Sarah and The Circles

 

 

 

                     

 

 

A First Draft

 

Sarah and the Circles!

 

 

            The subway entrance shuddered like lovers in the final throes of passion, groaned and with what seemed a final push, a steady stream of sweat drenched humanity emerged. The detrained passengers, like cells dividing, broke up and went on with their individual lives. Sarah Lomax quickly separated herself and let the evening breeze, as she walked, enter the pockets of her clothing and cool her down.

 

            As Sarah walked West from 145th Street to Jake's Bar, she looked at the surrounding neighborhood made stark by a glaring evening sun which caused her to squint as silently complained to herself about why she agreed to meet at Jake’s Bar? Why couldn't they ever meet some place nice, she wondered?

 

            To blot out the tenements that stood like war weary sentinels flanking her route, Sarah looked straight ahead, and, though tired, controlled the sway of her hips. She knew the neighborhood and expected to be approached by some man whose brains were below his belt. It came with the territory, she shrugged. But Sarah was more tired than usual and didn't want to be bothered this evening. She felt confrontational.

 

            Sarah walked on. Her pace was stiff and unnatural. She focused on nothing in particular. She thought of Paul. Her shadow grew longer. Twice, she thought, I fell for the same man. The same old line. There was Richard in between, but it didn't work. I must be a glutton for punishment! 

 

            Sarah was angry with herself and determined to change the way things were going in her life. With each step she took, her resolve grew, strengthened; so that with each step she thought, I've got to stop this; I've got to end this, I've got to. But with the momentarily new and strengthened resolve, she did not say “I will end this thing.”

 

            Sarah continued West to Jake's knowing that if she could end the affair tonight, the-almost-steady succession of empty nights she now spent by herself would increase. And she would be even more alone than she was now. She knew Paul's smile would haunt her as much as being alone would haunt her. It was his smile that ensnared her, much the way a spider's web traps and holds its unsuspecting victim. It was a rainy afternoon when she had run under Gamble's awning trying to avoid getting wet where she had met Paul for the first time.

 

            And now his smile seemed to hang always mockingly just above her head like a Cheshire cat. Intuitively, Sarah knew the hope of love that had been promised by Paul and never realized, or the love he might lie about this evening about being in their future had vanished completely, without a trace of its ever having been there. But Sarah denied the emerging thought and pushed it out of her mind.

 

            Her pace momentarily slowed. I can't go on like this, but I don't want to be alone. Two teen-aged boys wearing oversized clothing approached Sarah.

            "Hey, Sister, you sure lookin' good," the taller of the two said. Sarah stiffened and pulled her pocketbook closer to her body. Her eyes narrowed and then she remembered where she was.

 

            "Aintchu gon' speak, huh, baby?" one of the boys demanded.

 

            Sarah smiled but her eyes offered no encouragement; instead they seemed to say I'm too tired to be messed with. The boys passed on mumbling obscenities. 

 

            Sarah walked on looking up and down the street, inevitably drawn to looking at painted store windows, behind which she imagined were housed number drops, drug operations, pool halls, social clubs, or whatever an enterprising individual saw fit to call a business and to call attention away from any crime that might be going on behind those windows.

 

            When Sarah became aware of her reflection in the painted glass panels, what she saw impressed her: a well-dressed woman in a conservative gray pinstriped suit who matched her stride for stride. This woman, Sarah thought, could make hard decisions that she would honor. This woman, Sarah knew, would not give this Paul affair so much attention, and would have left Paul long ago.

 

            But Sarah knew the woman who mirrored her was just that: a reflection. And just because the woman looked efficient and capable of making a hard decision, didn't mean she would. It was true, though, Sarah was well dressed, but clothing did nothing more in this instance than to show her who she was not.

 

            Sarah snapped her head away from the window wishing what she had projected onto her reflection were the very qualities that would let her be true to herself and free of Paul. If not free of Paul, she wavered, then create enough distance to see her relationship with Paul for what it really was. And to make the necessary adjustments before she was hurt too badly.

 

            When Sarah came within a block of the bar, she stiffened and fought to control her tired body which seemed to be moving out of sync with what she willed. She stiffened mainly from a long day of standing and smiling at customers. She smiled so much during the day it seemed her facial muscles were no longer under her control, but that they had been programmed by management to smile when a customer approached her counter. Her feet hurt, too. With only a half hour lunch break, Sarah stood most of the day. She couldn't rock on her heels to take the weight off her feet without the risk of breaking one or both of her heels. When she could, though, she leaned on her counter, if her supervisor wasn't around.

 

            Sarah seemed a picture of fluid motion as she walked the last half block to Jake's Bar. Each step was upon the balls of her feet, which seemed to barely touch the ground, so that the right and left little toes would not be pushed into and rubbed against the un-giving lining of her patent leather shoes. When Sarah was at work, though, and stood, her full weight rested on her feet forcing her toes to spread, each, except the little left and right toes, had room to spread. Her feet were crowded and sweaty so by day's end, the cute patent leather pumps Sarah had worn that day had become like hands tightening around a neck.

 

            Sarah's feet were felt swollen when she finally entered Jake's Bar. Her steps were stiff, measured by design, and hurried as if she were stepping on a bed of hot coals. She sat on the nearest bar stool, relieved, and glanced around. The bar was L-shaped with booths and tables to its sides, and in the rear stood was a jukebox next to a cigarette machine.  How old school, she thought.

 

            The single men in the bar perked up and gave Sarah bold and appraising looks. They noticed she was alone. How long would she remain alone? They all wondered. It was decided among each of the single men, it being an unspoken but cardinal rule, that they would all wait a respectable period of time before any one of them would send her a drink. The more insecure and less experienced of the men would break ranks and send a drink right away to acknowledge their presence.

 

            "A vodka and orange juice, please," Sarah called Jake. Not a meeting and certainly not a rendezvous. Nothing that inspires romance especially when I'm so tired, Sarah thought. I feel like have been summoned to court.

 

            At newly turned twenty-nine, Sarah found herself in another strange bar made familiar only by the commonness of her circumstances. Sarah had mistakenly concluded that to be without a man, that special someone, upon whom she could freely spend her love, was to be less than a woman. “Well,” she had told her girlfriends on more than one occasion, “if having a man part-time, means being a woman; it's better than having no man all.” “After all,” she had said only recently, “he don’t own me, and I get to do what I want and when I want.” Sarah sighed and took a drink.

 

            The first sip of her drink was bitter, cold, and spiraled down her throat, coming to rest in her stomach. There the drink seemed to solidify into an ice cube. Sarah frowned. No food. The first drink always tastes the worst. But the more she sipped, the less the bitterness mattered. Sarah wondered, just below the din of various conversations, what it was about flattery and how it always seemed to stroke the part of her ego that needed it. When that happened, she realized, she was open for compromise. She sat momentarily confused. Paul seemed to stare at Sarah from her first memory of him. She smiled back at him. She remembered the rainy April day and the words that led her to this bar and other bars on many other nights.

 

* * *

 

            That April day the rain moved like a cat stalking her as she walked. The rain pounced, and Sarah ran with her head down, on her toes, but her heels slowed her down. She was thoroughly soaked, and her hair that she had so neatly styled that morning, lay plastered to her head. Her hands were cupped like visors about her eyes, but the rain fell so heavily she couldn't see. And before she knew it, she had bumped into someone. Sarah cried because she was soaking wet and all of her meticulous preparation for the day was ruined. But worse, she had half a day at work left with no change of clothing. 

 

            The arms that caught Sarah as she slumped were strong. "A flower for me? Thank you!" the arms said. Sarah looked up in to the eyes of the owner of those arms and laughed though her tears. She was embarrassed but made no effort to move. His smile did not hold Sarah as it allowed her to let herself be held. And she, looking into his eyes, was transfixed, like a grounded bird before a snake, insanely courting the possibility of death and intrigued by it.

 

            Shortly after the rain, and a call Sarah made to her boss to take off the rest of the day, she and Paul went to a restaurant on 34th Street for drinks. There was very little talk between the two of them. But when Sarah spoke, and as the words tumbled off her tongue, she read Paul's face searching hungrily for those qualities in him that would compliment her. She imagined what they would be like. What Sarah did not find, she put there! Paul went on automatic. He looked just above Sarah's head, to an unseen horizon, doing his best versions of witty, charming, and polite. Sarah was about to be swallowed whole, and she never noticed, until the last syllable had formed on Paul's lips, that he actually looked at her for more than a minute. And it didn't matter to Sarah that Paul's wedding band was the brightest object at the table.

 

* * *

 

            The pain and swelling of Sarah's feet had subsided. She arched her shoulders, remembering her reflection in the painted glass, and believed, but wished more than she believed, that arched shoulders and a straight back would put her in control. This is ridiculous; she thought and let her shoulders go. Just then Jake quietly walked up, as was his way, and placed champagne cocktail before her and pointed down to corner of the bar and said, "Compliments." Sarah looked to where Jake pointed and whispered "No," held up her glass and toasted to him, whose face had been partially obscured by shadows in the bar.

 

            Paul sat at the far end of the bar in a dimly lit booth that made him seem a portrait from a distance. The light brought out the highlights of his face, showing the slight glint of eye from a side profile, accenting his smile and making it cruelly Cheshire, making it impossible for Sarah to miss him, or for that matter any other woman, which was the reason he always sat in a back booth.

 

            There were many reasons Paul's always sat in a back booth with the wall at his back. He liked, as he talked to Sarah, to punctuate his points with a slow circular gaze of the front end of the bar. Suddenly he would stop talking and look off with a slow turn of his head taking in everyone at the bar, a dull film sliding over his eyes, rising only when a lone female was spotted; and the woman upon whom those eyes had come to rest felt instinctively uncomfortable as if a hand had touched her in a very private place. Except for this, Paul’s face would be locked and still, giving little of himself; and his hands would be folded upon the table as if he had been called away to some dark corner of his mind. But just as suddenly as he had been called away, he would assume the same face he had before, startling Sarah.

 

            The main reason Paul sat in the back of any bar was to see first that whoever had come into the bar was no one who knew him or his wife. And if it were someone he knew, he would be prepared. Also from that vantage point, Paul could check out the single women who came into to the bar. He knew intuitively that the thing he was having with Sarah would not last, though Sarah swore it would. It amazed him every time that Sarah said it would. Paul had prepared himself to end the affair long before Sarah would have any idea of what was happening. He smiled. He was quite good at distancing himself from women, his wife, any woman. But he wasn't cold; he really liked women. He was married. So he watched for the women who appeared to be alone, those who gave him the eye because on the day that he let Sarah go, he would want to know which of those women was fair game and next.

 

            “Jake, a double please." Jake raised his eyes and eased away with Sarah's empty glass. Sarah felt eyes on her back. She turned to search. Through the cigarette smoke that had gotten thicker as she waited, she squinted at him out of the corners of her eyes, afraid to make full eye contact. She was afraid she might weaken, but she was angrier that Paul had let her sit for almost a half hour in the bar by herself. The residual anger from past broken dates flared up. And Paul's recent and increasingly frequent lies, the lies she held ever so tightly in check, Sarah was afraid would mushroom and explode, wanting now to hurt him as he had hurt her so often in the past. I don't want the hurt to be swift, she thought, as she choked the stem of her glass, but slow and brutal, cruel like slowly pulling a butterfly’s wings off.

 

            Meanwhile Paul had stood up and started towards the front of the bar. He loved a crowd and worked it as conscientiously as a bee worked a garden.

            "Benny!, What's happening?" They smiled at each other.

            "Paul, how've you been? I haven't seen you in a long time." Embarrassed, Paul straightened his tie because Benny was the only friend he had.

            Come on, man, it hasn't been that long, a few months?" Paul said, but all the while looking towards the bar and Sarah.

            "Whatever, Paul, you still looking good. Everybody all right?"

            "Paul, baby, I ain't seen you in months." He turned right at the voice.

            "Monica, girl, you still looking good. Benny, you know Monica? Monica, Benny. Why don't you two get to know each other," and he stepped off. "Hey, Sherry," he threw her a kiss and gave the "OK" sign to her as he moved towards Sarah.

 

            And then a voice he hadn't heard in years called his name. The voice was deep, melodic, and it sang the song of younger years when Paul had just moved to New York. It came from a man who looked as if he had stepped from the pages of GQ. Paul turned to the voice and sitting at a table by himself was Garnet Brown.

 

            "Garnet, is that you? Well, I'll be a..."

            "You always were. . .." Garnet smiled and motioned Paul to sit.

            "Where've you been?" Paul wanted to know.

            "The judge felt I needed isolation to contemplate the wages of sin."

           

            Paul smiled at him and thought back to when he had first met Garnet. "Brother, you got the right looks and with the proper coaching,,” Garnet urged Paul, “I could make you a first-class manager too."  

            "You mean a pimp?" Paul responded. 

            Garnet gently corrected Paul. "That doesn't accurately describe what I do or what I have in mind for you; I call it management," said Garnet defending the sanctity of free enterprise.

            "Was it rough, Garnet?" wanted to know of his old friend, who now sat before him looking older and sadder than he last saw him.

            "Paul, it was contemplation." Garnet smiled and offered him a drink.

 

            "I will but just one, Garnet.” as Paul nodded to the bar signaling his need to leave. "Take my number, man, and call me soon." They laughed and slapped a perfunctory five, knowing that it would be pure chance if they met again, so different were the worlds they each lived in now. Until Paul stepped off, they chatted, most of it meaningless, but nothing about themselves.

 

            Paul was tall, a little over six feet. He wore a thick mustache, which was always impeccably groomed, and he had a country boy's charm. He was likable, and by any woman's standards, he was considered a good catch. He had something else, the ability to look at a woman, despite his many shortcomings and know a woman was just a woman no matter what she did or where she came from. He knew that all women carried with them a little girl's vulnerability and would do almost anything to rid themselves of that vulnerability. 

 

            Sarah continued to sit nursing her drink, reliving outrages she had endured for which she devised tortures to fit particular hurts. Sticking pins under his nails or slowly raking nails across his face, she smiled satisfied. Then she angrily realized, as she finished off her second drink, that anything she said this evening, or in the morning, to make Paul see that he was doing her wrong and to put things in her life right would turn, instead of what she intended, into one of those so-often-witnessed, tacky scenes where she would be leveled by the word B***h ringing in her ears. Paul would not be humbled, but would show all who watched the scene that she still cared. Her typically feminine outburst would have proved as much, and, in the end, that she was helpless to do otherwise because she loved that man, they all would say. Sarah shook her head, denying her reality. That aint me.

 

            As the music played on, Jake washed glasses. Jake was a thickly built man, about five-five. He looked much taller because he had a way of looking down when he talked which forced the person he was talking to, to look up at him. When he did talk, it was very slowly and so not a word would be missed by the listener. His face was like a brick, ravaged by time, but strong. The emotion on Jake’s face was ambiguous at best. He always said exactly what he meant. Whether the subject was happy or sad, his voice never wavered. Most times a stare would do. Jake knew by the number and type of glasses how many men and women were in the bar. By the number of shot glasses, he could predict, usually within five minutes, when the first argument would break out and how long it would last. The closer to the weekend, the shorter the argument would be. If the couple involved were regulars, Jake would walk by them as a warning. Newcomers generally received a second warning. Jake's policy on drinks was simple: pay when served and no table service. This way he controlled the output of alcohol and foolishness.

 

            The crowd in the bar was beginning to take on character. It was 6:30 and the regulars were in their favorite seats and the newcomers were jockeying for a spot around the bar. Several times in the half hour that Sarah sat at the bar, she had to roll her eyes at some man who had gotten too close, and that he really should back up.

 

            The conversation directed to Sarah was light but deadly serious. "Good God!" Sister, you do lovely things to that seat." And "I wish I was the straw in your drink." Do they stay up all night, Sarah wondered, practicing for Friday night? Always a rap. She sneered. She usually joined in to kill time. "Oh, did it take you long to memorize that line," she would smile unnerving the man and throwing him off his game. And for the more persistent, after she rolled her eyes and looked them up and down, she would said loudly, "What?" hoping to embarrass him. And for the persistent who refused to budge, "I'm gay," she'd smile.

 

            Tonight was different. Her mind raced. "You know, if you were two inches taller," ( the height changed for the man), "I could almost like you." The last bit of repartee went on longer than Sarah anticipated.

 

            "So, all I wanted to say is that you are attractive, and finally to your sneer, this is not a come on. I just wanted you to know that, though you probably hear it all the time. I only said it because it's not often that I see a real woman."

 

            And with that he toasted Sarah and turned away. Sarah didn't expect his back. "I guess your back has ears." She waited for him to turn around before going on.

 

            He did, with an arched brow. "I see, You’ve come out to play again." "Touché," she smiled, "I thought I was." She raised her empty glass to him.

            The oldest dance in the world had begun.

            "Have a drink," he lowered his eyes to Sarah's glass.

            "Whoa! there I don't even know your name," she covered her glass with her hand.

            "It's....” he searched Sarah's face, “Jason, Jason Hunter."

            "Well, Jas’."

            He gently corrected Sarah. "The name is Jason."

            Sarah stared at him. Smiled. She nodded okay.

            He signaled to Jake. "One of what the lady is having, and

one Remy with a twist of lime for me. Now what's your name?" Jason asked. "Tell me. Please."

            The voice when it came was unexpected. It was not angry. It was mocking, amused, questioning, and it called to Sarah.

 

            "It's Sarah," Paul said sliding his arms around Sarah's waist and kissing the back of her neck.

 

            "Hi, Babe," Paul went on ignoring Jason. "I saw you when you came in. I am surprised that you didn't see me." Her body went rigid. Sarah was stunned into silence. Her hands shook slightly. Slowly she flexed her fingers and re-gripped her glass. It sloshed and spilled slightly. Jake walked up. "Everything all right?" Everybody nodded. Jake wiped the bar and moved on.

 

            The silence continued until Paul broke it.

 

            "Come on, Sarah, let's go sit in my booth." He released her and walked off, and it seemed that for one long moment the music in the bar and the steady hum of conversation ceased and all that could be heard was Paul's footsteps as he walked to the booth. Sarah looked at Jason and pleaded for understanding. And as she walked to the booth, heads and eyes turned right as if she were on parade. When Sarah reached the booth, she slumped into her seat. Paul barely noticed her sit. He was looking towards the bar. When he caught Jason's eye, he let a smile spread across his face.

 

            "I'm sorry I didn't come to you right away, I got caught up talking to friends, you know; and we talked a little longer than I thought. But you seemed to be in good hands," he said nodding towards the bar. Sarah didn't know what to say. She held her head down. “Sarah?” She said nothing and shut her eyes.

 

            “Sarah?” Still, she didn't answer. She squeezed her eyes shut tighter. She wished that she had resisted Paul, had not followed Paul to the booth. She wished that she was the strong woman she had seen earlier in the painted window. She also wished that she were anywhere but sitting across from Paul. Tighter, she squeezed shut her eyes until red exploded into black with shards of lightening. Memories shot at her from all angles but one dominated. She rubbed her temples.

 

            "Sarah?" Paul's voice barely reaching her across from a steadily widening gulf of memory. Just barely.

 

            "Sarah...."

            "Sarah! Don't pull away from me. Come back here," Paul shouted then mumbled under his breath, "Stupid b***h, acting like a fool in here."

 

            No! Sarah cried, running out, “I'm leaving. Damn you! She ran out of the bar into the street waving frantically for a cab. When she reached home and locked her door behind her, she lay against it and cried. He promised me that he would take me to the club. It was all right that he couldn't pick me up. I've been through that before, but to bring his wife, sit her next to me, and then pretend that I didn't exist is too much. The man just doesn't understand that I've already made my compromise and what little time I have with him is mine and not to be shared with his wife or anybody else. The pounding on the door jarred Sarah.

 

            “Sarah?  I know you're in there. Let me in.” Paul banged on her door. Sarah's heart pounded. She thought for sure that Paul heard her as she tipped away from the door. “Sarah!....”

 

            "Sarah?" Paul raised his voice startling her back to the present. "What the hell's the matter with you? Damn!" He cursed more at being ignored than at her. Wait here, I'll get us some drinks. He ordered a Screwdriver and a Scotch on the rocks.

 

            Jason called out to Paul. "Hey Brother, I didn't know she was your friend, but you can't blame me. She's a good looking woman."

            "Yeah," Paul said brushing off the compliment and returned to the booth.

            "To us." Paul toasted.

 

            Sarah stared at him, just short of glowering. Why did I come here tonight? She clenched the stem of her glass and lowered her head. She began to sink.

 

            "Hey girl," Paul caught her. "Don't look so down. We gonna' have a good time tonight."

            Sarah stared at Paul, her face severe.

            Paul looked off at the crowd as if he'd lost something. "Sarah, Sarah, Sarah," he sang her name. "My pretty Sarah."

He tried another approach. "It won't be like the last time." But when Paul looked at Sarah, his face said to her she was acting out of character and he wouldn't have it on his time.

 

            Sarah toyed with her drink making water circles. She also moved back onto her seat. Paul's threat was implicit. She remembered stinging slaps that degraded more than they had hurt her.

            "Are you gonna talk to me or what?" Paul wanted to know. "Maybe I should've left you at the bar where you were having such a good time."

            "Good time?" Sarah shot back. Surprised. "What did you expect me to do? Sit there? Look dumb? What's the matter, don't you trust me?" She sipped from her drink and looked off. She waited for Paul's onslaught.

            "Look, you can just stop that right now. I told you what happened. I said I was talking to some friends and, you know, uh, I...it took longer than I thought. So just take it off your shoulders cause you aint got a thing to be mad about."

            "I'm not angry," she corrected him. "What makes you think I'm angry, Paul? Really I don't mind waiting for you because that's all I've done ever since I've known you, not that I'm used to it. I'm just glad you didn't tell me to wait for you on some corner and you wouldn’t show up as you did so often in the past. So I was really quite happy to wait for you inside for once."

            "Well, that's the past so why you bringing it up now? That's just like you," Paul countered weakly, “always talking bout something that don’t have nothing to do with now.”

 

            Sarah stared at Paul but she did not look into his eyes. She was afraid that she would see the face she didn't want to see, the face that made her love come down. By not looking at Paul, Sarah thought she could gradually build the strength to get away. B*****d, she thought and continued to look at a point just beyond his left shoulder, looking for a way out.

 

            "So come on, baby, talk to me. Tell me something good." Paul waited for her to answer. He drummed his fingers on the table. He frowned and scrunched up his nose. He looked puzzled. And then burst out laughing. He startled Sarah. "Girl, you ain't still mad at me for last week, are you? Well, you know I..uh...I couldn't get away like I said I could…. But you know I tried to," he added quickly. Paul smiled and took a drink.

 

            Sarah took a drink too. She let it trickle down her throat where it quietly warmed her body. She opened her legs and quietly slipped off her shoes. Her feet welcomed the freedom.

            "So, you gon' talk to me or what?" Paul asked.

            "About what?! Sarah said.

            "Whachu mean, about what?" Paul heated up.

            "I mean, "Sarah clarified, "what do you want to talk about?"

            "Well if that's what you meant, how come you raised your voice? Sounded like you was trying to start something. “So what's wrong now?" Paul wanted to know.

            You mean that you don't know? Sarah raised her eyebrows. Well, in case you haven't noticed, everything is wrong."

            "Now", said Paul rolling his eyes and just missing her, "Sarah, you know it ain't easy, but I'm trying to work things out." "But," and Paul smiled when he said this, "you get quality time whenever I'm with you. Don't you, baby?"

            Sarah sucked her teeth. "I knew you were going to say that."

            Paul looked into his glass and thought, I got to let her get this off her chest.

            "It's what you always say when you couldn't get away or when you didn't want to get away,” said Sarah, going for guilt.

 

            "I don't know what you talking about now,” Paul said trying to defend himself.

 

            "You know exactly what I mean,” Sarah said. "After all I'm only the other....," she hesitated and made sure she had established eye contact with Paul before she went on, "the other woman." She spat the words out. "You know, your side thing. The one you treat any old way, right?"

 

            Aw, baby, you know it ain't like that." Little beads of perspiration formed in the corners of Paul's forehead. He took quick, short sips from his drink. "Girl, you know I love you."

 

            "No, Paul, you don't love me. But you had me fooled for a long time. You're really afraid that you gonna lose your latest good thing." Sarah was trembling when she finished talking. She didn't know what had come over her. She glanced away and in the space remembered her mother telling her.... "Baby, real ladies don't argue in public. A man's gonna do what he wants. Your job's to see that when he's through you got what's brings him back. "Don't worry," her mother would rock and coo to her, "when you a woman, chile, you'll know exactly what to do." She would whisper a second time,"...exactly what to do, chile."

 

            Sarah sipped from her drink. She saw more water circles on the table. She felt as trapped as the water circles that sweated from her glass. She toyed with the glass, moving it in a circle and knew then that unlike the circle, which could not escape its circular nature, she could escape. She might not be fated to go from man to man, traveling in a tireless circle of hurt and humiliation if she stood up for herself. ‘Cause Momma ain't always right, she thought, looking at Paul.

 

            Paul eased back into his seat, his eyes veiled. It's a thing they all go through, he thought, as he shook his head in agreement not hearing a word Sarah had said. Sarah put her hands around the rim of her glass to steady herself. She thought about what she'd just said and how she was feeling. She felt good and was beginning to feel better. This feeling held a new and exciting terror for her, one she decided that she liked.

 

            "You know, Sarah said in growing acknowledgment of her complicity, "I know I got what I deserved, because I...” she said, "but, I'm tired of this." She pointed her finger at Paul to keep him in focus.

            "You make it sound like it's been easy for me, Sarah, like it don't bother me if I can't see you." Paul said, aware that Sarah was high.

 

            "Well,” Sarah leaned across the table not quite sure what she was going to say. She thought of telling him that in all their time together he never once said that it was miserable at home or that he just had to get out to see her so she could make the misery go away. She wanted to hear him lie. Some how it, she thought, it'll make... make me see? See what?” She leaned back to put Paul into focus and out of range.

 

            "No!  No don't even tell me, I don't wanna know," she answered herself. Sarah dragged her glass through the water circles breaking them, watching the water run, and felt free. She looked up from the table and locked eyes with Paul.

 

            How, Paul wondered, was he going to make himself the victim in all this, as Sarah pursed her lips to speak again.

 

            He cut her off. "What you mean, don't tell you?" Paul had suddenly wearied of her tirade.

 

            Sarah did not hear Paul. She was thinking. I don't love him.... He's like a bad.... But if I let him go.... Sarah started to weaken, but the veil before Paul's eyes had slipped and revealed a slap. She blinked, but the slap was still there. Not tonight, she thought, I don't have a thing to lose. She shook her head, regaining composure, and refocused on Paul. She stuffed her feet back into her shoes and began to speak to Paul for the first time. She was no longer high.

 

            "You know, Paul, I loved you, I really did. I know you never loved me. I allowed myself to be used by you because I wanted to be able to tell my girlfriends that I had a man too. Stupid, huh? And you know what? I got exactly what I deserved. I got enough lies to last me a lifetime. I also got enough pain to hurt an army. And you know what else? I don't feel bad, not even after the slaps. You didn't hurt me, I hurt me because I didn't believe enough in me. But you will never hurt me again!"

 

            Sarah took a deep breath. Paul stared just above Sarah's head, thinking that no woman had ever spoken to him like this before. Slowly Sarah pushed her glass to the center of the table and stood up. "This thing, this whatever you want to call it, is over. She turned, smoothed her skirt down, picked up her shoes, and walked away. Paul quickly stood up and grabbed her elbow. Sarah spun around, yanked free her elbow. "Don't touch me, damn it!" You hear me?" She again turned and walked off, swinging her shoes. 

 

            As Sarah walked by the bar, Jake gave her a quizzical look. Jason, whom she had spoken to earlier, said, "Early evening?" Sarah stopped and smiled. "I don't know, buy me a drink somewhere else. Outside Jake's, Sarah said, "My game, and I pick you." Jason walked off with Sarah not sure of their immediate destination, but Sarah was sure of where she was going from that moment on.

 

Reviews

[deactivated account. pl..]

I absolutely adore Sarah; she is so relatable! Paul is... *mumbles bad words under her breath* he was so frustrating to me! I almost just walked away from the whole story because he made me so angry! But I was so concerned for Sarah, so I stuck around.
I find that third person is usually impersonal - I'm a strictly first person writer - however, in this instance you proved me wrong. I felt like I knew what was going on in Sarah's head, how she was feeling, and was almost better able to empathize with her because of the fact that it was third person. I think first person would have sounded over the top, but third person really added something.
The dialouge is so good, so true to life. The story is believable, well thought out.
I really liked Jason, and had a good feeling when I finished reading this story. Such an enjoyable read, I could really imagine picking up a magazine and reading this in it.
Publishable, I mean, very well done.

[Silent Kim aka mizmetap..]

Finally I finished reading this morning. It was a good story I really hated Paul, what a real b*****d, I kinds felt the same about Sarah for being so taking in by him. Yuck. This is attributed to your writing skills to make me the reader feel this way about your charaters.

If Sara works on her feet all day, She would know better then to wear heels at work, or not to have a pair of comfortable shoes to change into after work. She can put on a lower heel, or wider shoe.

When you introduced Jake, it's not clear right off that he's the bartender, Maybe Jake could approach Sarah and ask her what she's having to drink or something. When Paul is greeting friends as he makes his way to Sarah, people are just appearing with out any intro, Like Monica a thin Medical assistant, with thick glasses move close to Paul and said....

Another area that gets confusing is when you take us back to the past memories. If you change the print to remind us we are in another time.

The ending her giving up on Paul is great, but that leaving with Jason, makes her too needy on a man. I think her finding bit of herself and realizing she don't need a man to validate her. I think it would make me respect Sarah more.

Your title is creative, the circles on the table from her glass helps her open her eyes to Paul's bull s**t.

Good story, it kept me going and like I said earlier, hated Paul and Sarah annoyed me but that 's good cause you made me feel them.

Excellent!!

[Ms. Ella M]

Good dialogue, and nice story line, although the subject is not a new one. The characters are belivable
and some of their personalities begin to emerge. It would be intersting to know how Sarahs strength of character developes