I had a childhood obsession that my name was somehow compared to my ability to find adventure. I had the same name as probably millions of other girls...Sarah. As a teenager I cursed my parents for giving me such a boring name.
I had lived in several places growing up, visited France and Germany right before I started college, but most of those decisions had been my parents responding to work and education opportunities. My free spirited grandmother had insisted i take the trip to Europe and paid for nearly all of the expenses.
I had finished nursing school a few years ago and I had recently jumped on the trend of being a traveling nurse to exploit the monetary opportunity. Savannah, Georgia was my newest adventure. During a childhood visit, I had fallen in love with the large arching oaks with wisps of Spanish moss growing from the massive branches, the quaint and historic row houses with petite gardens, and the "port town" feel it provided with its proximity to coastal waters. When the opportunity presented itself to work there, I quickly took it.
I'm a self diagnosed workaholic and a recovering recluse. At 33 years old, I had never made many friends in all the places I had lived. I am hoping to change that.
My coworkers are friendly and even though there is minimal nightlife, the neighborhood I live in fits the stereotype of typical Southern charm and hospitality. The rental I share with a couple is quaint and cozy and most of the homes around us are occupied with families, wives, or mothers that are openly friendly, courteous, and welcoming. I often find myself enjoying a book or podcast while sitting on the front porch in the warm fall Georgia air. Most people walking by wave and strike the occasional conversation.
But something is still missing. I want something more but I can't put my finger on it. In an effort to open up and reach out, I will spend my weekends out with co-workers, trying the occasional meet up from a dating app, and attending local singles events.
I am getting more comfortable expressing myself and generating conversation, but I still feel strained finding the things to say. From my point of view, my life is dull and uneventful. Always work, work, work, or school.
Lately, after a busy or late work shift, I find myself enjoying the occasional conversations with the couple I rent from, Andrea and Darcy. They share a kitchen and run into me when I'm catching a snack after a late night of work (a guilty pleasure of mine). Sometimes they invite me to help them finish off dinner when I am home in time. I have interactions with both of them, and separately, but it's a hit and miss.
Andrea and Darcy are a cute couple, not much older than me. Maybe 35 or 36. I have never really asked. I enjoy watching their kisses when they don't think they are being watched (another guilty pleasure). They make every effort to kiss and be around each other whenever they can.
I often find myself imagining being the one being kissed, caressed, or held. I admire how much they adore each other.
Lately I have had more than a couple scandalous brush-ins with one or the other of them being in their underwear and a couple times, topless. They usually just smile, giggle, or shrug and proceed on their way. They seem so fearless.
I would die of embarrassment if the roles were switched. I am so careful with how I present myself and don't do anything to embarrass myself living in their home.
It was a Thursday. I had been on swing shift and it was just after midnight when I quietly came through the door. I took my shoes off, pulled the scrub top off and unlatched the bra underneath my white ribbed tank top. I tiptoed into the kitchen and grabbed a quick drink. I put the glass away and heard a sound from the back porch. I kept the light off..only using the light from the night light in the kitchen.
