Continued from last week's story, 'Psycho Sherry'
"Oh...it appears that I'm intruding!"
The school teacher I had become so absorbed in throughout the evening had returned from her potty break. My glazed eyes rolled to focus on her standing across the table, her arms crossed, her eyes wide as she attempted to digest exactly what was happening. I forced myself to breathe as Pyscho Sherry clutched a handful of my hair in one hand, a raised beer bottle in the other, mere seconds away from crashing it across my brow.
"I take it you two know each other?" the teacher questioned in her squeaky voice, pointing a single finger upward as teachers tend to do.
The words had barely left her lips when Sherry let out a blood-curdling scream, crashing the beer bottle against the edge of the table. The school teacher reciprocated with an equally deafening scream as Sherry lunged toward her with the jagged glass. I felt faint and it is true what they say...I did see my life flashing before me. Well, only the first six years or so. That's when four big, burly bouncers appeared out of nowhere. One scooped the raging psycho up in his arms, her legs kicking his shins relentlessly. Another grabbed her wrist, giving it a painful twist until she released her grip on the weapon. Within seconds the four had disappeared through the front door, Sherry fighting all the way as she screamed profanity and shook her fist at me.
"An old girlfriend?" the teacher asked as she picked my Stetson off the floor and handed it to me.
"Um, a case of mistaken identity," I responded as I glanced down at my beer soaked shirt, "I should go...out the back door probably. Thanks for the dances..."
No, it wasn't the last time I saw Physcho Sherry.
I laid low for a month or so, deciding to avoid the temptation of that bar in the city. I spent my Saturday nights scouring the pages of the dating site, occasionally messaging an undatable woman or two. I eventually grew bored with that and against my better judgment, donned my black Stetson and headed toward the city one Saturday night.
I chose a table in a far corner of the bar, in fact, the very same table I had met Sherry. Sipping on a beer, my mind strayed from the music and neon lights. I wished I'd not come. My heart wasn't into chasing women or even drinking beer. An hour passed and the twang of country music gave way to the beat of classic rock. Chicklets from every corner of the club squirmed their way onto the dance floor as 'Sweet Home Alabama' began to boom over the speakers. I looked up from my empty beer bottle and there she was. Her legs were longer than I remember. Her dress was shorter than I remember and her brunette hair was longer than that dress. I could see those green eyes in the dancing neon lights and there was almost a smile on her face as she danced with a couple of girlfriends.
"What have I done?" I spoke out loud, watching her every move, "This beautiful creature was mine and I let her get away!"
There is nothing that has more power over a man that pure, unadulterated lust. When the song ended, I watched Sherry make her way toward the bar at the far end of the dance floor.
"I really am smarter than this," I commented as I rose from my chair.
"Sherry..." I spoke her name as I laid my hand on her arm.
She turned around, her green eyes locking onto mine.
"I want to apologize to you."
I vaguely recall those pouty lips forming the 'F' but I never heard her say it...I do vividly recall her arm swinging back and the palm of her hand making solid contact with my cheek. Everything is still a bit fuzzy after that. I'm not sure if the lights came on as the bouncers surrounded her or if she hit me so hard that I just thought the lights came on. I have some faint recollection of her hurling vulgarities and screaming my name as she was carried out the front door. I picked myself up from the floor as a hundred or more people stood and watched. Steadying myself against the bar I decided I should leave...out the back door probably.
A decade or more had passed since that night as I sat in my recliner staring at her picture on the Plenty of Fish dating site. There was something about Sherry still there, deep down inside me even after all these years. I shook my head as I read the headline over and over. Psycho Sherry was now the Vampire Princess. I closed the laptop and went to bed. Every evening that week I found myself drawn back to her profile on the dating site. I would stare at her picture and again put the computer away. It was a Friday night that I finally sent a simple message:
"Hi, Sherry. Been thinking about you..."