You Promised You Wouldn't Tell

 

Photo by ArrImAPirate (that's me!)

I met the man of my dreams at a malt shop. And no, it wasn’t 1965, the Malt Shop was a speakeasy at the back of this bar, but that doesn’t matter. What matters was how perfect he was. Perfect hair, the color of molten honey, beautiful blue eyes, an enchanting smile, and he could run really fast. That last part I wished wasn’t true.

Mr. Perfect asked me out to dinner and a movie. I know, a bit of cliché, but we did meet in a malt shop. It was a perfect spring night. The air was kissed with the promise of the summer to come, the kind of evening meant for a stroll, which we did, because the movie theater was only two blocks from the restaurant.

At the theatre we decided to share a large popcorn and a box of M&Ms, which I thought was a good sign. We each got our own drink though. Apparently, we had meandered a bit too slowly, because when we got into the theatre, the movie had already started. Luckily it was nearly empty inside, finding seats wasn’t a problem. I scootched as close as I could to my date, without it looking like I was trying to be as close as I could to him.

The first thing I saw when I looked at the screen, in big yellow letters, like ten stories tall, was my ex’s name. With the words “directed by” hovering ominously just above. It couldn’t have actually been my ex though, right? Sure, he was a movie buff, but there were probably a lot of Beauregard Trascruxes in the world. The very next thing that came up was the name of the movie, “Surviving Sarah Stevenson.”

I must have made a noise, because Mr. Perfect was asking me what was wrong.

“Nothing, it’s just, that’s my name”

“Sarah, yeah, I know”

“No, my full name is Sarah Stevenson, and the director, Beauregard Trascrux, that’s my ex.”

It was at that moment I regretted not asking ahead of time what movie we were going to see.

Mr. Perfect started to respond, but then, the movie started, and the massive screen filled with the massive face of a woman who looked remarkably like me. Mr. Perfect gave me a half smile, and then he grabbed my hand and gave it a squeeze, so that was something at least.

He let go of my hand when movie Sarah had a bit too much to drink and woke up with the fire department knocking down her door and a forgotten pizza smoldering in the oven. He moved as far away from me as he could in his seat when movie Sarah broke her potential future mother-in-law’s heirloom vase, and then tried to blame it on the dog. And he left when movie Sarah confessed that she still had naughty dreams about her high school boyfriend. Mr. Perfect didn’t come back, which was probably for the best, because I had no good way to explain all the things movie Sarah did.

I, of, course stayed until the end. I had to know just how much of our relationship was immortalized on film. I have an appointment with a judge to change my name next week. I never heard from Mr. Perfect again.