Burying her face in the pillow, Sara rolled onto her stomach and away from the sunlight streaming through the window. She let out a low sigh, willing herself to fall asleep again. Oh, glorious, luxurious sleep. It had been weeks since she had slept in past six, and it was nice to feel so lazy. As she lay awake, breathing slowly, her thoughts continued to circulate on the time. No, no, no, she chastised herself; once you look at the clock you’re going to be fully awake.
But curiosity overtook her and she rolled onto her side, slowly opening one eye and then the other, glancing to where the bedstand should have been, upon which the alarm should have been located, which would have told her the time. But that wasn’t what she saw.
Instead she saw a man’s back, with the sheet pulled up over his shoulders. And the sheets were blue striped – definitely not hers. And the room was painted an antique white – not the walls of her bedroom. Where the hell was she?
Immediately Sara’s pulse skyrocketed to 200 beats per minutes, and the increased blood flow triggered the vessels in her head to begin pounding at a frenetic bass drum beat. She grabbed at her forehead with both hands, grimacing in pain, as she popped up into a sitting position. She had to force herself to keep from groaning. She couldn’t wake the man next to her until she at least figured out where she was.
Sara brought her breathing under control and glanced around the room. Beyond the bed, she could see a trail of clothes leading out the door. Head still throbbing, she glanced at the man next to her before carefully slipping her legs out from under the sheets and making a mad run-squat dash along the bed, scoping up every article of clothing she could find. There were boxes in the room and she hop-skipped to avoid them.
Not knowing whether there were roommates in the apartment and not wanting to be caught in the hallway naked, Sara slid across the hardwood floor and into the bathroom in one long stride, pulling on pieces as she went. The shirt went on backwards and inside out, and her panic level rose as she ripped it off and corrected the problem. Time was of the essence. The rest of the clothing that wasn’t hers she left on a pile next to the toilet. She glanced at herself in the mirror and stopped in surprise as she noted her makeup still looked presentable – no running mascara or smudges of eyeliner. She made a note to thank her Mary Kay sales rep. Only her hair had been tousled around into a shaggy mess, so she quickly finger-combed it, scooped a mouthful of water from the tap, and then tiptoed back into the hallway.
In the bedroom, her companion had now wrapped himself in the sheets, one arm stretched across the area she had just vacated Sara tried to get a look at him as she circled the bed once more, searching for her purse, which she found under the window, but his face was buried in the pillow and she couldn’t see his face. His? Him? Who? Who was he? What was his name? Name?
Sara made her way slowly to the living room, forcing herself to remember where she started the previous evening – it was with Kim at Crowley’s Tavern. There were a group of men next to them who, as the night progressed, became more interesting and attractive. She recalled that the one in the bed had been the one she had talked baseball with. Alex? No, she was thinking ARod. Jim? John? Jason? Justin. Get off the Js, she forced herself. Think, think. Sitting at the bar, talking baseball, baseball, drank a couple shots of whiskey. His favorite kind. Jack Daniels? No. What was it? That other bottle, with the white label. Makers Mark was a bottle on the shelf. Maker’s Mark - that was it. Mark? Mark. Was that his name? Yes, it was Mark! His favorite whiskey was also his name! She nearly let out a giggle of relief, but held it in. Such a stupid victory should not be celebrated. So it must have been Mark who continued to sleep.
Sara groaned. It must have been Mark in the bed. But the name of her boyfriend of two year was John. She felt nauseous.
She made her way to the front door, head still pounding. She would stop at a coffee kiosk on the way
Just then the front door opened and she came face to face with Aaron, John’s roommate, dressed in shorts and a t-shirt, dripping seat from his daily five mile run. “Hey,” he tapped his knuckles against her shoulder as he brushed past her, “heading
Sara stood motionless for a moment, shock freezing her in place. “What? Where am I?” She glanced around the room, noticing more boxes stacked along the walls.
Aaron let out a laugh, pulling off his shirt and wiping down his chest and arms. “Where are you?” he repeated. “You must still be drunk. This is our new place. Remember – John and I moved in here yesterday?” He moved to the kitchen and turned on the tap, then opened a cabinet and slammed it shut again. “Shit. Didn’t unpack the glasses.” So he leaned forward and drank directly from the faucet.
Sara still stood immobile, relief beginning to flood her body. “Was there some guy named Mark at the bar?”
Aaron laughed again. “You mean those tools hitting on you and Kim? Could’ve been a Mark there, but once we got there they took off and we weren’t introduced.”
Sara let out an audible sigh. Aaron threw his wet, sweaty shirt at her head. “You better go back to bed.”