When I got home from class, Brent was sitting on his bed, looking depressed.

Big surprise.

He looked up as I opened the door, his expression going from suicidal to despondent. “How was class?” he asked, sounding as tragic as possible.

I rolled my eyes, tossing my coat over my chair. “Fine, I guess. The TA let us out fifteen minutes early. Had a big date, apparently.”

“He would,” Brent muttered, sounding even more bitter than usual.

“Yeah, well, I’m not begrudging him it.”

“I guess you’re right. I shouldn’t hold it against him.” Brent tried to sound penitent, but only succeeded in sounding pathetic. “Don’t you have a date tonight?” His best attempt at making conversation.

I laughed out loud. “Candace told me, more or less, to fuck off and die, last time I called.”

“Oh.” This time, Brent didn’t sound pathetic, just mollified. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not.” I shrugged, throwing my notebook on my desk. “She was a pretty boring date.”

“Oh,” Brent said again, this time with something along the lines of icy-jealousy. “It must be nice to be able to be so picky.”

That was about all I could take. I turned around, sat down on my bed, and looked at him from across the room. He was avoiding my gaze, just looking at his thumbs. “All right,” I said, not in the mood to spend the entire night hearing how sorry he felt for himself. “What’s the problem?”

Brent looked up at me and gave me an amused, but hollow, grin. “Do you know what today is?”

I thought about it. “Thursday?”

“No.” He almost sounded disgusted. “Why would I expect everybody to be dating?”

I thought about if for a second, then it dawned on me. “Oh….” I realized. “It’s the 14^th. Valentine’s Day.”

“Right,” Brent said. He chuckled. “If you hadn’t broken up with Candace already, then she’d be breaking up with you now.”

“Hmm…” That might change how I spent my evening. I considered the possibilities; I had a paper to write, not a long one, just eight pages and some homework to do if I wanted to stay ahead in French. And reading, of course, there always seemed to be more to read. So I could get work done, or pretend to try to get my work done, all the while listening to Brent want to kill himself. Or…. Screw it, I thought, it’s not like I was going to do anything useful anyway. “Get your shoes on,” I said, standing up and donning my coat. “We’re going out.”

Brent frowned at me. “A date with you wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.”

“Yeah, well you need to get out of here. You’re starting to make me feel depressed.” He didn’t move. I looked at him. “I’m going to a bar,” I told him, giving him no room to argue, “and you’re coming with me.”

“Why? So I can go look at all the happy couples?” Despite his protests, he was putting on his shoes. “I’m sure that’s going to make me feel better.”

“Think about it; would couples really be going to bars on Valentine’s Day?”

“Well, I suppose not,” Brent admitted. “So why…”

I rolled my eyes again. “Because you know who is going to bars tonight?” I asked. Brent didn’t answer, just looked at me mutely confused, so I continued. “All the girls who didn’t receive flowers, all the girls who didn’t even get a card. Basically, all the single girls. And they’ll be sulking over their drinks, jealous of their friends’ boyfriends, and wishing for one of their own.”

“Wait,” Brent said, finally getting my point, “because it’s Valentine’s, you think there’ll be girls at the bar, wanting to be asked out?”

“Think? I know. The single girls will be out in droves tonight, just to prove that the holiday won’t get to them.”

“When it really is getting to them.”

“Right.”

Brent looked doubtful. “So we’re going to go take advantage of Valentine’s Day depression?”

“Exactly,” I answered. “We’re going to go hit on chicks.”

When we got to the bar it was fairly empty, but still had enough of a crowd that we had to use our elbows to get to the counter. We found a couple of stools and sat down. Brent took a good look around as I ordered two beers. “You’re right,” he whispered once the bar-tender had left.

I grinned at him. “Of course I’m right.” I didn’t bother to whisper. The bar was almost three-fourths women, gathered in groups of friends or idly talking with people they had just met. Oh, there were a few couples taking up tables; I guess they decided that simple was good for V-Day. But for the most part, anybody with an S.O. had decided to go off and do some romantic bullshit, like sit in the park and let their clasped hands freeze together.

I glanced around, checking out the possibilities. There were a few girls alone, mulling over their drinks, but I didn’t really want to engage just one; I doubted Brent would enjoy sitting there, watching me flirt. There were a few larger groups, but there weren’t enough seats for both of us, so I canceled that idea. Then I noticed there were two women near the far end of the bar-counter, and that they were already eyeing us. A pair of brunettes, dressed a little less casually than most of the others in the bar. One of them leaned down to whisper into her friend’s ear. The receiver of the joke gave a nice smile as she laughed.

Well, hell, I thought. I didn’t think they’d give me the conversation starter.

When the bar-tender brought our beers, I paid for them, handed one to Brent, and led him over to the girls. The one that had been laughing covered her mouth and tried to look polite as I approached.

“I saw you noticing me,” I said, giving them an arrogant smile. “Is there something I can help you with?”

The first, the one who had pointed, flushed a little but shook her head. “No, we were just wondering why you’re wearing sunglasses.”

I reached up and adjusted the thin frames. “My glasses broke, so I’m kind of stuck with these,” I explained. I didn’t bother to admit that I hadn’t made an effort to get the broken pair replaced in nearly two years.

“Oh,” the second said, sounding a little apologetic.

I shrugged to show that there were no hard feelings. “I get that question a lot. It makes sense.”

“I suppose it does,” the second said again.

She went silent, so I did something about it. “If you’re feeling guilty,” I joked, “you could let us sit with you.”

The second looked at me in surprise and then the first blurted out, “You’re not gay?”

I looked at her in shock. “You thought we were gay?”

The second shrugged. “Two guys walk into a bar together on Valentine’s Day, they go straight to the bar together, don’t meet any of their friends. And your friend looks kind of artsy…”

I gave a sheepish grin and nodded. “Yeah, I see your point. Nah, we’re just trying not to sit at home and feel dumb for being single.”

“Oh,” the second agreed, “that makes sense.”

It only took about ten seconds for me to get sick of the awkward silence. I introduced myself and Brent, and they introduced themselves back. They made room at their table, and I bought them both drinks. We found out that we were all going to the same college, and we ended up trading stories about classes, famous professors, and exams. When we finished our drinks, they bought the next round and we wasted another half-hour making bad jokes and laughing. Not too long after, though, they politely extracted themselves, preparing to leave since they had to be somewhere, and giving us a genuinely fond farewell.

As they were standing up, I couldn’t help but make a move, since the timing seemed almost perfect. “Any chance I could give you a call sometime.”

The two girls exchanged a look. “We’re sorry…” the first began.

“Oh,” I said. I could hear the rejection before it came. They must have had boy-friends, or didn’t want a relationship, or some other bullshit.

“You’re great guys,” the second said, “but we don’t go for your type. You know… male.” She trailed off.

“Oh,” I said, feeling a little stunned.

“Anyway, it was nice to meet you,” the first said. Then they turned, arm in arm, and walked out.

“Single girls, huh.” Brent said beside me.

“Oh, shut up.” I answered, then went to the bar to order another drink.

The movie had long since finished and the DVD player shut itself off, leaving the TV with only a blue, empty screen. Holly had dozed off even before it ended, her head cradled by a cushion she had purposely put halfway on my lap. I looked down at her affectionately, then shook her lightly.

“C’mon, Holly, I’ll take you home.”

She half-pulled herself off the sofa and blinked at me a few times. Then she dove back onto the cushions, wrapping her arms tightly around her pillow.

Great, I thought ruefully. “Wake up!” I said again, shaking her.

“Mmfggh!” she mumbled through the pillow.

“What’d she say?” Brent asked blearily from the table in the kitchen. He had extracted himself from his room since he couldn’t sleep and watched the movie with us. But he looked on the verge of dozing off at this point.

“I think that was a ‘No, I’m not going anywhere!’” I answered. I gave an exasperated sigh. “What am I going to do with her?”

“Why not just leave her there and cover her with a blanket?” Brent yawned. “She’s not hurting anything.”

I took about a second to think about it, then answered. “You know how bitchy she is anyway. Do you really want to deal with her in the morning? Ouch!” I flinched away as Holly, apparently awake enough to defend herself, pinched me. I looked down at her, snuggled against my leg, a half smile on her face. Of course, I added to myself as I ran my hand gently through her hair, that’s one of her good points.

“Well, you can tell me about the fight in the morning. Night.” Brent trudged off to the bathroom.

He turned the light out and the TV off, but I didn’t move. After a few minutes I heard the toilet flush and the door to his room creak open, but still, I didn’t move. It was really kind of nice, sitting there in the dark, Holly beside me, completely silent except for her breathing. But it was almost five in the morning, and even I was getting tired.

“You awake?” I whispered.

Holly didn’t even murmur a response, too fast asleep to even notice.

The hell with it, I thought. Gently, I rolled her over and, one arm under her shoulder and the other under her knees, I picked her up. She muttered something incoherent and tightened her grip on the cushion. “You can keep it.” I said softly, walking her to my bed.

*                                                                           *                                                                        *

“Hey.”

I pried one eye open to find Holly’s face right beside mine.

“Morning,” she said, smiling gently.

I groaned and sat up. “What time is it?”

“Almost noon. I’m hungry.” She put her hands on her hips. I noticed she had slept in one of my t-shirts. “You didn’t have to sleep on the couch, you know.”

“Well, you had the bed.”

“So? Lots of friends sleep together. Uh… I mean,” she stuttered, before I could get a smart remark in, “sleep in the same bed. Like on road trips and at conventions and stuff. And nothing happens. Especially,” she added, “if they sleep in their clothes.”

I straightened my rumpled shirt. “Whatever.”

“Anyway, can we get something to eat already?”

I rolled my eyes. “Look, its way too early to be talking about breakfast. Can’t you just go back to sleep.”

“Look,” she answered, “some of us are diurnal.”

I frowned, but she had me there. “Tell you what; why don’t you go take a shower, and you can wake me up when you’re done. You know where the towels are, right?”

“Hmmph!” she said. I couldn’t tell whether she was actually mad or just pretending to be. “Fine, I guess I’ll go take my hot shower then.”

I watched her walk off and then rolled over, closing my eyes again. “By the way,” she called from the hallway. “You better be up when I get out or I’ll pour cold water on you.”

Holly didn’t pour cold water on me, which was good. What she did do was to drag me, quite literally, off the sofa. I think she would have even dragged me to the shower, had I let her.

Breakfast was a sticky matter. There was nothing in the refrigerator, and most places stopped serving breakfast sometime around ten. I wasn’t about to risk Waffle House, so we ended up at Marty’s Diner, a questionable establishment I’d normally avoid, and ordered lunch. She got some kind of soup and salad, barely enough food, and I ordered a hamburger, the cheapest thing they had on the menu.

“See,” she said, once the waiter left, giving me her most charming smile. “I’m not bitchy in the morning.”

“Oh… You mean you remember that?” I said, feeling a little nervous. Well hell, she didn’t seem mad. “Well, from the way you act at Baskin Robbins…

She waved her hand. “That’s BR, and those are BR customers, whose IQ’s apparently drop about a hundred points when they order ice cream.”

I couldn’t help but grin at her. “How in the world do you not get fired?”

She shrugged. “Nothing big. Whenever anyone complains, whoever answers just tells them I’m a schizophrenic, and that BR is supporting a movement to get the mentally ill into the workplace. Then they just feel too guilty to keep complaining.”

I laughed out loud. “And they let you get away with this?”

She looked a little embarrassed. “Well, I am a manager. And besides, we all agree they deserve it.” I gave her a skeptical look. “Anyway,” she said, sensing she was on unstable ground, “how’d the movie end?”

I grinned. “What? And spoil it for you? Why’d you fall asleep before it ended?”

She shrugged, but her face turned red. “I was comfortable.”

You mean using me for a pillow? I gave her a smug grin. “ ‘They lived happily ever after.’ ”

“I know that; that’s how all stories end. I want to know how it happened. So he wasn’t dead?”

I leaned back in my chair and kept the grin on my face.

“Tell me,” she complained. “So was he just faking, what?”

I gave her a shrug. She glared at me. “Well, you should have stayed awake,” I said, nonchalantly.

“I was tired.” She faked a sulk, tracing patterns in the water from her glass onto the table. “And you were comfortable.”

“That’s hardly and excuse,” I teased. “Maybe I should have just taken you home.”

Her finger hesitated. When she spoke, she didn’t look back up, but it sounded like her smile was gone. “Yeah, maybe I should have just gone home.”

The catch in her voice made me pause. Did I say something wrong, I wondered. Aloud, I forced a laugh, trying to make a joke. “I mean, if you were just going to fall asleep on me…” I didn’t finish the punch line. “Holly?”

She looked up at me. Her eyes glistened and her mouth was tight.

“Is something wrong?”

She shook her head. “No, no. I’m fine.”

She wasn’t fine, obviously, but it didn’t seem like she was going to tell me what the problem was. I went back to focusing on my water, waiting for her to say something. She didn’t, just kept looking at the table, tracing water with her finger, until the food came. Then, at least, I had the meal to focus on, but she still hadn’t spoken. By the time I finished lunch, I was tired of the silence. “Holly…” I began.

“What?” she snapped at me. I bit back what I was going to say. Holly gave me her worst glare. “Well?”

“Nothing,” I muttered under my breath. Dammit girl, pick an emotion!

She went back to stabbing at her salad. Me, I just watched in confusion until I caught the waiter’s attention and signaled for the check. He brought it by and dumped it on the table. “I’ll get it,” I said, standing up.

“No,” she said suddenly, reaching over. I looked at her, surprised. “No, I’ll pay for mine.” Now she sounded contrite. What the hell? And why would she suddenly be throwing down money? We usually just traded off who paid.

The ride home was just as awkward as the meal. I briefly considered going back to my apartment and forcing her to talk, but then decided that would probably only make things worse, as stubborn as she is. When we got to her apartment complex, I parked the car and shut it off. When she reached for the door I hit the lock button. She stopped, surprised, then looked over at me.

“Do you mind explaining to me what the problem is?” she didn’t say anything, and I was getting angry. “Look, if it’s about the comment about taking you home…

She shook her head. “No, no that wasn’t it.”

“Look, it was a joke.”

“That wasn’t it,” she said again.

“Then what the hell was it!” I actually shouted. I don’t think I’ve ever actually been mad at her enough to shout before.

“I… I…” Her countenance crumbled, and I saw a few tears fall before she unlocked the door and bolted.

I watched her flee to her door, then I re-started my car and drove back home.

Well, shit. I thought.

I’ll never forget the first time I saw Brent really try to kill himself. The memory is riveted in my mind, always there, reminding me of what could have happened, no matter how much I try to forget.

We had just gotten back home from the bar. I had managed to get Brent to drink about four beers more than he should have, and he was the drunkest he’d ever been in his life. Still, I was the one leaning on his shoulder.

“We’re home!” he said cheerily as he banged the door open. He was having a lot of trouble keeping straight. The fact that I was half dragging him down wasn’t helping. But hey, he wouldn’t finish the pitcher and somebody had to. He trudged in a few steps, then more or less dropped me on the floor.

I took a few minutes to orient myself and then half-dragged myself up into the chair. Alcohol never did too much to me, but it always screwed with my legs. “You going to be okay?” I asked, squinting at him.

Brent giggled a little, then just kind of dropped into a sitting position. “I don’t know. That last beer might have been a bit much.” He let himself slowly drop until he was lying on the floor, staring up at the ceiling.

“Pansy,” I said, my head on the table. I tried to raise it up to look at him, but it just wouldn’t move. I stopped struggling and just let it lay there. “Still awake?” I asked after about ten minutes.

“Yeah,” he muttered back.

“Trying to get the world to stop tilting?” I asked, thinking back on the first few times I got drunk.

“Nah,” he muttered. “Just thinking.”

“About?”

“Julie.”

“Julie?”

“Yeah, girl in my art class.”

I thought back. “I think I remember… brown hair, tan streaks?”

“Yeah.” Brent let out a wistful sigh. “That’s her.”

“So, what about her?”

“Nothing,” he answered.

I waited for him to say something else, and when he didn’t, I laid my head back down, figuring we’d both fall asleep where we were and wake up tomorrow with a headache bad enough to justify suicide. “God,” I muttered aloud, “we’re going to need a bottle of Tylenol each tomorrow.”

Brent stirred. “Tylenol? Now that’s a good idea if I ever heard one.” He pulled himself off the carpet and walked into the kitchen, where I heard him rummaging around in the cabinets.

“What are you doing?” I muttered, completely not in the mood for any stupid little games.

Brent came back to where I could see him, grinning happily. “That’s easy,” he answered. “Killing myself.”

It’s amazing how two words can send enough adrenaline into your veins to nullify a night’s worth of alcohol. “What?’

“I’m killing myself,” Brent repeated.

“Quit fooling around,” I snapped.

“I’m serious.”

I looked at him; confused, nervous, annoyed? All of the above? “No you’re not,” I said angrily, hoping I wasn’t bluffing.

“I’ll do it!” he countered, a wild glint in his eyes. He pulled the bottle cap off for emphasis. “I’m serious.”

I watched him, tongue tied, not certain what to say.

He threw the cap over his shoulder and poured several dozen white pills into his hand. “I’m serious!” he said again.

I was too busy trying to figure out what I was supposed to do to say anything. Was this some kind of joke, or did he really want to kill himself? Was I supposed to reason with him? Call an ambulance? Tackle him and knock him out for his own good? What? I figured I’d try reasoning with him first, and then see where it took me. “And why do you want to do that?”

Brent’s face twisted a little. Then he shook his head, slowly. I thought maybe he was going to cry. “I just can’t take it anymore,” he whispered.

“What? You mean college? That ‘C’ you got last semester?”

“No!” Brent’s hand shook, spilling a few of the pills. “That doesn’t matter!”

“Then what?”

“These stupid classes, this shit life.” His hands, still clenching the bottle and pills, lowered. “They’re meaningless. I’m not interested in spending my life jumping though hoops just so I can have a job I hate.”

He looked a little less likely to choke down the Tylenol now. I pushed myself up shakily to my feet. I needed to look him in the eye. “Oh, c’mon, it can’t be that bad. Whatever happened to that whole acting dream?”

Brent shook his head. “You think that’s going to happen? How many people actually succeed? And most of the time, it’s just luck anyway.”

“You could give it a chance.”

“There is no chance.” Brent looked at his hand, still holding most of the pills, though he had scattered several of them all over the floor.

“You don’t know that.” I took a step forward.

Brent laughed. “Yeah, I do.” He glided a step back. “This is my life. I was miserable and alone in high school, and then I graduated. And now I’m miserable and alone in college, and in a couple of years, I’ll graduate. And then I’ll either be miserable and alone in graduate school, if I can afford it, or the real word if I can’t.” He sounded like he was choking on something. “And so there I am, alone, cursed, just waiting to die.”

“So, what, you’re just going to end it sooner?”.

“Sure, why not?” Brent asked, giving a final, bitter laugh. Then with a flare of the wrist, he jammed the handful of pills into his mouth.

“Brent!” I grabbed at his arm but he pulled back and jammed in another quick handful. I couldn’t tell if he had managed to swallow any or not, but I could see a few of them spilling out from between his lips. I jumped at him this time and managed to grab the bottle. Brent let me, and I fell to the dorm-room floor, spraying pills across the carpet. Brent was still on his feet, but he looked like he was choking. He reached into the cabinet, found my bottle of whiskey, wrenched it open, and then swallowed as fast as he could. By the time I was on my feet, Brent was putting the bottle back down with a good third of it gone.

He made a face and rubbed his mouth. “God, that stuff tastes like shit. How can you drink it?”

My brain tried to go numb, but I wouldn’t let it. Poison control, I thought. No, 911. I looked at the shelf, but the cordless wasn’t there. Where the fuck is the phone!

Brent leaned against the counter, placidly unconcerned. “Now, for my next trick,” he gave a short, bitter laugh, “I’ll make myself disappear.”

Phone, phone, phone… I was on the floor of the main room, throwing bed sheets and papers aside, trying to figure out where I had left the receiver.

Brent was still talking. “You know, I forgot to make my will. ‘To my esteemed roommate, I leave… my room.” He laughed at his joke. “And my computer. And to my parents, I give them my clothes… to give to my brother. And to my cou-” He hesitated. “My-” Then he broke off, spun around, and began puking in the sink.

I slowed down, putting the towel back on the floor where I had found it, watching Brent more or less puke up a bottle of Tylenol, a third of a bottle of whiskey, and a good thirty dollars worth of beer. That works, I suppose. And hopefully he’ll feel bad enough afterwards that he won’t want to move, let alone kill himself. Well, he might want to kill himself, but he’ll be so sick, he won’t be able to do anything about it.

I looked around our room; the papers that had been on the desk and table were now all over the floor, the clothes that had been thrown about were a little farther apart now, and the floor around the table was a scattering of pills. And to top it all off, a sink full of puke, too.

Shit, I thought, we’re going to need more Tylenol.

“Oh, come on!” Holly sputtered out. She hadn’t stopped laughing since I hustled her into the car. “That was funny!”

I didn’t answer. She didn’t really want me to.

“Don’t get mad!” she pressed.

“Who’s mad?” And I wasn’t just covering myself. I was a little annoyed, but I’d found a while ago that the best thing to do after a run in with an ass-hole was to simply let it go. It wasn’t like Holly had even given him the time of day. “Christ,” I said. “There’s just no place get food after midnight anymore!”

“If you don’t like it, why don’t we just go to Waffle House?”

I looked at her from the corner of my eye, but no, she wasn’t making a bad joke. “We can’t,” I reminded her. “Not without getting coffee poured in my lap.”

“What do you… Oh, right. That.”

“Yes. That.”

“But still… It’s been what, two months?”

“Just about, yeah.”

“And they’re still angry? Seriously, that’s unreasonable.”

I smirked. Holly’s one to talk about people being ‘unreasonable’. “Well,” I admitted, “they do have a right to be. After all, it was just the one waiter that pissed me off.”

“But for two months?”

“For some things,” I explained, “there is no forgiveness.”

Holly leaned back in her seat and crossed her arms. She probably figured I was being unreasonable, too.

“So,” I asked finally, “am I taking you home?”

She waited a moment before answering. “Nah. I’m not tired yet. Let’s go back to your place and do something.”

“Fair enough,” I said, pulling the car out of the parking-lot. She had stopped laughing and was now just smiling happily. I was actually wondering what kind of scene we’d walk into when we got there. Brent took to Fridays like a cat to water. Since it was the prime dating night, all it did was remind him that he had broken up with his girlfriend and he inevitably spent the night contemplating how pathetic he was. Generally, he was either crying, drunk, or trying to kill himself before it was over.

When we got to the apartment, I gently shut the car off and sat for a moment. I noticed Brent’s car, parked a few spaces from mine, and wondered if it wouldn’t be better to just head back to Café Yoko’s. Holly noticed my moment’s hesitation. “Wanting a few moments privacy before we go in?” she asked suggestively.

I looked over at her and considered it for a moment. Then I gave her a loose grin. “Actually, I was wondering just what kind of show Brent’ll have going on up there.”

Her laugh came out with a slight catch in it, then she stepped out of the car. “Well, only one way to find out, right? After all, he needs an audience.”

I pulled myself out of the car and followed. The door was locked, which was a little strange. We weren’t in the safest part of town but we hardly needed the door locked at all times. I looked back at Brent’s car to double check, but yes, it was his license plate. Hell, maybe Dan had dropped by and dragged Brent off on one of his “adventures”.

I pushed open the door, stepped in, and then paused. The apartment was deathly quiet and almost completely black. The TV in the main room was on, but its light only reached the sofa directly across from it, and if the sound was on at all it was too low to hear. For a moment, the place almost felt unearthly.

I shook the thought aside and flicked the light switch on.

“Ow, bright!” Holly complained, stepping in behind me.

I didn’t say anything, still a little unnerved by how abandoned the house had seemed. It’d been a while since I came home on a Friday evening to find it this quiet. The last time had been on one of Brent and Amy’s better nights. “Anyway,” I said, stepping into the kitchen, “you want a soda or something?”

“Sure,” Holly answered.

“Okay.” I went to the table to get a dirty glass to wash when I noticed that part of the it had been cleared off, and in the middle of the clean spot was a bottle of pain killers. Its top was off and it was lying haphazardly on its side.

It was empty. Beside it, written in jagged letters, was a note that said, “We’re out of Advil.”

I felt a part of myself freeze up. “Oh, shit.”

“What is it?” Holly asked following me into the kitchen. Then she noticed the note, too. “Oh my god….” she whispered. “He didn’t…”

“Shit,” I muttered again, almost knocking Holly down as I darted past her. “Shit, shit, shit! Brent!” As I ran down the hallway, I couldn’t get the image of him out of my mind. Lying on his bed, eyes wide and vapid, staring at nothing as his heart slowly began to freeze up. Why the hell didn’t I believe him this time? Why didn’t I come home sooner? I should have known not to leave him on his own. “Dammit Brent!” I snarled and burst through his door.

Brent sat up, still wrapped in sheets, squinting at me. “What?” he asked, sounding groggy and a little dazed.

I stared back at him in surprise. “The Advil?”

“Right,” he said, sounding genuinely pissed. “I bought the last bottle, so you can buy this one. Now can I get back to my migraine?”

“Uh, sure,” I answered, then stepped out and closed the door behind me.

Holly gave me an anxious look. “Is he all right?”

“Yeah,” I answered, feeling the shock wearing off. I stepped around her, back towards the kitchen. “The little shit even has to be dramatic about his shopping lists.”

So once she finished up at work, Holly and I decided to go to Café Yoko’s for dinner. I don’t know why. Café Yoko’s is a shit place to take a date. Not because of the food, or the atmosphere, but the clientèle. And not all of them, really, just a couple of dicks. But its bad enough to ruin a good time.

So we were sitting there, not really talking, each of us thinking our own thoughts. She kept looking over at me with an I-just-ate-the-canary kind of grin, and I was toggling between figuring that out and figuring out whether or not I should quit my job and start looking for a new, and hopefully better, one.

I got tired of contemplating my beer and looked up at her. She was watching me, lazily tracing circling in the condensation on the table. When she noticed, she gave me a playful smile. “So… watcha thinking about?”

I looked back down, a little embarrassed. “Nothing. Why do you ask?”

“Really?” she asked, leaning forward, like it was some kind of a game.

“Yes, real-” I stopped when I noticed there was a guy standing over me. He seemed like he wanted to say something. “Can I help you?”

“Yeah, do you have a piece of paper?”

“Like a notebook sheet or something?”

“Just something to write on.” The guy sounded a little nervous. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Sure.” I dug around in my coat pocket until I found a left-over receipt and pulled it out. I smoothed it a little and handed it to him.

“Thanks,” he said, and then turned around and began scribbling on it.

“Anyways,” I said, “there’s nothing wrong wi-”

The guy was standing over me again. “Here,” he said, holding the paper out for Holly. She looked at it perplexed. “It’s my number. Baby, just call whenever you need some loving.”

Holly flushed several shades of red; I wasn’t certain if it was outrage or embarrassment. “I’m sorry,” she said stiffly, “but I’m here on a date with my boyfriend.”

Who’s your boyfriend? I thought but didn’t say it.

The guy shrugged his shoulders. “Hey, it doesn’t matter. Just give me a call when you’re tired of that loser. I’ve always got time for a lady.” She glared at him. “Oh, c’mon, baby, don’t be like that.” She kept glaring. “Fine, but you don’t know what you’re missing, bitch.”

She kept glaring until he disappeared down the hallway. “I can’t believe him!” she said angrily, hitting the table with the palm of her hand. “I mean seriously, what the hell was that?”

“A bad pickup line?”

She frowned. “You’re no fun tonight, you know that?”

“Sorry. I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

“And what would that be?” she asked, wide-eyed and innocent.

“It’s about,” I began, then I noticed another guy standing over me. “Dammit, what now?”

“Do you have some paper I can borrow?”

I looked at him, eyes narrowed. “You’re not going to write your phone number on it and hand it to her, are you?”

The guy laughed. “Hell no, man, I’ve got more class than that.”

“Fine, then.” I said, fishing around again in my coat pocket. This time I found a part of a flier some religious nut had handed me. “Here.” I gave the guy the whole thing. “Anyway,” I turned back to Holly, still not certain how much to tell her. “It’s nothing big, its ju- What?”

The guy was standing over the table with a corner of the flier in his hand.

“Why don’t you hurry up and hand her the damn thing?” I said through gritted teeth.

He grinned and put the scrap down in front of me. “When you’re sick of dealing with women, just give me a call and I’ll show you how a woman will never really satisfy you.” The guy turned and walked off, leaving us both a little surprised.

So I chugged my beer and in five minutes we were back in the car.

I first met Holly shortly after starting my second shift job, which let off at 9:30. So there I was, driving home, feeling hungry, pissed, and generally considering not going back.

And then, out of the corner of my eye, lo and behold, I saw a Baskin Robbins.

Hell, I thought to myself, ice cream sort of counts as food.

So I pulled up, parked the car, and leaped out, determined to make it through the door before they locked it.

As I ran in, three minutes to close, I noticed there was a cute red-head behind the counter holding keys in her hand. And giving me a look like she wanted to kill me.

“Hi,” I said, a little out of breath.

“We’re closed.”

Ouch. “Oh, c’mon, it’s not ten yet.”

“It might as well be.”

“But it isn’t.”

“Look, if I serve you, then I’m going to have a horde of maniacs wanting ice-cream after we’re closed for… for why ever the hell they want ice-cream.”

“Kinky sex.”

The girl’s eyes widened. She had certainly never heard that from a customer. “What?”

“It’s the middle of the night. Couples are probably getting ice-cream so they can have kinky sex. Me, I just got off work and I’d like something to eat.”

The girl wavered a little. It was a minute to ten now, but she was having trouble arguing about it. She was still considering getting rid of me, but seemed to be having second thoughts.

So I pushed her a little. “Look, you want me out of here, I want me out of here. So why not just give me a,” I glanced at the menu for a second, “a sundae and then I’ll be out of your hair.”

She thought about it for a second, then stepped around and locked the door behind me. “Fine,” she said, actually smiling. “But just for you and just this once.” She turned around to yell at her co-workers. “Shut the drive-thru down. We’re closed!”

“Thank you,” I said. It never hurt to be civil.

“Right, right. Did you want vanilla on that?”

“Whatever. Just pick two you like.”

She looked at me for a second, then gave me a smug smile and shook her head, moving to a different cabinet. “So,” she asked, digging out two scoops of something orange, “should I expect you here often?”

I shrugged. “You’re the first fast food place on the way home. Maybe.”

“We’re not fast food, you know.”

“You have a drive-thru, don’t you?”

“So?”

“That kind of says, ‘fast food.’”

“Whatever.” She finished scooping the ice cream, put some hot fudge, whip cream, nuts and a cherry on it, then brought it to the front. “$3.25.”

“Kind of pricey for two scoops, don’t you think?”

“It’s two really good scoops.”

“Sure it is,” I said, pulling out the cash to pay for it.

“Anyway,” she said as she gave me my change, “I’m on shift tomorrow, so if you drop by, I’ll be here.”

“Even after ten?”

She grinned a little. “Don’t push your luck. Now get out of here, I have to do the money.” She unlocked the door and let me out. “We’re closed!” she shouted to the two people getting out of their car, then slammed the door and locked it as quickly as possible.

I didn’t find out her name was Holly until the next day, when I went back to complain that she had given me two scoops of Orange sherbet in my hot fudge sundae.



So I pulled up to Baskin Robbins five minutes before closing time.

I love doing this.

The drive-thru speaker crackled to life. “Welcome to Baskin Robbins. May I take your order please?” I could tell by the girl’s voice that she really wanted me to go away; or at least order something quick and easy. But what fun would that be?

“Yeah, can you give me a minute?”

“Sure, take all the time you need.”

I counted out two minutes, slowly. “Okay, I think I got it.”

“Go ahead.”

“Alright, I need a Pina-Colata smoothie, large size.” They didn’t have that one anymore. If the girl was new she’d be looking helplessly at the manager. “And then I need a Strawberry-Banana smoothie. Make that one a regular.”

“Alright, your total is-”

“Hold on, I have more.”

Stunned silence. This late at night, two, not one, but two of the most complicated drinks on the menu was more than enough.

“And,” I continued, “I need a brownie a la mode. Do I get to choose my ice-creams?”

“Yes sir, you do.” I could practically hear her patience splintering.

“Great. Could I get a scoop of vanilla and…” Wait a good thirty seconds. “Make it two scoops of vanilla.” The flavors it came with anyway. “And then I need a banana split. Can I choose those flavors, too?”

“Yes,” she grated out. She’d crack soon. Any second now, I’d be hearing profanities.

“Great! Can I get chocolate, strawberry, and…” Wait another twenty seconds, just long enough for them to decide the dumb-ass was going to order vanilla and start scooping it. “And then a scoop of Jamoca Almond Fudge.”

“Okay,” the poor girl was making one last valiant attempt to stay polite. “Please, pull around for your total.”

“Wait, wait, wait!” I complained. “Don’t I get to choose my toppings?”

“Yes, sir. I’m sorry…” She sounded close to my tears.

“Are you trying to get rid of me?” I tried to sound angry. “I want to speak with the manager.”

The box went silent and when it came back to life, it was Holly and she sounded pissed. “And a good evening to you, too, you bastard.”

“Hi!” I called cheerfully.

“Like I already don’t have enough to deal with, without you showing up and harassing us!”

“That took longer than usual. Is that girl new?”

“Yes, she is. It’s her first day in fact.”

“Oh, c’mon, I just wanted some ice cream.”

“Sure you did. Just pull around already. I’m making you buy those smoothies, by the way.”

I chuckled and drove around. There was still a car at the window when I got there, so she probably had a right to be upset. Once it left, I took its place. As I did, I noticed Holly was still yelling angrily at the speaker. “The joke’s over, so will you just pull around already? I don’t have time for you to dick around!” She looked over and did a double take when she saw me. She thought for a moment, ignoring the warbling voice on the other end, then clicked the speaker back on. “Wait, you’re not him, are you?”

“No,” the male voice answered. “That’s what I’ve been trying-”

Holly exploded. “Then why the hell are you getting ice-cream in the middle of the night, dumb-ass? There’s a Kroger a block away, so why don’t you go get your goddamn chocolate there and get the hell out of my drive-thru! We’re closed.”

“Now wait just a second lady-” the voice began angrily.

“Oh, go screw yourself!” she said, then clicked the speaker off.

She looked at me with an exhausted sigh. “Some people!” she said.

I usually don’t have a problem with Christmas shopping. My parents are easy to shop for; I could get them a stuffed mongoose and they’d like it. My brother and sister are easy, too. I get them a shirt or something and just let them return it for something they actually want. I had already gotten Brent’s gift. He was never that hard to shop for, but I had gotten lucky this year and found his present almost by accident. So that left me stuck on one person: Holly.

And that was why I ended up at a jewelry store looking for something that ran for under thirty dollars. After all, jewelry was always a winner with girls, right?

“Excuse me sir, can I help you?” a voice asked.

I looked over at the girl. She was dressed as a store attendant, giving me a genuinely polite grin. Something you don’t see a lot during Christmas.

“Yeah, I guess. I’m trying to pick out a gift for a girl.”

“Oh!” She sounded excited. “Girlfriend?”

“Well, no, not really.”

“Oh,” she said, sounding a lot less excited. “A relative then?”

“No, not that either.”

“So,” she said, sounding confused, “just a friend?”

“Yeah.”

She paused, torn between wanting to say something and wanting to sell me something. Finally, she decided on the latter. “Well, we have these over here. How much were you thinking of spending? Ten, fifteen dollars?”

Oh, c’mon. I’m not that cheap. “Actually, I was hoping to spend around thirty.”

“Oh.” She brightened a little. “Well, we have this selection over here.”

She pointed to a section of the cabinet. It was filled with a variety of pieces, some of them running for a little over $30, all fairly nice. But honestly, I didn’t really like any of them. I looked up at the girl. “These are kind of extravagant, don’t you think?”

She considered. “Were you looking for something in particular?”

“Well, yeah. I need a gift that says something.”

“Like what?”

“I need a gift that says we’re not dating, but I still kind of like you. But we’re not dating.”

“What?”

“She’s a really nice girl, but if I give her something too nice, she’ll think we’re dating.”

“If you give her any jewelry, she’ll think you’re dating. Why don’t you give her a pair of socks or something?”

I scowled at the girl. “Because I know she’ll like jewelry and won’t like socks.”

She scowled right back at me. “I just don’t think it’s the right gift if your message is, ‘We’re not dating.’”

“But I don’t… Look, do you want to sell me jewelry or not?”

“Not if you’re using it to string the poor girl along!”

“But she deserves a nice gift.”

She crossed her arms and gave me an annoyed look. “Are you dating this girl or not?”

I felt my cheeks go red and was glad she couldn’t see my eyes. “Fine,” I said, turning around, “I’ll go shop somewhere else.”

“Come again,” the girl said sweetly as I stepped out.

Whatever, I thought.

Well, so much for that idea. I could get her a shirt, or pants, or something generic, but I didn’t want to just grab something so she could take it back. It’d be nice if it was something more personable.

I managed to shove my way into a crowded Gap, but everything I liked was out of my price range. I did find one shirt I thought would look good on her, but there were only two on the rack and I wasn’t certain about her size. I checked the Limited, too, and didn’t find anything better. I didn’t even try to get into Banana Republic.

After an hour of finding absolutely nothing, I decided to grab something to eat and take a break. Naturally, all the tables at the food court were filled, so after spending twenty minutes in line to get a lousy hamburger I had to go find a spot against the wall to lean on. Did I mention I hate the mall this time of year?

I finished my hamburger in short order, but didn’t return to the hunt immediately, just took a few minutes to watch the crowds of people bustle past. Why didn’t I just get her a nice piece of jewelry? And if she made some stupid assumption about what was going on between us because of it, that was her problem.

But I didn’t want to hurt her feelings. It wasn’t that I didn’t like Holly, or that she was unattractive, but I just wasn’t certain what to do with her. She was three years younger than me and at least a little obsessed. That was complimentary and I couldn’t complain, but I didn’t want to be stuck in this city for the rest of my life. I doubted she’d want to move just because I got tired of living here, and definitely not before she finished school. And anyways, if we did start dating and it went wrong, we’d never be friends again.

I realized I was staring blankly at a window advertisement of a woman in her underwear. Well, hell, I thought, I could just bite the bullet and buy her some lingerie. Except I didn’t know what would happen if I did, and I didn’t think I was ready to deal with the consequences either way.

I stopped thinking about it, threw the hamburger wrappings in the garbage, and walked on.

One hour. Plus the one I had already spent made two. So, two hours. Two hours I spent looking for one lousy gift and hadn’t found anything. By that time I was too sick of the mall to care and was wondering whether or not it would be considered tacky if I just bought her a quart of ice cream from the Baskin Robbins where she worked.

But as I fought my way out of the mall, I noticed something golden hanging from a rack at Dillard’s. I made my way towards it and realized it was one of several lockets looped around a wire frame. I picked one of them and popped it open. It was hollow inside, but you could probably glue in a picture if you wanted. It was light weight, and looked like it was pretty good quality. I considered it for a second, then gave it a succinct nod. Holly actually had pictures of her family in her wallet. She’d love something like this. It was only fifteen dollars, but I figured I had spent a good two hours hunting for it, so it should even out.

Besides, it was the thought that counted.