Autumn colored the shades of the evening a deep orange, and electricity hung in the air, beckoning us. I knew this night would be one to remember.
She looked at me with eyes like a doe and affectionately said, “You tryna pre-game at Mike’s?” I replied that I would go where we must, as we were naught but leaves swept along by the winds of fate.
We arrived at Mike’s room in Harrison. I asked Mike for spirits with which we may enliven the soul, but alas, he could provide only lukewarm Natty’s. As I sipped at my can, I stared down into the depths of the tepid beer, pondering. Would this be the night I had been waiting for?
We were soon on our way to the bar, she and I walking in unison, as if by some divine providence. We arrived at Blarney’s, the lustrous bacchanalia where so many great loves had once been forged, and straight to the bar we went with our minds on Miller High Life, the drink of true romance.
I asked if she wanted to dance, and she gaily accepted, as her favorite song, “Sexy Bitch,” was pounding through the bar. We danced, and danced, and danced, and slowly her body began to melt into mine. We became as one, two stars crossed in a cosmic ballet to the rhythms of Flo Rida and LMFAO. I turned her around, and at that moment, our eyes locked. There was nothing but us.
Us, and her Blackberry, which at that moment chirped and forced her to turn away. Clutching her Blackberry to her ear, she rushed out of the bar, and possibly out of my life. But O! Glorious fate! She did not stray for long. She returned to me, leaned in close, and whispered into my ear, “Sorry, Sarah wanted to come out with us, but then Ashley wanted to go to the Alpha Phi downtown, so…” She went on, but it mattered not what she said. Her voice was like music, fluttering about my head and making me feel young again.
Slowly, the night grew long in the tooth, and the moon began to wax iridescent. She leaned into me once again, this time with more urgency, and said, “I’m soooo drunk.” I, too, was so drunk, and in that instant I knew us to be kindred spirits.
We returned to my house, hoping a magical night would never end. Historians and poets have long documented the greatest loves in the course of human endeavor; that night, their pens would have run dry ascribing words to our passion. And as we lay there, ready to consummate, I saw her face soften and her eyes close languidly. I pulled her into my embrace, and suddenly she began heaving Miller High Life onto my satin sheets. The smell became overpowering, and I was compelled to follow her lead. As I crouched over the bed, pouring my soul onto the comforter, I knew that I would never be closer to her than I was at that moment. There would be time, all the time in the world, but we would never again match this one beautiful evening.