Broke

She called and asked me if I wanted to have lunch.
I said “sure, but it would have to be someplace cheap, I’m having those ‘day before payday blues’”.
“Oh. Don’t worry about it, it’s on me.” She said. “I want to go to that fancy place near the futon store.”
That fancy place was little more than a bar with napkin holders, a sign outside with all of the lights working, and an overly expensive menu.
“Okay, I can meet you there.” I said.
“Sounds great, I’ll see you then.”
I arrived at the restaurant before she did so I took a seat at the bar, ordered a beer and waited. She came in at the half way mark of the glass.
“I’m so sorry I’m late, traffic was heavy.”
“Not a problem.”
“Let’s order, I’m starving.” She said.
It had been about a week since we had seen each other. She went to school full time and worked at the school bookstore, I had a job at the record store. Our last night together was magic, it was sweaty and raw. It was as if the world was ending and this was going to be the final fuck.
Our food arrived and I ordered another beer, she ordered a cocktail, something pink and fruity.
We didn’t talk much then, every now and then we would glance at each other and she would smile. It was a sweet but sad smile.
The bartender took our plates; she pulled out a pack of Parliaments, gave one to me and lit one for herself. We continued with our drinks.
“I’m happy to see you.” She said. “I’ve wanted to talk to you.”
She gave me that sad smile again, this time it didn’t feel as sweet.
“I think we need to break up.” She said quickly.
Then the tears came. I saw one drop into her drink.
“Why do you think that?”
“Because things are going too good, I think I’m in love with you and it’s only been two months. What if we get into a fight? You’ll hate me and you’ll leave, I don’t ever want to fight with you.”
“People fight, couples fight all the time, and it doesn’t really mean that it’s the end.”
“But what if it’s really bad? I couldn’t deal with that.”
She cried more, people stared at us. She got out of her seat, grabbed a napkin, and ran to the ladies room, sobbing and sniffling. The bartender came over and grabbed my empty pint glass. He stared at me sternly as I asked for a scotch and soda, lighting another of her Parliaments. He didn’t say anything as he made the drink; I didn’t say anything as he pushed it in front of me. I could feel the contempt from his eyes, from his flared nostrils, from the vain in his forehead, from his cheap red tie loosely hanging around his thick flabby neck.
She returned to her seat with red eyes, and mascara running. She looked tired, used up, spent. As if all that crying had taking the life right out of her. She quickly gathered her things into her purse, put on her coat and hugged me, her arms choking me as she began to sob again. Louder this time. She whispered that she would always love me then ran out the front doors. I knew then that I would never see her again. That was just a little too dramatic for me.

I turned back to the bartender as he was placing the tab in front of me. It was $28.50; I had thirty dollars and a half pack of camels in my pocket.
At least tomorrow is payday. I thought.
I gave the bartender the thirty dollars, he returned with the change. I left what was there as a tip.
I didn’t know what to think, that had to have been the fastest and strangest break up in history.
The walk back home was cold, the wind biting and bitchy.
It didn’t really dawn on me until later in the night after a few beers: She broke up with me and I paid for lunch.
She got me twice.