without filtering my feelings. Without trying to sound cool or unaffected by him. “If you thought about me, shouldn’t you have called to talk to me more than once a season?” The fact that we hadn’t spoken in months started clearing up the fuzzy euphoria I let my mind sink into. I took a deep breath and continued demanding things that I felt I had the right to know. “Is this a joke to you, Jeff?” And the tears started rolling down my face once again. This was all a joke for him. He probably sat around telling his friends how this fifteen-year-old girl once offered him a blowjob. He probably told the girls he dated that he broke this silly little girl’s heart and she probably still thinks he’s coming back for her. “I just called to say thank you for reminding Eddie it was my birthday yesterday. Have a good life.”
I hung up before he had the chance to say anything to me ever again. It was time to forget about Jeffery the asshole and move on. Yes, I lied, but writing him off would be easy. I would tell Emily he had a girlfriend and that we were no longer seeing each other. No, I’d just tell her I didn’t feel like fucking him anymore; that’s exactly what The Sara would say.
I brushed off the dismal feeling that enveloped me and went back to my room to write down my feelings in my truth book. It was my diary that nobody knew about. After I told stories that didn’t exist to my best friend, I would also write down how I felt in my truth book, to stop the overwhelming feelings of guilt. I’m Jewish, so this was my form of confession. It felt good to at least be able to write the truth if I couldn’t actually say it out loud.
I spent about two hours that day putting down into words what Jeff meant to me and how he made me feel. I explained to my notebook that I loved him. That somehow, through all the lies I’d told, I actually fell in love with our bogus relationship. The things that his pretend-self made me feel were very real to me. The words I pretended he would say to me were all I had to keep me hanging on. He was perfect and he was my version of a fictional boyfriend. I guess in some fucked-up way nobody could’ve taken that away from me.
By the end of my long journal entry, I came to the conclusion that it was time to move on. That I actually needed to give some poor schmucks out there a chance and maybe I’d actually like them. They may not be a certain twenty-four-year-old gorgeous law school student, but I was done with him. I was eighteen, which meant that I could pretty much do whatever I wanted. I had no one to stop me, except myself.
It was Saturday night. I still hadn’t officially celebrated my birthday and it was time to start living out some of the lies I’d told everybody, including myself. I found a short black skirt that barely covered my ass. I wore a gold off-the-shoulder sweater and a pair of skyscraper suede heels that probably put me at six feet tall. I applied very little makeup, only lip gloss to help accentuate my lips. In my mind, I looked fuckable as I checked myself out in the mirror. I yelled to my mom that I would be over at Emily’s house watching a movie and that I’d call if I decided to sleep over. She yelled, “have fun” and that was it, I was out.
I took a cab downtown and the first lounge I saw, I walked into like a regular. I actually recognized that place because I did tell Emily that I’d gone there often, so once again, it felt as if I really was a regular. I sat at the bar and waited for the bartender to ask for my order. I’d hoped the cute bald guy with a goatee pouring the drink would make his way to me, but instead, I got the woman working the bar serving me.
“What can I get you? And I’ll need your ID, sweetheart,” she said between pouring and mixing another drink.
“I’ll have a French martini, and make it strong.” I held my tone and eye contact as I pulled out my fake student ID. I remember shaking