Caging a Wild Bird

          I woke up early this morning, seized with a lust for life. I went to check my email, then I logged onto MySpace. Even though I know that girl, Sharona #1, isn’t for me, there’s still something about her. She looks so… acceptable. Strangely she still hadn’t signed back in since our confrontation. I worried she might’ve come to harm at the hands of that oaf we’d encountered with her.

            Turning to more important matters, I typed ‘Sharona + blues singer + New Orleans’ into Google. I found her straightaway. Her full name is Sharona Sophia. Apparently she’s well regarded, if little known. There was even a video of her on YouTube. It was all somewhat overwhelming. Half way through the video Ed appeared.

            “Christ that chick’s hot. Wait… is that Sharona?”

            Someone behind him stopped and looked. “Ah, she’s great guys, I saw her in a local bar the other day.” He moved on but left me feeling rather beset with pressure. In some ways I was rather sad about it.

“I’m not sure about this, Ed.” I said.

“What are you on about?”

“I mean, how am I, a mere barrister, supposed to countenance even the mere possibility of even dating such a girl, let alone persuading her to come back to England with me? It’s a doomed romance. I couldn’t do it. It would be like caging a beautiful wild bird. I could never be so exciting or entertaining as to keep such a creature for long.”

“Blah blah blah, stop being such a melodramatic fucktard and get on with it.”

“I don’t know Ed. I think maybe it’s time to move on. This adventure’s done.”

“You’re an idiot, Evans.” He shook his head and walked over to the guitar in the corner. He started playing a few chords to some interested girls who immediately crowded round. He smiled at them and sang them a line. They swooned a little. As he continued he looked subtly up at me, eye to eye, and held my gaze. I left to go pack upstairs.

Twenty minutes later Ed entered the room, guitar in hand and told me to stop.

“Come on, Ed, what’s the point?”

At this moment Sharona walked in the room. She was dressed in ripped blue jeans, black t-shirt, and long black fingerless arm warmers. Her hair was full and glossy. She walked right up to me and smiled, holding me paralysed.

“Are you leaving Tom?”

“What are you doing here?” I asked. What was I thinking?

“I’m terribly sorry to interrupt,” she said, with mock offence, “I thought perhaps you might like to see me in my other job tonight.” She handed over two tickets to me.

“Thanks… Sharona,” I said, uncertainly. She nodded slightly, smiled, and departed.

Once was she was safely away Ed came striding over. “Mate, you’re a fucking idiot. This girl clearly likes you but you’re acting like a prick. I know it’s like asking the Pope to turn Jewish, but do you think you could try to be cool?”

Well in truth I was simply flabbergasted. Eventually I pulled myself a little together and agreed at least to go watch Sharona. It’s bound to be a hell of a night…