By Tim Lieder

Artwork by Chris Friend.

 It’s late. Your eyes are heavy; your tongue can’t move. Your head is falling into your neck. It’s been years since you enjoyed that. She’s talking. She’s saying things that you were afraid of hearing only six months ago. She doesn’t love you anymore. She’s found someone else. She’s sorry; she just needs to move on.

 The coffee burns your lips. Someone’s playing a videogame sponsored by the DEA. Smoke gets in your eyes. No really, it does. It’s your damn cigarette. You know things. She was cheating on you. You cheated on her.

 You try to look shocked. You’re not thinking about your side of the bed or porn. You’re not thinking about obsessive love letters that might sound romantic enough to get her back – she has those. You’re thinking about the office with the files and the receptionist that hates you. You’re thinking about the rent check that’s going to bounce if you don’t get your tax refund soon. You’re thinking about the mean dog tied to a stop sign outside, owned by the jerk with the stupid tattoos.

 It’s ok. Your words are grief. Your silence is shock enough.

 She’s talking. She’s telling you how good you’d be great for someone – anyone – besides her. You’ll always be friends. She learned a lot with you and now she wants to grow. You’ve heard the platitudes already. Can’t she just walk out?

 You hate her. Maybe you should tell her that there’s a gap in her teeth and her nose job looks funny. You should tell her that her hair looks stupid, or that purple sweaters makes her look sunburned. She’s still saying all those things that should hurt. You don’t want to argue now. Chad can deal with her. Let Chad scream at her when she can’t decide between coffee and tea in the morning.

 Think about all the places you’d rather be – math class, your aunt’s pantry stealing her cookie supply, lying on a beach watching women better looking than the woman crying in front of you.

 She’s crying?

 You said something, didn’t you? What did you say? Now you’ll never get out of here in time. Which one of the greatest hits of the dumped just escaped your mouth?

• 1. I don’t believe this is happening
• 2. Why?
• 3. You’ll be back.
• 4. I’m sorry.
• 5. It’s ok

That was it, wasn’t it? You went for number 5? How could you? It’s ok? It’s ok? You said “it’s ok”, you bastard. You knew right when to slide it into the conversation, didn’t you? Right between her declaration of your sweetness and her tentative hint of someone else. That did it. You bastard. You -- she was running on self-righteous indignation; you just had to trip her up. What were you thinking? Yes, I know it puts her in a bad place. That’s fun. But she’s going to be crying for hours. You’d rather be having a beer with that Krissy chick over at the Dead Mick, but it doesn’t mean you can just say some pleasantry to mess with her mind and get out. What do you think you’re doing? Getting her back?

It’s ok. It’s ok. It’s ok. Stop saying that. I know I haven’t been the best boyfriend and maybe Chad could make you happier. What the fuck? Unless you follow it up with “I really don’t like you much either” you shouldn’t use that line.

Take your hand off her shoulder. I don’t care if she’s leaning into you. People are looking at you. Come on. You pull your chair around the table, sit like a teambuilding leadership trainer and start groping her? Krissy! Remember Krissy! The chick at the bar? Much much better than this yapping backstabbing bitch.

Now she’s crying. Sorry, you aren’t going to get any. Chad has claimed that territory. Your days down under have ended.

“Maybe it could have worked out if we met at a different time. You were right to leave me. I hope Chad gives you everything that I couldn’t.”

What? What a load of crap. Excuse me sir, your balls please. We have many needy orphans that could put them to better use.

She’s sniveling. It looks cute. Ok, it looks ridiculous. There’s snot on her lips. She’s looking at you – really looking at you. Wet eyes, full lips leaning closer. She is about to eat your mouth and –

You pull away.

“It’s been fun. Call me sometime.”

Score! Now get the hell out. You’re up. You’re strolling out the door. Let’s see if we can get over to Krissy before she goes home. If there’s no Krissy, there’s definitely beer. Turn and look around at the nose job. Realize that you’re never going to be this happy again for a real long time. Out the door in the car. Go. Go. Go.