‘I have that client in four hours…’ he trails off and examines his nails. ‘Fine, Ben. Call me if you decide to stop being an ass, but not befo...e then, ‘kay?’ I slam the door and it squeals. He drives away quickly. I sit for quite awhile in the porch swing we shared for so many summers and angry, frustrated tears burn my eyes. It’s an ugly feeling and I can’t help hating Ben for making it happen. He doesn’t call for five days and I can’t remember how long it’s been since we hadn’t spoken to. Clearly I didn't understand myself.I sat there. Dazed. Confused. Scared. I looked down at my plate. ACesar salad I did not want was in front of me. I lost my appetite thesecond I walked into the room. To my right was this guy. Someone I usedto call friend. Someone that now wants to be called boyfriend. But Ishouldn't be the one calling him that. I shouldn't be the one up forthat job position. I shouldn't be the one to fill those shoes. In thiscase, fill those heels.I didn't say a word the whole. More

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