Her Name is Sorrel

VI

6

“Sorry,” she muttered apologetically, throwing her bag in the back seat and slamming the car door shut, “I thought my mom was picking me up.”

“Easy there,” I muttered, stroking the smooth, leather interior of my ride, “Don’t slam the door - it hurts her.”

Sorrel raised her eyebrows and I brushed it off, “Just don’t slam the Mustang; it’s an antique. And as for the ride, no worries, I don’t mind being a chauffeur.”

“Oops, I'm sweating on your seats too.”

Was she trying to kill me? I bit my tongue, careful not to lash out. 

“At least they’re leather-”

“Sit on a goddamn towel,” I seethed as I put the car into drive, “I don’t want you sweating all over my damn car!”

“Ouch,” she smiled, “Sorry. Hey, we won the game today.”

I desperately wanted to change the subject before the thought of her perspiring on my seats propelled me into a black hole of insanity.

“What position?”

“Center forward,” she chirped proudly, “Oh and turn here, we’re almost at my house.”

“That’s cool, I used to play socc-”

“OH MY GOSH!” she squealed and I jerked the car to a halting stop.

“What?! What?!” I shouted, panicking. “What happened?!”

“Turn up the radio!” Sorrel shouted excitedly, “Hurry!”

Reaching over the brown leather, my hand slowly turned the volume knob of the radio clockwise.

Suddenly, Adam Levine’s smooth voice poured out of the speakers and Sorrel began to sing along. Poorly. She sang along so poorly, I wanted to drive the car into a brick wall and cremate my body with the crash’s flames.

I don’t mind spending everyday, out on your corner in the pouring rain. Look for the girl with a broken smile. Ask her if she wants to stay a while. And she will be loved. And she will be loved.

I winced as Sorrel wailed the chorus, “Sing Danny! Sing with me!”

“Gotta focus on the damn road,” I muttered.

“Sing,” she insisted with so much persistence, I found myself slowly caving, “Please Danny? It’s my favorite song.”

Bobbing my head, I uncomfortably crooned the lyrics, wincing whenever Sorrel was too sharp.

Tap on my window, knock on my door, I want to make you feel beautiful.

I don’t mind spending everyday, out on your corner in the pouring raaain. Look for the girl with a broken smile. Ask her if she wants to stay a while. And she willll be loved. And she willl be loooved. And she willl be loooved. And she willl be loooved.

“Oh my god, I absolutely love this song!” she gushed, “I love it so much!”

“You like the actual song or Adam Levine?”

“The actual song dummy! It’s so...” she pursed her lips, “I don’t know, it’s just - I want it, you know?”

I shrugged.

“How incredible would it be to have someone wait for you in the pouring rain?” she whispered wistfully, “Someone who will love you just as much as you love them.”

“I don’t plan to catch pneumonia for anyone anytime soon,” I scoffed, “You need a reality check Squirrel.”

“And you need a kick in the ass,” she retorted, “One day Daniel, I swear, a girl will have you begging on your knees.”

“As if,” I laughed, pulling my car onto her drive way.

Her eyes darkened, “Are you some kind of pessimistic bigot or something?”

 “Love isn’t forever. Even married couples fall out of it. You fall in love and then it only lasts for a certain number of years before that feeling turns into tolerance cause you reached that stage in your life where the two of you are simply living with each other for the sake of commitment especially if you have children - minus some exceptions of course - and then what? Even after having children, you’re too busy taking care of them because children are practically livestock and you raise them the way you want so you can later slaughter them with school and extra curricular activities,” I spieled amusingly, “You’re so weird Squirrel, I swear.”

She snorted, opening the car door, “Oh Daniel, you’re so naive.”

“I’m the naive one?”

She nodded.

“We’re all a little weird and life’s a little weird but when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall into mutually satisfying weirdness—and call it love—true love.”