It's All Coming Back Now

He was reeling, watching the ceiling spin.

His eyes hurt, his head was throbbing. Everything still smelled of the spilt beer from the night before, mixed with the faint smell of oak lingering in the air from the shots of whiskey. His skin felt sticky. His eyelids didn't want to open. Sunlight poured into his room, splitting his blinds, somehow managing to land perfectly on his face. The trail of clothes that led from the door to his bed let him know what kind of evening it had been - like some sort of intoxicated roadmap. His shirt was hanging off a chair, a cup of water laid spilled on the carpet, one leg of his jeans inside out, belt thrown in the corner of the room.

It all went by in a blur. He remembered trying his hardest to look his best. "Presentable" as his mother would always say. His hands shook as he was shaving, causing him to nick himself along the way. He couldn't remember the last time he had been so nervous. There was something in the air that just told him that it was going to be a special night.

She had picked him up in a German car and drove him down to an Irish bar. He remembered standing there with her, entrapped by the color of her eyes. Deep, dark, rich. She was intelligent, funny, personable. The curls of her hair fell from her head and flowed over her shoulders like auburn waves that sucked him in. Her smile. Well, it was just impeccable. How her lips curled, revealing the dimples of her cheeks, how her nose scrunched up. He couldn't help but stare. There was something different about this woman and he immediately felt it. He didn't need to try. It just felt natural. It was easy. Everything just flowed out of him, unrestricted. As a result, he was relaxed, dropped his guard. Let loose. He remembered drinking out of a plastic cup until he had trouble standing up.

But that was all he recalled. Everything else was gone. After getting up, he only felt worse. His joints ached, deceiving his body of its age, like it was older that it actually was. Checking his pants, his phone was gone, as was his wallet. The odds didn't appear to be in his favor for another meeting with her. He wondered in his haze what he did or said that he might soon regret.

He was disappointed in himself. How could he have let it go - slip right between his fingers.

It wasn't until he checked his email that he was able to breath a bit more, when a message popped up on his screen that said "Pick me up at 8:45, we can give this one more try."

She had given him a second chance and he would always be in her debt.

It was the night he couldn't remember with the girl he'd never forget.

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