Ugly(43)

“You lying, bitch. Why would I say anything like that? I’m not even interested in Trent like that.”

Our food arrives and everyone goes quiet as it’s placed in front of us. But suddenly, I’m not feeling hungry. The server leaves and Audrey, with a smug look, starts eating. Jason does too, and sneaks a look over to Trent who smirks and continues to eat.

Why do I feel like I’m at the butt of their joke? As if they all know a secret and I’m not allowed to know? It catapults me back to school, as if it were years in the past but in fact it was as recently as two weeks ago. I’m the uncool kid walking with her lunch tray, and the mean girls trip me and laugh when the spaghetti lands on my head.

The meal is eaten in complete silence. I can’t hear anyone talking, and it feels as if the entire eating area is waiting to see who is going to break first.

Once the meal has been eaten, Audrey looks at me and crosses her arms in front of her chest. “You think I had sex with your man? Let me tell you something, Lily. I could have anyone I want, and if I wanted him, I’d take him.”

“Audrey,” Jason warns her in a low, hushed tone.

“Just don’t lie to me,” I say as I look among the three of them.

Trent’s face changes color. He turns pink, then red from the fury he’s attempting to conceal. I can tell he’s mad, and so he should be. Audrey is saying things to me, and about me, which are offensive.

“I can’t believe this shit, and I can’t believe you,” she says as she stands and gets her bag. “Jason, take me home.”

Jason stands and throws his napkin on the table. “Nice one, Lily,” he says and goes after Audrey.

I put my elbows on the table and bury my face in my hands. The entire restaurant is looking, I can feel every set of eyes on me, and I’m beyond humiliated.

“You know what, Lily?” Trent says. I peek out from behind my hands and find him standing beside me. “You’ve disgraced me in front of my best friend and his girl. I really can’t believe the fuss you’ve created. You can walk home. I’m going out tonight. How dare you embarrass me in front of my friends!” He walks out of the restaurant.

I’m left sitting on my own, on a night that was supposed to have been about us. Instead, I’m mortified and alone. I get up and walk toward the front door.

“Mademoiselle,” the maître‘d calls to me as I’m about to walk out the door.

“Yes, sir.” I turn back to him.

He walks over to me and gently puts his hand on the small of my back. He leans down and whispers, “They are not nice people. You shouldn’t be around them.”

“Thank you,” I sigh. His words are the kindest I’ve heard for a while.

“But I am sorry, they left you with the check.” He winces at his own words.

“Of course they did. My apologies. I’ll pay it.” I follow him to the register and he gives me the bill. My eyes almost fall out of my head when I see none of them have paid. The bill is well over three hundred dollars, and I’m grateful I have that in cash.

“Thank you,” he says nicely.

I turn and leave, not only humiliated but also poorer, with over three hundred dollars gone from what I was saving for college. I have no phone, because I left it back in my room, choosing to only bring my purse. And I have no idea how I’m going to get back so late.

I walk down the street and sit on a bench as a few people walk past me, looking me up and down. I’m not wearing a jacket, and the night air has got a crisp chill to it. I look up at the sky and notice the many stars twinkling brightly against the dark backdrop.

“You know, you’ve been fairly cruel to me,” I say to God, or whoever may be listening to me. “I’ve heard the expression that you don’t give out more than a person can handle, but don’t you think you’ve given me enough?” The beautiful bright lights glimmer as if my words have not been absorbed. “Can you go easy on me? Please?”

“Who are you talking to, sugar?” An old man sits beside me on the bench seat. I take in his appearance and come to the conclusion he’s homeless.

“No one, sir.” I shrug, “Or maybe someone. I’m really not sure.”

He looks up to the sky and looks back to me. “Do you know how I know He’s listening?” He points up to the sky to indicate God.

“No, sir. How?”

“I ask Him not to let it rain on nights I can’t find shelter. Tonight, I’m going to the park down the street, because I have nowhere to lay my head.” He smiles at me, exposing his rotting teeth.

A homeless man, completely without anything, has hope. And I’m the one who’s feeling sorry for myself. Maybe I’m not noticing what I need to. Maybe my own self-pity is erecting barriers to just how fortunate I am.