Dating : I Hate Birthdays

As I looked at myself in the mirror, my vision was not registering my reflection. I was undoubtedly over five Jägermeisters deep, and for my one hundred and twenty-pound frame, it was more than I could handle. It was the eve of my twentieth birthday, and I was determined to try and salvage my memory to make it until midnight. I leaned forward, steading both my palms on the marble countertop. Despite stopping my body from continuing in motion, the room was continuing to spin. I vaguely remembering smiling at myself in the mirror when I heard a knock on the door. I lurched for the knob, ripping the door open to reveal a middle-aged man leaning against the door frame.

Bewildered and drunk, I smiled and apologized.

“Oh no, do not apologize. I have been looking for you. I saw you sneak up here, so I followed you,” he says, grinning from ear to ear. There was a sense of urgency in his tone. His full head of hair was already graying, yet he was sharply dressed and handsome. A classic attire for a summer night in Maine, he wore a white button-up that was halfway open, dress pants, and loafers. I looked at him deeply, not out of curiosity, but because I was seeing two of him. The party we were at was smaller, and this point was breaching hour six of celebrations, yet I still couldn’t place him. If a two-way dialogue between this man old enough to be my father and me took place before this moment, I could not recall it.

My memory begins to quickly phase in and out. I can recall bits of his words to me, yet I am not sure I ever said anything of substance to him besides reiterating that it was my birthday in fifteen minutes and everyone was waiting downstairs for me. Looking at the clock, I knew someone could come upstairs at any moment and find us whispering in the doorway.

He assesses me up and down, shaking his head. I remember noticing there was a ring absent from his wedding finger. Taking another look at him, I was assuming he was in his late forties.

“God, you are just such a woman,” he said, bringing his hands up in front of him as if he were handling an orb, clearly look at my breasts. He took a step towards me, and I closed my eyes. The kissing then ensued. He grabbed my face towards him with a firm hand. Physically, I was present for the kiss. I recall it even being a good kiss. Mentally, I was terrified of my sister coming up the steps and scolding me for kissing a man who could be our father. I pulled away abruptly from the handsome graying man and skipped down the stairs.

“Sorry!” I called out behind me.