I was young, shy, and lonely.

A bit of an optimist, a bit of a pessimist.

All the things that come with youth.

I was many things, but not stupid.

But I didn't walk away.

Hindsight is inevitable wisdom that costs an exorbitant price.

I wish I'd known the debt I'd be required to pay.

I could have walked away.

I went against all my instincts that signaled with warning lights.

You would've been a walking red flag if you hadn't been so damn lazy.

I should have walked away.

The memories that shaped me in an ugly, sad way should be thrown into a bonfire to let the smoke consume.

I would have walked away.

There are two memories I have that refuse to leave, one I won't speak of; the other is a plate.

We went to dinner somewhere nice.

I dressed up for you.

You wore dirty jeans.

As we were seated, every warning light flashed a bloody, angry red.

You lusted over the waitress which was bad enough.

But when she asked for our order you picked a fancy meal then pointed to me and said, "Bring her an empty plate. She can have a couple bites off of mine."

Something passed silently between the waitress and me.

I could make it poetic, but really, it was the universal look that says, "What a douche."

You said it loud enough for other diners to hear.

Keeping me in my place, I guess.

It didn't sit well with you when I ordered for myself.

(At least I could pronounce the name of my meal.)

I ate quietly, holding back tears.

Time has passed and my pen is my shield.

Now I'll sprinkle a little magic, a bit of history revised.

Here's what I should have done instead: Taken back my car keys, stiffened my spine, and informed the patrons that Little Richard couldn't rock or roll.

And walked away.


Maybe the waitress could have called you a cab.

No, sorry, she was on break.

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