One of my best galpals, Sarah Dehart, is like a cat with nine lives. She’s survived being hit by a car while riding her bike and a ruptured cyst among other things. Yesterday, some woman lost control of her car on an icy road. It smashed into Sarah, rolling her SUV on the interstate. Miraculously, she’s banged up, but fine.
Don’t ask me how or why … but Dehart and I are cosmically connected in the universe. Every time something goes awry with Sarah, I can sense it and will immediately call her. And it’s not just the occasional happenstance, mind you. IT’S EVERY SINGLE TIME. Yesterday, minutes after her crash, I had this sudden strong urge to blow up her phone. The paramedics fished her cell out of the crashed car because they heard it ringing. “Who’s M2?”, they asked.
Sarah and I lived together for about nine months. And we were both in the middle of ugly breakups at the time. For weeks, it was misery loves company. And a lot of chocolate. During those nine months, something happened. (Uh, besides me gaining 15lbs.) I became instinctively protective of her. Like a bear with her cub.
I’ve never met anyone with a life force as strong as Sarah. (Good thing too … as she cheats death way more than the average human.) She’s a literal whirling dervish of energy. Her aura is so bright, shades are mandatory. When I would hear the jingle of her keys in the door I would think, “OOOooh, the party is about to start!” And she talks faster than anyone I know.
I defy you to keep up with her. You can’t. It’s impossible.
When I called her at the hospital, we laughed about the fact I called four minutes after her accident. When she heard the phone ringing, she knew it was me. Now, that’s weird. Don’t ask me why I had the urge to grab my phone and press “3”. (She’s on speed dial, dontcha’ know.) I just did. And yesterday in the hospital, she was sitting with her mom, who, I swear, has the patience of Job. Sarah was in a neck brace watching the KU game. I asked her if she needed anything. Dehart said, “I need a goddamn beer.”
Yep, that’s my girl.
PS. Get well, you crazy bitch! Love ya!
I love you. And my mom and I promptly poured ourselves some drinks last night after getting home from the hospital (5 1/2 hours later). Fortunately, they were celebratory, as the CT scan of my neck was negative.