Saturday's Storyteller: "They always said that lightning never strikes twice..."

by Belinda Roddie

They always said that lightning never strikes twice...they were wrong. Dead wrong. Twice on the week before Christmas, a drunk driver rammed some sort of truck or jeep into my neighbor's house, not even giving the poor girl enough time to repair the first hole in the wall. Both of my mother's cats got sick in one month with the same thing, though they turned out to be okay, if not a bit congested. A former boyfriend of mine won the lottery two years ago, only to buy another ticket and win an even bigger lottery after that. I knew people with a great deal of fortune and others with a shitload of bad luck. As for me, nothing seemed to really happen twice at all during my life. I had been broken up with once. I had gotten into a car accident once. I had even drunk enough beer to the point of severe intoxication once in my life - never again, especially after waking up with a four foot tall woman next to me. Until, one day, as it always appears to be, I hit the bottle hard after a particularly rough night at the office and wound up in a familiar hotel room, with a familiar smell of peaches and bourbon in the air.

"Remember me?" a small, cute voice piped up from next to me on the bed. The sheets were even the same color. I had, for the second time in my life, slept with the same diminutive lady.

She didn't seem any older than five years ago, though. Her hair was still very short, cut around her ears, and her body hadn't really aged, either - all the curves and bumps I remembered were still there. But this time, instead of shock, I felt a little bit of intimidation. She was much more beautiful than I previously recalled. Everything from the dip of her cheekbones to dark shade of her skin to the arch of her brow to the glint of her green eyes seemed perfectly proportional and symmetrical. It was like I was staring at a miniaturized version of a goddess statue. 

I pushed myself up from the bed and immediately felt woozy. Luckily, Miss Tiny came to my aid. She was strong enough to keep at least my head upright, trying to lead me to the hotel table where I could have a glass of water and maybe some continental breakfast. In fact, she went to fetch just that, leaving me to stare out the window toward the parking lot and wonder just how the fuck this had happened.

Burgundy wasn't even where I lived anymore. Sure, it had been my hometown. My parents had lived there, I had gone to high school there, and I had lived there for a couple of years after getting my bachelor's degree. I wound up at the local grille and bar with a friend five years ago, and it was when he introduced me to drinks consisting of cinnamon, whiskey, and apple juice that I knew I was a goner. The woman had been there that night, too. How was it that, five years later, after losing my job and seeking solace with the same old friend, she managed to slither her way into a hotel room bed with me again?

The woman came back with a bagel with cream cheese and some pretty cold and stale pancakes, and she said her name was Hannah. I didn't remember, of course. I tried eating the bagel, but my stomach rebelled against me, so all I could digest was the cream cheese. I drank a glass of water, which didn't really help, and exhaled as the woman sat across from me.

"Do you know my name?" I asked her, though it hurt to speak.

She nodded. "You're Eddie. Well, that's what you told me to call you. Short for Edna?"

"Yeah. Shitty name."

"Eddie does suit you better."

"Yeah."

Hannah wrinkled her nose at me. Propped up in her chair with her feet dangling off the floor and a hotel bathrobe on, she was still very pretty. "Where have you been these past few years? I didn't expect a call of anything, don't get me wrong, but...you must have run off somewhere."

"San Ignacio," I uttered, trying to be as brief as possible. The hangover was starting to attack me all over. I was beginning to regret that I didn't remember any sexual encounter we had had.

"Nice city," Hannah replied, smiling. "I've hardly been, though. The sushi restaurants still good?"

"Yeah." I finally chuckled. "I don't mind some teriyaki once in a while, though."

It was meant to be a joke, and a stupid one. Hannah didn't laugh, which I actually appreciated more than an attempt to humor me. 

"So," she prodded me. "Lightning does strike twice, huh?"

I looked at her closely. This time, somehow, I actually wanted her number.

This week's prompt was provided by Kyle Oathout.