I slammed the car door and stalked through the light drizzle, feeling my eyes begin to smart once more. I didn't want to cry in public, but the tears pressed against my lids, salty and stinging.
I swung open the glass door, averting my gaze from the giant Buddha on the counter, staring up at the menu, trying to drain away tears.
"What can I get for you?"
I'd never seen her before, hair parted in cornrows and secured with plastic butterflies, dyed a viciously unnatural shade of red. I stabbed blindly at a sign with my forefinger and muttered something about burnt almond fudge.
My thoughts quickly slipped away as she began to delve into the ice cream. They traced their steps back to him sitting on my bed, fists clenched, unsure, the orange box sitting precariously by his side. My tears falling on the sleeve of his black sweatshirt, my forehead resting on his shoulder. Words circling and spilling and tumbling without meaning what they mean, without saying what they say.
doyouloveme?
you'remybestfriendhowcouldinotloveyou.
butidon'tknowifthisisgoodforusrightnow.
let'stryagainwecanmakethiswork.
it'ssostrange.
idon'tfeelrightaboutgivingup.
i'msofuriousatallofthem.
pleasedon'tgiveupplease.
idon'tknowanythingrightnow.
"Oh, come on, smile. Your day couldn't have been that bad, right?"
With a thump, I came back to the present and gazed down at the girl. Her contact-tinted blue eyes peered up at me.
"Pretty bad," I answered, past the lump in my throat, not daring to look at her.
"What'd you do? Get dumped?"
"Almost." It was more than I could take. The tears started to well up.
"I got dumped last Friday... hard times, girl. Hard times."
"Hard times," I agreed, pulling the money out of my pocket. She stopped me.
"It's on me."
I murmured a protest, but she just walked away. A sob broke free from my throat, and I swept up the styrofoam dish and fled out the door.
I wish the whole world could be like that.