I should have known what I was getting into when I started dating Holly. I mean, any girl who will get close to literally kicking a customer out the front door has to have an issue or two, right?

A few weeks after we had first gone out, I picked her up on a Friday from work. After we had chatted for a little while and agreed that Wafflehouse two nights in a row wasn’t healthy, we made our way to Café Yoko’s.

She accepted it with a gracious nod. “Thanks. How much was it.”

I seated myself across from her and put my beer on the table. “Don’t worry about it.”

She regarded me with just a hint of irritation. “I can pay for my own coffee, you know.”

I rolled my eyes. We had done this dance every time we came here. “Then buy the next round. It’s not a big deal.”

“Fine. I will,” she told me. I shrugged and took a drink from my pint glass. If she wanted to pay the price of a beer for a cup of coffee, that was her business. “So,” she said after she had ruined a perfectly good cup of coffee with cream and sugar. “What’s the real reason you wear sunglasses all the time?”

I raised an eyebrow at her, though I doubt she could see it. “I told you, I broke my normal pair and this is all I have left in my prescription.”

“Sure they are,” she agreed, letting me feel her sarcasm. Then she gave me a small smile. “Please. We’ve known each other for over a month now, and I’ve yet to see you without those sunglasses. You’re not going to tell me your optometrist still has them back ordered, are you?”

“Well, glasses are expensive. And I’m not exactly working with much income right now. You have seen my car, right?”

She gave me a skeptical look. “I don’t buy that one either.” When I didn’t say anything, she scowled, irritated. “C’mon! What could possibly drive you to wear your sunglasses everywhere you go?”

I gave her a cryptic smile. “Privileged information.”

Her mouth twisted a little. “Fine. Be that way.” Then she leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. “But I warn you, I’ll find out soon enough.”

I took a quick drink before answering. “I’m sure you will.”

“I will. Just you wait.” She went silent, staring at me thoughtfully, unconsciously tracing patterns in the water from her glass. “It’s not some stupid macho thing like you think it’ll help you in a fight, is it?”

“No…” I answered, frowning at her. “Where’d you get that idea?”

She flushed a little. “Nowhere. Just… My ex-boyfriend always wore sunglasses all the time, too. He said he wore them so that if he got in a fight, they couldn’t see his eyes.”

“Sunglasses, huh.” I considered it briefly, then glanced at her over my beer. “Sounds like a jack-ass.”

“He was,” she agreed readily.

I gave a dry laugh. “Really? Is that why you broke up with him?”

She shook her head. “No.” She paused. “Actually, he broke up with me… It was a messy break-up and I took it pretty hard. I spent most of the year afterwards in near-depression.” She gave a bitter laugh. “I got over it, though.”

“So if he was a jack-ass, why were you so hung up on him?”

Her eyes snapped back up to mine and she glared. “It took me a year to figure out he was a jack-ass, okay?”

“All right, all right,” I said.

“Sorry… I doubt you really wanted to hear about my past loves, did you.”

So are you here for me? Or the sunglasses? “No, no, it’s fine. I mean, that wouldn’t have been my choice in conversation, but that’s no problem.”

She laughed. A rich, playful laugh. “Then what do you want to talk about?”

“I don’t know, something more current? You have any boyfriends?”

“Nope,” she answered. I had figured as much, but I wanted to be certain. “What about you?” she countered. “Any girls you’re seeing?”

“Nah. Haven’t really dated anyone since college.”

“And why would that be?” she teased. “Can’t find the right girl?”

“More like I can’t find the time.”

“Oh come on! If you wanted it badly enough, you could find it.” She gave me a smug grin. “Or maybe you just haven’t found a girl yet who was worthy of a precious hour of your time.”

“Maybe,” I said, then took a drink to give me an excuse not to say anything else.

“Anyway, what do you want to do after…” She trailed off and her eyes narrowed at something over my shoulder. “Him!”

“Who?” I asked, turning around. Her ex, maybe?

“Hold on.” She got up, not even noticing I had said anything. “I’ll be right back.” As I watched, she marched purposely up to a lone man in a suit ordering a drink at the counter. I couldn’t tell if it was her ex or not. He wasn’t wearing sunglasses, but maybe he was just another boyfriend she had yet to tell me about. Whoever he was, he had met Holly before, because when he saw her striding so purposely towards him, the look on his face went from confusion to recognition to out-right fear. He took a few step backwards, tripped over someone’s feet, and then fell flat on his ass, knocking several drinks out of people’s hands and all over his suit. The only thing he could do was look up and blink as Holly stood over him.

Without a word, she reached over, grabbed his beer from the top of the counter, then promptly dumped it over his head. It was mostly a pointless action since her ex, or whoever he was, was already more or less soaked. She clanked the glass back down, then turned and marched back to her seat across from me, an utterly satisfied smile on her face.

I looked at her, looked at the guy, then looked back to her, considering. “Remind me never to piss you off… Was that him?”

My words brought her back from whatever ecstasy she had found from completely humiliating the guy. “Huh? Who?”

“Your ex-boyfriend?”

She burst out laughing. “No, no…. He came by for ice-cream this afternoon and was a total ass-hole.”

I just looked at her, shocked for a second, and started laughing myself. “Wait… wait a minute! You mean all he did was piss you off at Baskin Robbin’s?”

She straightened up a bit. “He went off on one of our 15 year olds,” she answered primly. “The poor boy was pale for the whole shift afterwards. And that jerk’s only reason was that he didn’t think he had gotten enough ice cream. What?”

“Nothing, nothing.” I answered, lifting my sun-glasses up just enough to wipe my eyes. “It’s just… Well, like I said. Remind me never to piss you off.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Am I supposed to take that as an insult or a compliment?”

“However you want to,” I answered, then glanced over at the mess around the counter. “But we might want to consider leaving pretty quick.”

She followed my eyes, then let out a laugh. “Yeah, I suppose so. Did you want to take me home.”

I finished my beer and then grinned at her. “Actually, I was wondering if you might want to go home with me.”

She looked slightly taken aback. “And finally meet this infamous room-mate of yours?”

I shrugged. “Well, you’ll have to eventually, I imagine.”

“True,” she agreed, blushing a little.

“Anyways…” I indicated the staff, who were mopping up the mess at the counter and glaring at us, “we should probably get going. Now.”



Tony and Guido always managed to show up at the worst possible times, usually when I’m in a hurry and about leave. So right on schedule, after I had spent ten minutes debating about whether I should get another beer or just go home, they appeared. Before I could sneak out, Tony saw me.

“Hey, Shades! How ya doin’?” he called from across the cafe. He more or less shoved his way past the few people standing between me and him.

“Hi,” I said, forcing myself to be polite.

His grin broadened even more. Tony probably couldn’t have detected the strain in my voice if I had yelled at him. “Haven’t seen you here in a while, at least not alone. Where’s your girl?”

I winced slightly. “You mean Holly?”

“Yeah,” Tony said, “the spunky chick.”

“Avoiding me.” I don’t think I could have said that politely if I had wanted to.

“Ah,” he said, giving me a knowing nod. “Playing hard to get.”

I glared at him, but I didn’t feel like continuing the conversation. “So where’s Guido?”

“Getting the drinks.” He noticed my empty glass. “You want anything?”

“No. I’m fine.”

“C’mon, Shades. Don’t give me that. Since when do you get just one drink? Or even three, for that matter. Guido!” he yelled across the room. “Get another one.” He didn’t check to see if he had been heard. Hell, I don’t think it even occurred to him that he might not have been.

Tony sat down across from me. He took out a cigarette and offered me one, but I waved it away. He shrugged slightly, then lit his up. He took a drag, then blew the smoke out, banging the ash off the tip. “So,” he said conversationally, “Holly’s playing hard to get all of a sudden?”

I gave him a look like he was crazy. “No,” I explained, “she’s avoiding me. As in, she doesn’t want to talk to me anymore.”

“Nah. No girl does that.”

“Well, this one is. As in, taking off from work so she can avoid me.”

“Hmm…” Tony thought for a second, pulling from his cigarette. “What’d you do, cheat on her? I’ve lost a chick or two like that. They take it personally, or something.” He sat back in his chair, making himself more comfortable. “The thing you gotta understand is, girls, they take a lot of things personally. Like calling their friends ‘bitches’, or not phoning them. Even forgetting their birthday or anniversary or something pisses them off. It’s like, I’ve got 366 other days to worry about. How am I supposed to remember that that particular one is special? But cheating on them?” He shook his head. “Nothing makes ‘em mad like that. Still haven’t figured that one out.”

He gave me a respectful grin. “Damn, Shades! I didn’t think you had it in you! It’s just like my Uncle Louie always told me: ‘You have to fool around on your girl-friend to fool around on your enemies’ or something like that.” Tony spent some time thinking again. “But you know, I never quite figured out what he meant by that.”

I rolled my eyes, but didn’t feel like fixing the old saying in Tony’s convoluted mind. Instead, “I didn’t cheat on her.”

Tony looked at me blankly. “You didn’t?”

“I didn’t.”

I could see Tony thinking again. “Then did you forget her anniversary?”

I ground my knuckles against my forehead. “We weren’t even dating, dammit!”

Tony stared at me for a good thirty seconds before answering. I was wondering if he would give me some kind of new enlightenment. Instead I got, “You weren’t?”

“No, we weren’t.”

“So why’d you spend so much time with her?”

“Maybe because I liked to? Or aren’t we allowed to be platonic?”

“Okay, okay… So now she’s avoiding you?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm… You know what you need to do, Shades?” Tony said suddenly. “You need to buy her a few dozen roses. Then you need to go by her house and sit on her doorstep, waiting for her. And then, when she gets home, you need to stand up and shove them into her hands and say, ‘I love you! I need you back. I’ll never do – whatever it is you did – again.’”

I gave Tony a long look. “Done that a lot, I take it?”

“Yup,” Tony answered with a nod. “It works at least three times on every girl. A fourth or a fifth if she’s really into it.”

“And what if that doesn’t work.”

“It will.”

“For the sake of argument here, let’s say it doesn’t, okay? Let’s say it just makes her madder. What then?”

Tony considered that for a moment. “Well, is she any good in bed?”

“I don’t know. Didn’t I just tell you we weren’t dating?”

“Well…” Tony seemed torn about what he wanted to say. “In that case, you try the rose thing and if it doesn’t work, just get rid of her.” Tony shook his head fatefully. “A girl that bitchy just isn’t worth it.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“No problem,” he answered cheerily.

“So that’s it?” I asked him,wishing I had another beer.

Tony frowned, realizing he hadn’t really helped me. “I just don’t know what else to tell you.”

Big surprise there. “Yeah, well, I don’t either.” I couldn’t keep the disgust out of my voice. “It was just a joke. And she took it personally.”

“Women do that,” Tony said sagely, going back to contemplating his cigarette.

I nodded. “Yeah they do.” Holly hadn’t taken it as a joke. She had heard something in it that she wasn’t supposed to, something I hadn’t meant. And it hardly seemed fair that she wouldn’t at least let me explain before she shut me out. For not the first time in the past two weeks, I found myself wishing I had been more careful with my words. I hate losing people, especially for something as small as a bad joke.

Tony had finished his cigarette and was quashing it out of existence. “Well, you could always ask the guy in the back.”

I rolled my eyes. “Why does everyone swear on this guy?”

“He’s smart,” Tony said seriously. “Real smart. He makes me feel stupid sometimes.”

Oh, that’d be hard. Out loud, I said, “But don’t you have to buy him a pizza or something?”

Tony shrugged. “This late? I bet a beer would do it. Guido!” Tony turned around to find Guido right behind him. “Oh. Uh, we’re gonna need another beer.”

Guido blinked, looking around. “Brent here?”

“Nah. We’re going to go ask the Guru.”

Guido frowned, but before he could head back to the counter, I stood up. “Don’t worry about it. I didn’t want another anyway.” Inwardly, I frowned at myself. “So this guy can help me? You’re sure?”

Tony grinned, glad to be helpful in his own way. “If anyone can tell you what to do, he can.”

*                                                       *                                                       *

I could tell by the look in the Guru’s eyes that he didn’t like me from the start.

That was fine. I didn’t much like him, either.

“Tony. Guido.” The Guru greeted them gravely, each with a half-bow. Then his eyes focused on me. “Who is your friend?”

“This is Shades,” Tony explained hastily, actually trying to sound polite and formal. “He’s having trouble with his girlfriend.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

But the Guru took no notice. “And is he the one who makes this offer of beer.”

“Yes,” Tony answered.

“I see.” The Guru turned to me and gave me a rather forced smile. “So then, tell me your story.”

Story? I thought, What the hell? Why can’t he just say ‘What’s the problem? I took a deep breath. After all, what could it hurt? “Well, you see my friend,” I emphasized the word for Tony, “has been avoiding me and…” I trailed off when I noticed the Guru was shaking his head.

“No,” he said, subtly annoyed. “I said, ‘Tell me your story.’ If you tell me what happened, I will find your problem for you.”

It took a moment to formulate an answer. “You think, for some reason, that I don’t know what my problem is?”

“No, I don’t,” he answered flatly. “You can get angry and leave if you want – But, you’ve already paid with your beer.” He shrugged to show he didn’t care one way or the other.

I ground my teeth. “You want it to start ‘Once upon a time in a galaxy far, far away’ maybe?”

The Guru frowned at me again. “Maybe I should start telling it for you. So you have a friend and she’s a girl. I assume that something has happened between the two of you, otherwise, you wouldn’t be here. Now, let me make another assumption; she’s obviously a very close friend, maybe more than just a friend, otherwise Tony here wouldn’t be so insistent she’s your girlfriend.”

I didn’t say anything, just gave him a curt nod.

He gave me a smug grin. “Then let’s continue, shall we. You don’t think of her as your girlfriend, but it’s not the same with her, is it? Maybe she thinks of herself as your girlfriend? And that’s the problem right? She doesn’t understand why you’re not a couple, when you so obviously should be. So, something set her off; something that emphasized in her mind that you’re not dating? I could make some guesses; maybe you told her about some other girl you like, or maybe canceled on her one evening?” The Guru’s grin widened a bit. “Well? Would you like to tell me the rest of it?”

I stiffened a little, but kept my face as placid as I could. “Two weeks ago, I picked her up after work. We watched a movie back at the apartment and she fell asleep. I told her I probably should have just taken her home, if she was just going to pass out.” I gave him a thin smile. “She took offense to that.”

The Guru gave me a know-it-all smirk. “Just like I thought.”

“But she knows we’re not dating.”

“Sure she does.”

“She does!” I didn’t know why, but he was getting under my skin. “We’ve talked about it before. She knows I’m not looking for a relationship. She’s not looking for one either.”

“Sure, she isn’t.”

I reigned myself in. “She’s told me she isn’t.”

The Guru just looked at me and shook his head. “Tony, my friend, bring the beer over.”

“Uh, sure,” Tony said, a little surprised. He hastily brought the pint glass forward and, with a mild bow to the Guru, placed it on the table before scurrying back to where he had been standing.

The Guru took a healthy drink from the beer, savoring the taste, then deftly returned it to its place on the table beside him. “Can I ask you something?”

At first I thought he had meant Tony, then I realized he was looking at me. “You just did.”

He ignored my remark. “Is she attractive?”

That was not what I expected. “What?”

The Guru rolled his eyes. “Is she pretty? Is she sexy? Would you sleep with her?”

I glared at him, but I knew he couldn’t see anything through my sunglasses. “Yeah,” I admitted, finally.

“Then what is it? Emotional baggage? Past trauma? Mental illnesses?”

“She’s a schizo,” Tony pointed out from his spot to the side. “Well she is! Her co-workers told me.”

The Guru turned from him and looked back at me.

“She isn’t,” I answered. “They just say that. But she is an emotional basket-case. I don’t date her because I don’t feel like getting bitched out because I forgot the milk.”

“Whatever.”

“What do mean, ‘whatever?’”

The Guru shrugged. “I mean, that’s not a reason. If it mattered that much, you wouldn’t even be her friend. Look at yourself! If you were worried so much about her temper, you wouldn’t be trying to get on her good side again. But you are. So there’s a different reason that you don’t want her, isn’t there? A problem with her? Or maybe with you?”

I didn’t answer, just stood there, keeping my face as expressionless as possible. He smirked at me again. “Well, believe whatever you want. For whatever reason, you’re the one driving this wedge between the two of you. And until you get that taken care of and decided, you’re not going to solve anything.” He went silent, taking another drink from his beer.

“Wait a minute,” I said angrily. “That’s it?

The Guru looked at me, surprised I had spoken. “That’s what?”

“I mean, I bought you a drink, and all your advice is ‘you figure it out.’”

“You didn’t buy this drink, Tony did.” He laughed at my incredulous expression. “It’s his favorite kind. And no, my advice isn’t ‘figure it out.’ My advice is: ‘Be decisive.’ You have to be honest with yourself and follow what your emotions are truly telling you. Anything else, and you’re just going to find yourself alone, drinking beer, and wondering what the hell you just did. Now,” he smiled at me pleasantly, then nodded to a girl that was marching towards him, a cheesecake in hand, “I seem to have another customer. Be sure to come back with any questions.”

“Great,” I muttered, “just great. Hey, you’re lucky I didn’t pay for that beer! I’d be demanding a refund.” I turned and stalked out, a confused Tony walking out after me, followed by an annoyed Guido.

“Man,” Tony said, a little pale, “you can’t be talking to him like that. He knows everything, and-”

“Look, I have to make a call, okay? I should have been home an hour ago.”

“Uh, sure. Me and Guido’ll be out front… if you need us or anything.” A weak smile flickered on his face. “Hey, uh, I’ll see you around. And just do what he says; I promise you, it’ll work.”

I forced a smile on my face, just to re-assure him in the hopes he’d go away. “Yeah, don’t worry. I know exactly what to do.”

Tony looked at me a little uncertainly, then that stupid grin of his was plastered on his face. “See Shades? I told you he knew what he was talking about. I’ll be seein’ you.”

“Sure.” I waved good-bye as he walked off. I opened up my cell-phone, which was almost out of batteries, but dialed Holly’s number anyway. She didn’t answer, of course, but at least I got to her answering machine. “Uh, Holly. It’s me.” I stopped, uncertain of what to say. “Look, we need to talk. Give me a call, will you? I miss you.” It felt a little weird to admit that part, but maybe that’s what she wanted to hear. “Bye.”

I hung up and took a deep breath. All right then, I thought to myself. Nothing to do but wait. I slipped out the back and got in my car to drive home. For a moment, I considered dropping by an all night grocery and seeing if they had a few roses in stock, but then I decided against it.

If I didn’t hear from her by Sunday though, I might just do it.



This.

I don’t have a problem with the whole list. There’s some good stuff there. But, believe you me, it has problems.

Now, while I have an issue, as a reader, with #2 (Never use prologues, he says. I like reading prologues, I say.), the issue I have the biggest problem with is #3 – Never use any word other than “said” to carry dialogue. Of course, this also brings in #4, as well, where you never use an adverb with “said”.

For the record, back before I ever put pen to paper, I read a dialogue heavy novel and realized how powerful a tool dialogue could be. I also realized that “said” could be replaced by dozens of other alternatives, helpfully supplied by the English Language, that all have more details attached to them. “Whispered” meant something was said quietly. “Hissed” had a serpentine aspect, if you wanted to imply deception or evil intent. “Bellowed,” denoted a boisterous personality, noisy, oblivious, and happy. “Shot back,” meant your character was being antagonistic with their response, even if the words themselves were polite. I could go on and on, but my point is that an alternative to “said” could hand your reader information about the character and their emotions without ever having to break dialogue. I consider this to be an efficiency of words, and something a good writer would do well to develop.

In the foolishness of youth, I reached the conclusion that you should never, ever, use the word “said”, because there was always a better alternative. Now, obviously, I don’t believe that anymore. But it’s a stylistic choice. My fantasy novel makes liberal use of alternatives to “said.” My more mainstream, “quick and dirty” web-serial, 1001 Insomniac Nights, uses primarily “said,” with the occasional “replied” and “sneered” to break up the monotony.

“Said”, as my wife relayed to me from her friend, is invisible. It’s like water. It’s useful, but it carries no weight. The alternatives, generously supplied to us by the language itself, have substance of their own.

Seriously, synonyms are one of the English language’s strengths. We’d be fools not to use them.

Now, I also protest to only using “said” because sometimes the work itself insists you use something else. Prose has a rhythm, a distinctive and insistent rhythm. And I listen to this rhythm, because it defines my writing. Too many times, a line simply hasn’t read right with just the word “said.” “Answered” was simply necessary for the flow of the paragraph.

I refuse to believe that our society has fallen so far that even in our dialogue we have to use a one syllable word above all others. I refuse to believe that using “blurted out” instead of “said” will confuse my reader.

And now, the fun part: Proving my point.

Let’s say I’m writing a scene where I have two characters standing in a crowded hall. One of them says to the other, “Who is that tart with the King?” Now, if I just write, “Beatrice said, ‘Who is that tart with the King?’” I tell my reader that she just blithely blurts that out. This leaves her open to being overheard, leading to possible intrigue and accusations of treason. Now, obviously, a sane person would say this under her breath. But is Beatrice sane? What if she’s the first sane person we’ve met in the novel? What if you just met her? What if she’s sane, but she ranks higher than the King, or has some black-mail on the King, and wants to show it off? Or maybe the point is that the kingdom is particularly lax and no-one cares if someone bad-mouths the King’s fling-of-the-week. These are questions that an intelligent reader will be wondering, upon reading that Beatrice speaks without bothering to muffle her voice.

“Ah ha!” says I. “I have to let my reader know that she’s sane, she doesn’t have naked pictures of the King, and speaking out of turn is not kosher.” Therefore, I have to imply that she pitches her voice low. I’d love to make this easy and say, “Beatrice whispered, ‘Who is that tart with the King?’” But I have to contend with Rule #3. So what about “Beatrice said quietly, ‘Who is that tart with the King.’” But wait! that violates the almighty rule #4. So what about, “Beatrice said, her voice pitched too low for any but Hero to hear, ‘Who is that tart with the King?’” There we go! And I only had to use eleven more words to accomplish that than if I had simply been willing to violate the almighty rule #3! What an accomplishment!

Wait! Maybe I should have used physical actions to imply that she’s whispering? What about, “Beatrice nudged Hero gently with her elbow and said, ‘Who is that tart with the King?’” That works. The action of nudging with the elbow implies exchanging a secret, keeping her voice low. Or maybe even, “Beatrice leaned close to Hero’s ear, cupping her hand over her mouth, and said, “Who is that tart with the King?” That works too! There’s no question she’s attempting to hide her words.

Of course, both these actions are implied with the word, “whispered.” And I’m still using at least seven more words. So, no, that’s not better.

Seriously, do I have to cite more examples? I’m not even going to bother getting into double entendres or words, like the rarely used “thanks”, that can be said with different inflections. Because it’s not like people have ever mistaken a person’s meaning on live-journals or instant messages because of a lack of tone of voice. It’s not like emoticons weren’t brought into existence so people could tell the difference between malicious and facetious. Oh, wait…

Look, I get it. Sometimes “said” is simple, concise, and and therefore perfect. I understand. I use it, often, for that very reason. But to imply that an author practicing intelligent word conservation is somehow flawed or amateurish because they’re trying to streamline their work? That’s just stupid.

I hate women.

I hadn’t seen Holly for almost two weeks. After I had dropped her off at home, after I had accidentally hurt her feelings, everything had changed. I hadn’t really noticed the first couple days. No calls, which was weird since she usually called at least every few days. When I started wondering about it and dropped by Baskin Robbins to check up on her after work, she had given me a cool smile and told me, simply, that if I wasn’t there to buy ice-cream I needed to “fuck the hell off.” My one attempt to call her ended with her picking up the phone and hanging it up before I could even get a word in.

I think I hate caller ID, too.

Tonight, I had gotten sick of it. And so I had dropped by right as her co-workers were locking the door. They told me that she hadn’t worked tonight. That she was avoiding some pompous ass-hole. And I could tell by the way they told me just who they figured that ass-hole was.

I fucking hate women.

And so I found myself at Café Yoko’s, alone, and nursing a warm beer. I looked across at the empty seat. It hurt more than I thought it would. But it was hardly doing me any good to sit here, brooding over it. I was just thinking of leaving when a voice interrupted my thoughts. “Let me guess,” she said. “Girl problem?”

I looked up. A reed-thin girl stood over me. The first thing I noticed was her eyes; they were a rich, oily black that seemed to see right through you. The second thing I noticed was that she had a smug grin on her face.

I scowled up at her. “Do I know you?”

“So I was right,” she said, then answered, “No, I don’t think you do.”

“Then what the hell do you want?”

“To help you, maybe?” She didn’t wait for an invitation, but took the empty seat across from me. I didn’t try to stop her; hell, I was getting used to this kind of thing.

“Maybe I don’t want help.”

“But I think you do,” she answered quickly. “You’ve been sitting here for nearly a half-hour.”

I ignored her, taking another drink from my beer. “So, what? You’ve been stalking me for a half-hour?”

She shook her head. “No, I was getting a drink. But you’re brooding rather noticeably. A girl, right?”

I don’t know why I didn’t just keep ignoring her. She probably would have left if I had. “Yes,” I said, just wishing she’d go away, “it’s a problem with a girl. Look how psychic you are! Now why don’t you go away!”

She seemed completely untouched by my sarcasm. “Right, and obviously you said something that hurt her. Nothing major, nothing that should have hurt her feelings, but something nonetheless.”

I ignored her. That was nothing that a gypsy fortune teller, looking at a guy drinking alone on a Friday night, couldn’t have guessed.

“But,” she continued, running right over my silence, “she’s not actually your girlfriend, is she? Seems like she’d want to be, but you’re pulling back for some reason.”

That actually stunned me for a second. I wasn’t certain where she had got that from, but I was relatively certain it wasn’t in the fortune-teller’s handbook. She didn’t say anything, but I could practically feel her eyes on me, waiting for my reaction. I took another drink of my beer, then looked up, keeping my face plain. “Who are you?”

She smiled and held out her hand. “Cassie.”

Like that tells me anything, I thought. “And what do you want?”

She looked slightly puzzled. “Like I said, to help you.” Then she smiled again. “I can tell you how to get back into her good graces, if you care to listen.”

I gave her a sarcastic grin. “You want the whole story, or do you want to tell it to me?”

She shook her head. “No, I think I already got most of it… Emotional, gets hurt easily, takes things the wrong way, right?”

“Yes,” I answered. Her and every other girl I’ve ever had to deal with.

Cassie’s eyes defocused. “So you’ve been fighting for a few weeks, right? She’s not taking your calls, and when you try to see her she blows you off?”

I forced a laugh, but it was still kind of creepy hearing her. “Yeah, I’ll give you that.”

She nodded knowingly again, oblivious to my tone of voice. I don’t think she actually heard vocal inflections, or if she did, she didn’t seem to care. “Well,” she said, after spending a few minutes contemplating the table, “your solution is simple enough, if you want to see her again. But you might want to decide, first, whether or not you want to see her again.”

I sat up a little straighter. “Excuse me?”

Cassie opened her eyes. Somehow, I had gotten the point across that I was angry. “Well, look at you two,” she answered defensively. “She really likes you, and she’s never not going to like you. But you’re not doing anything about it.” Her tone softened and she went back to her distant-mindedness from moments before. “If you keep spending time with her, this is just going to happen over and over again.”

I started to say something back, but then stopped myself. She might have a point. “So what do you suggest, oh mighty seer?”

She laughed. “I think, obviously, you should just bite the bullet and be her boyfriend. If you keep seeing her, it’s going to happen eventually anyways. You’re just going to hurt both of you more by avoiding it.”

“Sure I will…” I said, not even bothering to hide my sarcasm. Seriously, that was the biggest bullshit I’d heard in a year.

She scowled. “Fine. Don’t believe me, just like all the others. But mark my words, you will.”

“Whatever,” I said. “So what’s your suggestion for getting her back? Seducing her? Giving her an engagement ring?”

Cassie looked like she’d rather hit me than answer. But then she forced that smug grin back onto her face. “I’m only telling you this so maybe you’ll believe me next time: All I can tell you is, ‘Go home’.”

I looked at her skeptically. “Go home?”

“Yes,” she answered brightly. “Go home. She’ll come to you. Or she’ll be waiting for you.”

I gave her a long look, then took an even longer drink from my beer. This girl was cracked. “If you say so,” I said simply. “But if you’re expecting me to buy you a drink now, you’re out of your mind.”

“Oh, no,” she explained, “I’m working for free tonight. Really, I’m just kind of advertising. I’ll probably start working days in a week or so.”

Advertising… I wondered for a moment, then realized what she meant. “You mean you want to be another guru in the back?”

She nodded. “I figured I should talk to a few people tonight to get some practice and get my face known before I actually started charging food for my services. I’ll mostly be working days, so if you need me later, I’ll be in the back.” She looked past my shoulder. “Now if you’ll excuse me, that guy’s been sitting there for almost an hour. Looks like he just cheated on his girlfriend and is trying to figure out whether to admit it to her or not.” She got up and left, leaving the chair pushed out from the table.

I watched her go and then shook my head. Commercialized guruing, I thought to myself. Just what is this world coming to?

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.

The question of “What use does literature serve?” isn’t a new one. Back in 1579, Sir Philip Sidney wrote “In Defense of Poesy”, an argument for the virtue of fictional literature. Because pre-dating that time, it was seen simply as fluffy entertainment, of no real value in and of itself.

My, how things have changed.

Still, if you’re not working on “high” art, you sometimes find yourself having to justify the relevancy of what you’re working on. Sometimes, “entertaining” simply isn’t enough. I remember going rounds in high school with a friend of mine over this, especially since I was working in a fantasy novel at the time, and he was challenging me as to why he should take it seriously.

I don’t know if I ever really produced an answer that satisfied him. Or that satisfied me, for that matter.

I saw a poster in high school that always resonated with me. It said, roughly paraphrased: “I read to see that I am not alone. And I write to show others that they are not alone.” At the time, I was a properly angsty, emo teenager and I instantly realized why I had been drawn to so many of the books I had been reading, that as I read through them, the author shared something with me and, somehow, made me feel not alone.

As a writer, I feel I have acquitted myself well on that score, at least concerning 1001Insomniac Nights . (Which if you’re not reading it, you SHOULD.) And when I write fantasy, I hope that I am giving my readers a reflection of the world, that I am giving them something to think about. I don’t know if I succeed, although simply telling a good yarn is usually satisfactory.

My epiphany, however, concerns science-fiction.

Now, this is one genre that, since high-school and reading Fahrenheit 451, I realized would never need to justify itself. Science-fiction is modern prophecy, a warning. “If you continue on this path, this is where you will end up.” The whole cyberpunk sub-genre is a critique of 80’s culture. Go back and read Brave New World and see if you don’t feel a shiver go down your spine when you realize just how close we are to becoming that hedonistic, self-centered, amoral world.

But even on top of that, there is the inspirational factor, and that was my epiphany. Science-fiction points to the sky and asks you, “Why not?” It paints a future of interstellar travel and other life and challenges you, challenges the whole human race, to make that future a reality. And really, that’s all the justification it needs. If Star Trek pseudo-science makes a child interested in interplanetary travel, if that child is then drawn to sciences in school, and if that child then grows up and figures out how to construct a nuclear-fusion based engine that gets us to near light-speed and a probe to Alpha Centauri in six-years, hasn’t it justified itself? And with the Constellation program now cut, this inspiration just became even more important.

Of course, can’t this inspiration be found in all genres? That’s the crux of Sidney’s argument – that fiction can inspire a person to virtue. Human advancement and development has always been pushed by inspiration. And if a fantasy can inspire a person to seek to make the world a better place, this isn’t that justification enough?

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.