Cold Coffee and Stale Cigarettes *on hold*

Chapter 18

*WARNING* MENTION OF SUICIDE AND MENTAL ILLNESS.

Apparently when Dalton said his test was right after school, he meant it. So, at the moment, I was sitting in his car, feet against the dashboard, waiting for him to take his damn test. There hadn’t been enough time for him to run me home. I was ok with that, listening to one of his cd’s of a band I had never heard of. First I had flipped through Paramore, then Three Day’s Grace, and now his burned copy of Artic Monkeys. They weren’t as bad as I thought they would be. I had never been much of a music listener. It always sounded nice and the background noise was great, but it had never really been something I absolutely needed. Seeing the cubby between the front seats stacked with a dozen cd’s was new and the fact he listened to so much was something I hadn’t expected. There was a bang on the front window and my body jerked in surprise. Dalton stood there, face shadowed in the window, waiting for me to unlock the door.

                “Took your time.” I muttered, adjusting myself in the seat so I could buckle up.  “You better have passed.”

                “One hundred percent.” He grinned, dangling the piece of paper in front of my face.

                “Cool.” I grinned. “Now, when you reach the stop sign, make a left, go to the lights, take another left, and by then you should catch on.”

                “Why?”

                “We have to celebrate.” I shrugged.

                “People do that?”                                                                       

                “Not sure. I do.” Shaking his head, he pulled out of the lot and did as he was instructed.

                “This dump?”

                “Yup.” I exited the car and he followed grudgingly as he stared at the old, faded brick building declaring it was simply “Sweeties Café”.  “You’re not allergic to anything, are you?”

“Not that I know of.” He followed behind me as we entered the building and I grinned at the interior. The floor was a rich, darkened wood, lightly reflecting the dim lightening that gave the place an artificial gloom. The sides of the room were lined with multicolored neon booths, with black tables splattered in shining paint. Black lights were hung along all the walls but none of them were on. It was too early in the day. I led him to the bar where an older lady was wiping down the bright counter, humming to herself. She fixed the glasses perched on her nose before she saw me and a grin flashed her nicotine stained teeth.

                “Why halloo Sammy-doo.”

                “Hey Rita.” I shared a small timid smile, sliding onto one of the stools. Dalton followed, blinking.

                “Been awhile kiddo. Whatcha been up to? No trouble a hope.”

                “’Course not.” I grinned widely, my cheeks hurting from the force. Did it look as fake as it felt?

                “Who’s this?”

                “My friend Dalton.” I waved my hand absentmindedly. “We’re celebrating.”

                “Oh yea?” Her dimples showed, eyes crinkling. “What for?”

                “He passed his motorcycle class.”