sarah-crossed

I have never had any success with girls named Sarah.  I’m convinced it’s a curse.

In 2nd grade, I gave my first Sara a ring from a quarter machine.  The ring was taped to a standard “Yes or No” note.  The ‘no’ came back almost immediately.  I should have taken this as a bad omen and moved on.  But it was 2nd grade; I didn’t know what an omen was.

In high school, I spent my whole senior year chasing another Sarah.  In a shocking twist of fate, she asked me to prom.  Eat that, Fate.  Shortly before the dance ended, she left with her older boyfriend who didn’t want to go to prom but also didn’t want her to go with anybody he considered a threat to his boyfriendhood.

I guess I fit that bill.

College was a network of Sarahs.  One had the same last name as me.  Little weird.  On our third date we were fooling around when she clicked on the lamp and told me she was bored.

Sarah L and I became friends because she thought my friend Steve was creepy.  Then she dated Steve.  Then I became her confidant.  We all know how far guys get with girls who consider them a ‘confidant.’

Sarah D was a roommate of a friend.  Things were fairy tale until I kissed her goodnight after a date.  Apparently that was too serious of a commitment.

Sarah G and I worked together.  There’s nothing I wouldn’t drop to help her out.  Sarah G is the textbook girl that never knows you exist.  She is the Molly Ringwald to my Jon Cryer.  I think.  I’ve never seen “Pretty in Pink.”  I had to double check the plot on Wikipedia.  It looks like they get together at the end so he still fared better than I.

On my birthday, I turned down 2 women fighting to sleep with me so that I could take her home and put her to bed after she drank too much.  On her birthday, she barely noticed I was there.  I had it.  I gave up.  I started chatting up a nice blonde.  Sarah ran into a friend of mine by the bathroom, overheard her telling someone that I was in love her.  Sarah started crying.  Her on-again-off-again jerk boyfriend had made an ass of himself earlier and now she knew the truth about me.  She walked over to my bar table.  I thought she looked like she had been crying but I tried to ignore it.

“I’m killing it with this chick,” I told her.  “But I think she has a boyfriend.”

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” she replied.

“I…was talking about her,” I said, pointing to the blonde.

“Oh.”

That was that.  The next day, I found out the whole story.  I tried calling Sarah but it was too late.  I had blown it.  Again.

Then there’s the tale of Sarah C.  My muse.  My female doppelganger.  My Juliet.  Sarah and I met our freshman year.  We were both only children, we both lost our moms to cancer months apart, and we both had the same sense of humor.  Of all the Sarahs–of all the women I’ve ever met–Sarah was the most beautiful.  And she never even tried to be.  She woke up and looked like an angel.

Around my birthday, I got brave and told Sarah how I felt.  She didn’t reciprocate.  Angrily, I told her I didn’t want to speak to her again.

Juvenile.  Foolish.

A month later, over Christmas break, her mom passed away.  I was too prideful to attend the funeral.  It was only after returning to school that I had to face her.

I assure you, I’d never felt so selfish in all my life.  Disgusted with myself, I apologized and told her I was there for her no matter what.  Of course she was there for my mom’s funeral; a much better friend than I.

But she had also come back from Christmas break with something else:  a boyfriend.  They were together far too long.  But then he dumped her–I couldn’t imagine why.  But I shaped up.  I started working out.  I did everything I could to ride the wave between best friend and boyfriend.  Next year, sophomore year, was going to be different.  I was going to get the girl.  Curse be damned.

I introduced her to Dustin.  Her current husband.  My best friend.  I guess that was one way to go about it.

This Sarah lives in every character I write, every loss I pen, every love story I outline.

Like I said, she’s my muse.  Just not in the way you might think.

Will she be my last Sarah?  Probably not.  I’m a slow learner and a glutton for punishment.

But, just so you know, I’m well aware of The Sarah Curse.

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