Samantha crushed her half-lemon with barbaric intensity, feeling the juice empty from the thousands of ruptured chambers within the fruit. She was not watching as the fresh, fragrant acid gushed over her broiled fish. Her eyes were fixed hatefully on the waitress flirting with Andrew at the other end of the restaurant.

A lifetime in polite and civilized society had manacled Samantha irrevocably. She was not capable of carrying out the murderous uses she was envisioning for her salad fork. She could only smolder and fidget. When the waitress sensed the malicious energy that was focused like a laser at her perfect french twist and turned, Samantha redirected her gaze instantaneously, glaring so vehemently at the salt and pepper shakers that had anyone asked for the seasonings at that moment they would have been hot to the touch.

Andrew had been a devoted boyfriend, thoughtful, open, but disheveled, clumsy, with poor taste in clothes. He was outspoken, pushing away the most popular people with his obstinate opinions, not to mention his style of dress. The strain of living in his alienated world had all become too much to bear, and Samantha had cut the relationship short while they were apart for the summer, though they had planned to stay committed until they were reunited when classes began in the fall.

And now, now he had the nerve to dress well and smile as the waitress hovered over his table. Now his unchanged opinions, brash and overbearing a year ago, were popular, and everyone agreed with him when he sermonized. When he stooped reflexively to pick up the waitress’ fallen pen she remembered how often he had bent over backwards to please her, and her anger mounted like a posturing vulture.

Samantha was not honest enough with herself to realize that she did not actually resent Andrew, or even despise the waitress. Ultimately, she was angry with herself. She had thrown away the deed to a coal mine only to discover later there were diamonds there. And though he had done everything he could have to show her, she never saw how much he was worth, and would not see even now were it not for the attention that everyone she knew seemed to lavish on him. Now even strangers seemed to fall in love with Andrew at first sight, and they were all prettier and skinnier than Samantha was.

She cursed the coincidence that brought them to the same restaurant on the same night. If she had thought about it she would have realized it was no coincidence at all: Andrew had introduced her to this restaurant.

She was thankful that she was seated in such a way that he was unlikely to notice her. She was thankful for her friends, whose vapid waterslide of endless conversation made it easy for her to distract herself and forget her rage. She never noticed the ring on the pretty waitress’ left hand, or that Andrew ate alone, and sat for a long time by himself, staring at his empty plate, before leaving.

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