monday and gotten me back that night, she'd end up missing out on too much by ferrying me around.

We had a good plan, until she got delayed by work and didn't make it to Milwaukee until Sunday morning. She was able to inform me of the delay so I wasn't worried about her in that regard. If she hadn't been able to make it at all, it's not as if I still couldn't go to the party. The problem was only that  I had been looking forward to seeing her on Saturday so the delay made me miss her that much more.

You would think that, since I missed her so, I'd just be happy to see her when she arrived Sunday morning and all would be well. Looking back I'd think that as well. I certainly should have been. I must have been agitated over missing her or nervous about mixing her with my old friends or something because she was barely in the house for five minutes before I went and said something stupid. Yes, I know, I lasted as long as five minutes before doing something dumb, a new record. Ha ha.

“You're not going to wear that, are you?”

Why did I suddenly care? Friend Patrick wouldn't have said anything. Friend Patrick would have just smiled, walked around grinning like an idiot, gone to the party, snickered with his buddies, and gone home again. So why did Boyfriend Patrick have to say something? I'm not sure.

Maybe it was concern about how her style would reflect on us. Maybe it was some sudden concern about what people would think of me, something I thought I'd successfully dismissed. Maybe I was concerned about how it would make her look and I meant to help. Maybe I just figured she'd hear me think it and I should just get it out of the way now. All I know is that the words slipped out and I immediately regretted saying them.

Sarah Jean gave me a Look. “Why?” It was not a question asked with sweetness and wonder; it was a question asked with menace and threat.

I had started this fight, accidentally perhaps but I had started it. I had no good answer to her demand for information. It wasn't as if my good-natured sweetheart had arrived dressed in garb more suitable for an exotic dancer or a bondage queen. Nor was she over or under dressed for the gathering or the weather, so I couldn't really blame my comment on that, although in retrospect I really should have done. “It's just a little on the tight side,” I tried to note in a light, casual, friendly way.

Sarah Jean's expression grew hotter and colder at the same time, a truly impressive sight if not focused upon you. “Are you trying to say I'm putting on weight?”

This threw me for a loop. If I wasn't fumbling and backpedaling before, I certainly was now. That was not what I was trying to say at all. I tried to express myself but managed only fragments of speech.”No. What? Huh?”

She folded her arms. “What are you trying to say Patrick? Spit it out, no thinking it.”

“I know my friends and I know how we react to women and I'm just concerned that they'll enjoy your company in the wrong way.”

She observed me for a moment. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“Just trying to look out for me?”

“Yes.”

“You should have said that.”

“Yes.”

Slowly her arms unfolded and the intensity faded. “Okay. I can believe that.”

“I mean, I want to show you off to my friends but I don't want to 'show you off' to my friends,” I tried to explain.

“I got it. You can stop now.”

“Good, good.” We headed for the door. I caught a different angle of her as I opened the door. “You know, that shirt's a little low cut.”

That's when she hit me. I have have deserved that. Maybe not.

It's Agreed

As it turned out we had nothing planned for the Sunday afternoon of Scott's party. That did not necessarily mean that Sarah Jean was keen to go. “It's nothing against your friend,” she reassured. “I'm sure he's nice. I just won't be comfortable. I won't know anybody.”

“You'll know me,” I noted helpfully.

“You know what I mean,” she exasperatedly responded.

I was politely confused. “You're such a friendly, outgoing person that I didn't think it would be an issue.”

“That doesn't mean I can't be shy sometimes,” she protested.

“Are you scared to meet my old friends?” I teased.

“Were you scared to meet mine?” she countered.

I considered that concept. “Not really but I probably should have been.”

“See?”

I pushed onward. “It'll be fun. Besides we won't have to stay long if you're uncomfortable.”

“You just want to show me off to your friends,” she declared.

I had a clever response to that comment. “Well duh.”

An Invitation

“Dude, what're you doing for Memorial Day?” I pondered Scott's question for a moment. Should I be doing something that weekend? Do I need to be doing anything that weekend? I'm horrible at remembering my personal schedule. As a result, I said that I'd have to check with Sarah Jean.

“Who's that?” When I responded that she was my girlfriend, which still sounds weird to say for some reason, he reacted with surprise. “Really? Good for you man. Was starting to think Heather messed you up too much. Not that you didn't like girls or anything like that, just that you maybe didn't trust 'em anymore or somethin'. Know what I mean?”

I assured him that I did. “Alright then. You check with her and stop by if you can. You know where the home is now. It'd be nice to see you again, especially if you have a pretty gal with you. Then I don't haveta look at your ugly mug so much.”

I laughed at his joke and he chuckled knowing that I wasn't offended. How could I be offended? Sarah Jean's much easier to look at than me. I see myself in the mirror all the time and it's not at all interesting a visage. “Alright boss, see ya soon.”

What Do You Mean, Sarah Jean Who?

Chris was pondering this information. “Have I met this young lady?” I gave him a strange look. They'd met many times before, mostly at my house. After reminding him of that fact, he exclaimed “Oh, that Sarah Jean.”

I raised an eyebrow in surprise. “You thought I might know two redheaded young ladies with the somewhat unique name of Sarah Jean?”

Chris remained calm of voice but distressed in expression. “It should come as little surprise that I am not terribly familiar with what passes for popular names these days. My focus is elsewhere.”

“It's not like I'm dating a child here,” I protested.

“To me she might as well be,” he informed. “My perspective on such matters is different from yours. At my age you are but a babe yourself. Are you even thirty yet?”

“Soon enough,” I bemoaned.

“Yes, well, get back to me when you crest one hundred. We'll discuss age again at that point,” he expressed. After I teased him about being crotchety tonight, he admitted it was so. “I may well not be the best of company at the moment. Julia has not been well of late, nothing serious mind, but she has needed some time off from duties to recuperate. The tear in reality proved to be most distressing. I am not quite sure I've recovered from that circumstance.” Out of concern and curiosity, I asked for more detail on his reality tear story but he waved me off. “I fear I have no tale of action as you do Patrick. I was physically aware of the rend. It pulled and tore at me in a significant manner. Most distressing.”

“I'm sorry I didn't check on you sooner. I didn't know,” I apologized.

“I did not wish the information to become public while I was laid low so that my enemies might consider taking advantage.”

“There is that,” I agreed. “Still I could have brought you the vampire equivalent of chicken noodle soup or something.”

Chris smiled. “A kind offer but I think you would consider the 'vampire chicken soup' rather unpleasant.”

He's probably right.

Trying to Make Things Better

After that round of activity and some white soda Sarah Jean felt better enough that she let me move her to the bed. By the time I had her tucked in, safe and sound, Ms. Romero returned with silky pajamas and the offer of assisting Sarah Jean with the process of changing into them if I was not competent enough to do so myself. Now comfortable and reclined, she politely turned down this offer. Ms. Romero cooed warmly over Sarah Jean, offering to leave them behind in the event that she changed her mind.

While her manner over Sarah Jean was apologetic but normal, her expression upon turning away was sad and wracked with guilt. I watched this pain from my position curled up in the comfy chair in the corner that I had taken as my own. As I observed her, I decided enough was enough. Before Ms. Romero could leave the room, I rose in order to thank her for the offer, as well as the non-alcoholic beverages she had brought us in order to rehydrate Sarah Jean. My kind words were taken as the forgiveness they were mean to be and were responded to with a big hug of thanks. I don't know what I've done to deserve her friendship or that of her husband but they seem to mean well enough, even if they show it in strange ways.

With the mood thusly lightened and Ms. Romero once again departed, I decided I'd check on Sarah Jean. Coherency and control were returning to her in small stages. Carefully I brushed a piece of hair from her face. “Need anything while I'm up? More water maybe?” She moaned and turned away from me. “Something wrong?” I asked the question before I could really think about it. It was a dumb question in a lot of ways. I knew something was wrong, she obviously was in a great deal of physical discomfort, but what I wanted to know was more specific to this action on her part. I was tired. This was made more clear by my equally simple follow-up question. “How can I help?”

She responded but these words were lost in the pillow. My request for repetition just made things worse. Pain in her voice, she directed “Don't look at me.”

I was confused. I sat on the edge of the bed and leaned towards her, causing her to bury herself further into the pillow. “Why not?” I innocently asked.

“I look hideous,” was her explanation.

This made no sense to me. “You look fine to me.”

“I do not,” she protested, the sound of tears appearing in her voice. She sniffed, mucus bubbling in her nasal passages. “My makeup's all over the place and I'm all snotty and just leave me alone.”

I tried to rest a reassuring hand on her shoulder but she shrugged it off. For a moment I sat there watching her bury herself in a pillow in the center of this large bed, almost out of my reach. Her red hair may have been wild and scattered, but it still glowed and glistened in the light. Learning in, I tried to touch her again bit as soon as my fingers contacted her, she flinched again to remove me, muttering as she did so.

Eventually I can take a hint. She wanted me to leave her alone. “Okay. Fine. Sleep well. Feel better.” I stood up to return to my comfy chair and there paused. “As you sleep, take this thought with you. I watched you be sick and I still think you're beautiful.” Quickly I leaned in and kissed her on the back of the head. Got hair in my mouth and everything. That done, I could head to the chair in peace, departing from that goal only to dim the lights.

Curling up in my comfy chair, I found that it reclined, quite the bonus. As I leaned back, I hoped that she would fall asleep before me as I'm told I snore a bit. “Patrick?” I grunted my response to Sarah Jean's request. “Thank you.” I muttered back a tired “Welcome” in response. It was a particularly comfy chair.

Hair Holder

Thankfully making contact with Sarah Jean's hair didn't seem to be enough to fully activate our connection. I really didn't want to experience the situation any more than I did. So, thank goodness for that at least.

When the purging was complete, she moaned and groaned as she resisted my efforts to help her up, choosing to curl up on the bathroom floor instead. Unfortunately being familiar with her general situation, I let her rest there for the moment.

Now that all was mostly quiet in the suite and my mind was functional again, it was easy for me to hear the door unlock and open. I hurried to investigate, finding Ms. Romero in the bedroom, wearing her robe of soft slippery material, and looking a bit put out. “I was unaware that this would be so complicated. You should be naked by now. Do you require help? I can help.”

“That won't be necessary,” I coldly informed her. “Sarah Jean's not feeling very well at the moment.”

Concern appeared on Ms. Romero's face. “She is not?”

“No she's not. She appears to be a bit drunk at the moment. I don't suppose you'd know anything about that.”

She paused, guilt mixing in with the concern on her face. “I just provided her with wine. I was just trying to help. Sarah Jean said...”

I interrupted. “I'm sure she said a lot a things once the wine got to her. I mean, did you think me incapable to getting her drunk if that was my goal?”

Ms. Romero wilted in the heat of my anger. “Patrick, I am so sorry. This is not what I meant to have happen at all. Please believe me.”

She seemed close to tears and that ate at my indignation. I tried to not let it show. “Yes. I'm confident I know what you meant to have happen.” From the corner of my eye, I saw Sarah Jean fight to get up and I knew she didn't mean to join in the conversation, not in that way anyway. Moving back towards the bathroom, I noted “We'll get out of your hair once she settles down.”

Ms. Romero half followed me. “Please, stay the night. Let her rest. The ride in the car will not be pleasant at this point.” After a pause, she added “I will fetch soda water.” I heard her depart.

I didn't answer. I was too busy holding hair.

Spin Room, Spin!

Being locked in was not an immediate concern. It was not as if my brain said 'what? Locked in a bedroom with a beautiful but drunk woman? I must escape before things become problematic!' My thoughts were more along the lines of 'I noticed that? How did I notice that? The room is all spinny. Whee!' as I lay on the foot of the bed.

Sarah Jean rolled into me, deliberately I think. I took it as an attempt to upgrade our 'arm around her' back to the 'side hug' that I'd been enjoying while we were standing. “Hi.”

“Hullo yourself,” I slurred just enough to notice. “How you doin'?”

“I doin' great,” she informed. I felt her smile rather than saw it. She has a very potent smile which makes it glow and you can feel its warmth. “Patrick. You know what?”

“Chickenbutt?” I checked.

She giggled and swatted at me with her slightly free hand. “No. We're in a bedroom.” This was true, an excellent observation to be able to make while in her condition. “We're lying on a bed.” This also was an accurate statement and I congratulated her for making it. “You know what we should do?”

“Take a nap?” I was beginning to tire of the spinnyness of the room. A nap should fix that problem.

She giggled again.”No,” she said, managing to give a two letter word three syllables. She also started tickling me. Quickly her drunken mind recalled the location of my particularly ticklish spots and I was fighting to stop her. The combination of spinny room and tickle was not a very pleasant experience. Suddenly she caught a sensitive area, I jumped severely, and we were separated.

Clarity snapped back into place. I became coherent so quickly that it hurt. When your thought process snap from snail's pace back up to normal, I suppose that will happen. Thoughts and concerns flooded into my brain, only to disappear back into the fog as Sarah Jean climbed atop me. As she giggled, she made contact with me and the world became easier to deal with once again.

“There you are silly,” she slurred. Curled up atop me, she leaned in and kissed me.

When she pulled back, her expression looked significantly changed, much more green than before. As the feeling of nausea began to roll over me as well, she staggered away from me, heading for the attached bathroom.

At least this time I was better prepared for the pain of separation. I fought my way to my feet to follow her, aware that the gentlemanly thing to do under the circumstances would be to assist Sarah Jean with her long hair. Holding my head, I muttered “Nice to know that kissing me makes you sick.”