“Check please.” Another date down the drain.
       The waitress waddled over to our table, her breasts about ready to burst out of her top, her mouth chewing loudly on an old piece of gum. Her face had one of those looks of I’m-so-over-this that clearly gave away that her shift was almost over. Well, sorry to keep you, I thought to myself. Leaning down, I fished my purse from under the table to pay and upon sitting up I realized my date had vanished. The waitress, who I later found out was named Cindy, was standing there, her hand out and her jaw munching on the Big Red like a cow. Rolling my eyes I gave her two twenty dollar bills and gulped down the last of my Sprite. I stomped away from the table, heading outside to search for my so called date when a waiter took hold of my arm.
       “Hey, you’re the Laramy girl, right?”
       Without looking at him I gave a slight nod and tugged my arm back to walk out.
       “Well, hold on. I want to talk to you.” God, he was persistent.  
       I blew my hair from my face and turned to him. Immediately I recognized him. “Brett? Brett Jandrew, is that you?”
       He grinned from ear-to-ear and reached to hug me. “What are you doing in this part of town? I thought you moved at the beginning of the year.”
       He was right, my mother uprooted our poor excuse of a family just before the first week of my senior year. Nice three bedroom house, nice view that overlooked the lake, and nice neighbors for the most part. But about two weeks after that we were evicted. Now we’re living in my father’s RV while my mom travels to various parts of town everyday looking for odd jobs little old ladies need done to keep food on the fold out table.
       Brett squeezed my hand, pulling me back into the dim reality.  
       “Oh, uh, I had a date.” I tried saying nonchalantly. Brett chuckled.
       “Aren’t you a tad overdressed for this restaurant?” I shrugged. “Whatever floats your boat, Chris.”
       “Pft, my boat sank a while back. I’ve been trying to fish it out for a while now. Think you can stop by and help me sometime? Oh, and, if you see my sanity anywhere give me a call. He’s been MIA for almost eighteen years.”
This left Brett slapping his knee as he wiped an imaginary tear from his cheek.
       “How I miss you, Christina. But look, I have to get back to work, my shift isn’t over for another two hours and Linda will have my head if she sees me socializing with real people and not the dishrag who by the way is an interesting conversation starter. Yesterday I had an entire conversation with him about how easily dust particles can be tripped over.” I couldn’t help but laugh at that one.  
       After a bit more small talk I accepted another hug and pushed open the restaurant’s filthy glass door. Outside stood the ever so handsome Jordan, king of assholes, prince of shitheads, duke of egotistical bastards. Oh why, oh why did I ever agree to go on a date with him?
       “Why’d you run out like that?” He was leaning against the building’s back wall, his hand hidden in his letterman jacket, looking royally pissed. Some people claim girls are cute when they’re mad. Sad to say, it doesn’t work like that for guys.
       “Had to get the hell outta that shithole,” he mumbled, “bringing down my mood.” From inside his jacket he pulled a Bud Light.  
       He cut me off before I could ask. “Where did I get it? Swiped it from one of the trays a waitress was carrying on the way out. She didn’t notice.” Popping open the cap, he took a long pull on the bottle, wiped his sleeve across his mouth and offered it to me. When I didn’t take it, he shoved it at my chest.
       “No,” I said.
       “Bitch, where’s your manners?”
       “No, thanks.”
       “Now that’s better,” he grabbed my shoulder, dragging me to him and held the bottle to my lips.  “Have a sip.”
       “Thanks but no thanks,” I said firmly. Jordan tightened his grip.
       “Hey, I’m offering you a drink so take it,” the beer bottle’s mouth met my own much harder than the first time. Slowly, I began wriggling my way from his vice grip.
       “Jordan, please. I don’t want any.” Shoving away the alcohol, I yanked my shoulder from him and about-faced. Five or six steps later I felt my whole head being jerked back. Jordan’s voice was in my ear.
       “I offered you a drink,” all I could smell was the Bud Light, “so you’re going to drink it and you’re going to like it.”
       My blood began boiling, my hand forming a fist along with it as I grew more and more angry with him. “No.”
Jordan pulled back. “What did you say,” more of a statement than a question.
       Gritting my teeth, I turned to him. “I. Said. No!” Before I knew what was happening, the fist I made moments ago was making contact with his stomach. Well, more like his rib cage because of the height difference. Either way, I punched him. Hard.
       As he stumbled back I strode over and kneeled down to meet his sagging shoulders. “When I say no, I mean no. You do understand the meaning of the word, right?” Just as he started to answer, I walked away.

       Getting home was like being on autopilot. I don’t remember any of the ride, for all I know I flagged down a cab until my door slammed shut. Guess I did drive home.
       The moment my keys unlocked the side door and my feet hit the floor my shoes were off, thrown to the rack of a dozen others my mother never wore. Sliding across the linoleum in my leggings, I fetched a soda from the fridge and headed for the little corner dubbed my room. As it fizzed open, my phone went off, the ringtone chiming a classic tune I had set for my best friend. I let it ring. I was in no mood to hear her latest rejection news. It rang and rang and rang until voicemail picked up then chimed when she hung up from that but instead of checking it I turned off my phone and laid in bed, thinking of the completely shitty night I just had with the king of assholes. Flopping over onto my stomach I extracted a pad of Post It notes and searched for a pen. When I was done the little paper read:

       NOTE TO SELF: NO MORE DATING