MARIGOLD // Dave Grohl

VI. David Grohl and the Crêpe Catharsis

Seattle, WA

April 28, 1994

Sarah couldn't tell her left from her right. All she knew was that she felt like a sword was going through her skull. She decided that she needed Aspirin. But she couldn't move. But she needed Aspirin. She sat up, her eyes still scrunched shut, and felt around for some form of clothing. She found a shirt and pulled it on, feeling the tag on her collarbone; she had put the shirt on backwards. Oh well. She slowly opened her eyes and walked into the bathroom, looking in the mirror. Wow, she looked like absolute shit. What even happened? Where was Paul?

She heard the front door open and close and she let out a squeak, grabbing the small blow dryer that had been attached to the wall as self-defense. A few seconds later, Paul rounded the corner and Sarah let out a sigh of relief, lowering the hand dryer.

"Hey, Sleeping Beauty," Paul smiled, holding up a plastic bag with a foam container. "I got you breakfast, even though it's..." he checked his watch, "two o'clock in the afternoon."

"Aw, you shouldn't have," Sarah smiled, nearly crying. She was a whole ass wreck. Paul chuckled, setting the bag down on top of the hotel dresser and untying his sneakers before sitting on Sarah's bed.

"Well, I wasn't about to go off to work without at least getting you breakfast," he told her, scratching the back of his neck as she grabbed a bottle of water from the mini fridge, cracking it open and taking a very refreshing sip.

"Work? But it's Saturday!"

"Yeah, I work during the afternoons and evenings on weekends with an organization that helps people that are homeless find shelter by nightfall. Prevents incidents and keeps people safe, for the most part," Paul explained, and Sarah was sure she was dreaming. The amount of compassion in this man was incredible.

She joined him on the bed, sitting close enough that their shoulders were touching, and he reached over to push Sarah's hair behind her ear.

"I had a great time with you last night, mi querida," Paul whispered, and Sarah's heart fluttered. The butterflies were back. With no time wasted and a sobered Sarah, Paul had pulled his counterpart over to him so she was straddling his waist. She held his face in her hands as they kissed, and his arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer.

However, everything came to an abrupt end when he broke the kiss. "As much as I hate to do this, because I am very much enjoying this, and you, I have to go. But I'd absolutely love to go out again and get to know you more if you're down."

Sarah nodded, pushing herself off him and rolling to the side as he stood up, putting his shoes back on. "Go do your hero work. It's great, what you're doing, really."

"It's human work," Paul said, standing up to pull Sarah in for one more quick peck on the lips. "Bye."

"Bye," Sarah repeated, watching him go. As soon as the door closed, Sarah ran her hands through her hair in disbelief. Was this even real? This was too good to be true. She was caught off guard as her hotel phone began to ring. Who even had this number?

She picked up the phone. "Hello?"

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but did I just see Paul Morales leave your room? Dave asked, and Sarah sharply inhaled.

"Yeah, stalker, and why do you care?"

"You do know that he's the guitarist for Invictus?"

"For what?"

"That's it, I'm coming over," Dave hung up, and in mere seconds, he was marching through the door to Sarah's room as if he owned the place.

"How the hell do you not know the band Invictus?!" Dave exclaimed, taking Sarah by the shoulders and shaking her. "They're just about one of the dopest bands in Olympia, and they're on the same record label as Hole. They're good friends." Well.

She knew what was going on with Paul was too good to be true. Nothing could ever go the way she wanted. She groaned, frustratedly opening the bag that was still on the dresser and opening the container to reveal a strawberry and banana crêpe. She took the fork that was in the bag and stabbed it, stuffing a huge piece in her mouth and finding a nice, comfortable place on the floor.

She continued at this for a minute or two, with Dave just standing there watching. She looked up at him and rolled her eyes, beckoning him over. "Do you want to try?"

"Yes, Sarah," he mocked, "yes, I do." He sat down next to her and stole the fork from her hand, taking his own stab at the crêpe. This was quite cathartic, actually. And the crêpe was delicious.

Sarah eventually stole the fork back before Dave could eat the whole thing-- and believe me, he would have if he could-- and closed the container, placing it next to her on the ground.

"He works with the homeless!" Sarah shouted out of the blue. "He told me the whole story about his family's deportation on his birthday! He told me that he didn't want me to be alone like he had been--"

"Wait, it was your birthday?" Dave interrupted her rant. "When?"

"Yesterday," Sarah said, picking her nails. "I went to a bar last night instead of staying here, and he approached me and we just..."

"Got each other?"

"Yeah," Sarah replied, and Dave nodded.

"I know what that feels like."

Sarah nodded as a reply, at a loss for words. Nothing she could say could really make anything better. She sighed, her gaze shifting to the Live Through This CD perched on top of the windowsill where Dave had left it previously.

Dave put his arm around her, pulling her close. "I'm sorry that Paul is who he is," he murmured, and Sarah sighed once again. "I am, too."