Woah, woah, woah! Hold up there, hoss! This is part two of a two-part story - part one is HERE. Be sure to read that before you read this one, or you'll just be lost. Cool? Cool.

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For all intents and purposes (save a few, which I’ll get to in a little bit), Jennifer was great.

Her sense of style was very fashionable and current – I recognized quite a few labels on her clothing as the names of some of the premiere fashion ambassadors of the day. She had beautiful, almost shining blonde hair which reminded me of the windswept fields of golden wheat that adorn the entire middle section of this great and glorious nation. Her eyes were as serene and innocent a blue as I had seen up to that point in my life, and her smile, bright as a shore beacon, lit up the room.

There was just one teeny, tiny little problem.

“How old are you?!?” I blurted out before we could even exchange pleasantries.

“Uh… fifteen,” she responded, slightly startled at my bluntness.

My head whipped sharply left to face Mike and Rachel, who wore shocked and unaffected expressions on their faces accordingly. “Are you fucking KIDDING me?!?” I whispered in their direction.

Mike’s mouth hung open.

“What’s the problem?” Rachel asked.

“What can I get you to drink?” the server with the poor sense of timing said from behind me.

We all slowly sunk into our unassigned seats and politely went through the paces of ordering our drinks. Without even thinking of decorum or manners, I blurted out “I’ll have a sweet tea.”

“Root beer,” Mike requested.

The server wrote down what the rude and unchivalrous men had ordered. “And for the ladies?”

“I’ll have a Zima,” Rachel said, requesting her usual weak-ass malted alcoholic beverage.

“That sounds good – I’ll have one of those too!” Jennifer stated.

“Uh…” Mike said, looking at Rachel, who winked at him a few times.

“You can’t order that,” I stated.

“UH – YES I CAN,” she said through clinched teeth, indicating that I was blowing her cover or whatever. “You didn’t, like, order it FOR me, so I had to order it myself.”

“She’s, uh… Not driving tonight,” Rachel added, attempting to play things ‘cool’, “So yeah, go ahead and order it, Jen Jen – I’ll buy.” Rachel was giving me a look that said “We’re totally going to go through with this, and you’re a total asshole if you rat her out.”

I looked at Rachel much the way my mother would look at my father when he would allow me to do things I shouldn’t, like ride four-wheelers or read Playboy. “She’s not old enough to have a license!” I snapped. I gave Rachel a return look that said “Yup, I’m an asshole – and YOU set me up with a fifteen year old. Go fuck yourself.”

Rachel and I held each other’s stare as the server read off the list of ordered beverages. “Alright, I have a tea, a root beer, and Zima,” she said as she raised her head and looked at me. “And I’ll just bring your… Uh, date… A Coke,” She said with a smile as she closed her little waiter notepad booky thing and walked away.

“You ass!” Rachel said as she scowled at me.

“PAIN” my shoulder said as Jennifer punched me.

I turned and looked at Jennifer. She was angry. And fifteen.

“You know what?” I said. “I really gotta, like… Piss or something. Come on, Mike.”

“You need him to piss?” Rachel asked. “What, you need him to hold it for you or something?”

“Yup,” I replied, “It’s THAT big. Mike, let’s GO.”

Dutifully, Mike stood and followed me to the restroom.

**************************
“Dude… Come on…” Mike said for what must have been the one-hundredth time.

I stopped pacing the tile floor of the Outback’s luxurious Men’s restroom and stared hard at him. “Mike, I do NOT,” I yelled, pausing (for effect) just after the word ‘not’ much like I’m doing right now, “Want to hear it.”

“Hey, don’t get pissy with me!” He snapped. “It’s not MY fault!”

“NOT YOUR FAULT?!?” I yelled. “Who was it that said ‘Get back in the saddle, Joe!’ and ‘You can’t hide in your room forever, Joe!’ It certainly wasn’t ME!”

“Aw, come on! How was I supposed to know she was only fifteen?”

“DUDE… I knew she was fifteen the second I looked at her! That’s why the first question out of my mouth when she stood there trying to shake my hand was ‘Hey, how old are you?!?’”

“Well…” He said, trying to interject.

“‘Why, I’m Fifteen!’” I said, my voice squeaky and high to emulate Jennifer’s.

“I’d never seen her before! How the hell can you blame ME?”

I thought for a moment. “Jesus… FUCK!” I yelled, slamming the backs of my shoulders against the wall and covering my face with my hands. I wasn’t really making any sort of request or suggesting anything with that statement… It just happened to be an unfortunate juxtaposition of vulgarity with divinity.

“Hey, maybe you could yell that a little louder!” Mike suggested incredulously. “I don’t think everyone ON THIS EARTH heard it.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter now, does it?” I quipped with despair. “They all think I’m a pedophile now anyway – they might as well think I’m a foul-mouthed pedophile!”

“Oh, come on…” He said. “You are TOTALLY over-blowing this!”

“Am I?!?” I snapped. “Dude, I’m 21 years old – and I look nearly 30!”

“Well… Not really 30,” Mike interjected. “The beard does make you look older, but only like… 25.”

“That doesn’t help, Mike!” I yelled. “Did you not SEE the expression on the server’s face when she got our drink order?”

“What about it?”

“She looked at me like I was the dirtiest man alive!”

“Oh, she did not,” He replied with a sigh. “You’re just paranoid.”

“Well… Well YOU’RE an ASSHOLE!” I said wittily (my comebacks are the best).

He looked at me for a moment, letting my statement register. He knew I was right, and he knew that, even though he really, really wanted me to just let all of this stuff go and make it through the night so he could score with his girl, he was pushing it. If he took this opportunity to try to keep me involved in this evening’s events, he would be going far beyond asking for a favor – he would be leaning on our friendship to get what he wanted.

Without a sigh, or a dampened tone of voice, or any other signals betraying his earnestness, he said very honestly, “Dude, we can go home right now if you want. We will walk out of this bathroom, hit the car, and I’ll make up with Rachel later. Just say the word, and we’re outta here.”

I thought about it for a second. I heard the words he was saying – and believe me, I wanted to take him up on that offer. I wanted nothing more than to bolt out of there and be clear of the possibility that people might see me and think of me as some sort of baseball-loving, Camaro-driving predator who lusts after teenage girls. But there was something much, much larger at stake here.

There was a favor owed.

Almost a year ago to the day, Mike did one of the greatest things a friend could ever do for another friend. I was on a trip with an ex-girlfriend (Mandy, the one who thought I was gay that I ensnared myself in barbed wire for) in Myrtle Beach during spring break.

It was a horrible, horrible experience.

Anyway, Mandy got it in her head that she was going to be a bitch and prove a point by… Well, that’s another story for another time. But I proved my counterpoint by calling my good friend Mike to come pick me up – from Atlanta, a six-hour drive – and leaving her ass there. Mike did this without complaining. Not even once. He just said “alright,” hopped in the car, and came and picked me up. And he never once threw it in my face or even reminded me of the fact that he did it.

Mike is too good of a friend to ever pull the ‘ol “You owe me one” out of the closet and attempt to wield it – which makes it doubly hard to avoid paying him back for favors. And I knew that, with enough grit and determination, I could survive the evening and babysit the cousin while Mike and his girlfriend attempted to ‘get they sex on.’

I sighed. “I’m going to regret this… But no. I’ll stay.”

“THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU,” He said, half hugging me.

“Dude, it’s no big… Well, yeah, it is a big deal. Let’s just get this over with.”

“I owe you one,” he said as we turned to walk out.

“Nope… We’re even,” I corrected. “How long has it been since—”

“Two weeks,” he answered immediately as he pushed the door open.

“Really,” I said. “Why?”

“Parents caught us,” He said. “She won’t even kiss me in the house now.”

“Pathetic,” I said as we walked down the aisle and past the table where cows would eventually steal my dinner a few years later.

“Mmmhmm,” I heard him mutter. “And when was your last time?”

“This isn’t about me,” I said nonchalantly as we reached our table.

“What isn’t about you?” Rachel asked. “Manners?”

“No,” I answered.

“Respect? Hmm? Is respect not about you?” She asked. “You’re damn rude, you know that?”

“I do,” I answered, placing my napkin in my lap.

“Joe was just sharing with me how long it’s been since he’s had sex,” Mike said to the table.

“Oh?” asked Rachel. “And how long has it been, Joe?”

“Well, I did stumble across those risqué ads for escorts in the back of Creative Loafing a few days ago,” I replied. “Does solo count?”

“EEEEWWWWWW,” Jennifer replied. “That’s just nasty.”

“Well, just wait until you hit puberty, you might change your mind,” I said sharply.

“I HAVE hit puberty, thank you very much,” Jennifer snapped.

“You’re welcome, I guess. I’m not sure what you’re thanking ME for…”

“At least four months,” Mike said abruptly.

We looked at him, all of us with the same expression on our face, which read “Uh…What?”

“It’s been at least four months since you last had sex,” Mike answered.

“Wow…” I answered. “It’s amazing how well you keep a topic alive, no matter how much I wish it would die.”

“Well, I’m just saying.”

“Well… Just STOP saying,” I replied, taking a sip from my sweet – UGH… Unsweetened tea. “Fuck… she brought me unsweetened,” I said with a grossed-out face.

“Matches your demeanor,” Rachel quipped, rolling her eyes.

I looked at her for a second. “You know, I’m doing YOU the favor tonight, chick. You might want to try being a little nicer, you know?” She rolled her eyes as I said, “Besides, you’re drinking a ZIMA. What does that say about YOU?”

“It says she’s hip,” Jennifer offered. “I’d be hip, too, if you hadn’t been a jackoff and ruined it.”

“That’s me… Mr. Joykill,” I responded, taking another drink of the beverage I didn’t order. “And Zima is about as hip as… Well… Something that’s not hip.”

“Brilliant,” said Rachel.

We sat in awkward silence for a few moments. I tried to watch the game, but it was hard to focus… Mostly because watching it would mean staring just above Rachel’s head, and each time I tried to get into the game, she would look at me and I’d look at her and she’d scowl and I’d scowl and my focus would be broken and I’d have no choice but to look off to my right (since Jennifer was to my left and I wasn’t really interested in looking in her direction at all). But I’d get bored with looking at the wall and the door to the kitchen and I’d eventually look back up at the game, which would cause Rachel to look at me…

“So, everyone ready to order?” The server said as she finally returned to our table.

We were. In fact, I don’t think that any of us at that table were more ready for anything ever before in our lives. We all wanted to order our food, eat it, and get the hell out of there as quickly as possible – Mike and Rachel for obvious reasons; Jennifer because it was probably already past her bedtime, and me because… Well, I was set up on a blind date with a 15 year old. So yeah… duh.

We ordered our respective meals and proceeded to eat them in relative silence… At least, I did. Rachel and Jennifer chatted about purses and cute boys and really, really bad music. Mike and Rachel chatted about… Well, really really bad music. Mike and Jennifer chatted a little about what she liked to do (cheerlead, hang out with friends), what her favorite band was (oh, TOTALLY Backstreet Boys), what her favorite book is (Uh, she doesn’t, like, read and stuff). I just sat there and watched the New York Rangers lose.

Dinner was awkward, to say the least. But it was nothing compared to the movie.

We went to see “Urban Legend” – Jennifer’s choice, backed by Rachel (and apparently Mike, since he offered no argument against it). I was in HELL. First, I can’t stand modern ‘horror’ films – they lack creativity, spontaneity, cohesion and quite frankly, use. When you mix into that equation lots of ‘hot’ teen ‘actors’ and a washed-up has-been who’s only credits are playing a charred child molester with knives on his fingers and a phantom at some opera, you get… Well, a really, really bad movie.

It wasn’t three minutes into the ‘film’ that I looked over at my best friend to share a knowing smile about how stupid the opening scene was, only to find him shoving his tongue into his girlfriend’s mouth like a face-hugger trying to impregnate a Colonial Marine. With a sigh, I sunk into my chair and started watching 24-frames-per-second of sheer and utter dreck.

SUDDENLY! And without ANY telegraphing whatsoever! A super scary scene appeared (and even trying to search IMDB to remember which one it was has been fruitless – such is the extent to which I have scrubbed my brain of any recollection of that movie). I felt a hand grab my forearm and a nose bury itself into the little joint between my bicep and my chest.

“Oh GOD!” I heard Jennifer scream from deep in my armpit. She looked up at me with a face full of earnestness. “That was SO scary!” she whispered.

“Mm-hmm,” I replied, turning back to face the movie.

I don’t quite know why… Okay, yeah, that’s a lie. I know EXACTLY why I began counting the seconds after I turned away from her that she left her hand on my arm. It was because she was fifteen and I was creeped the fuck out.

I wanted to yank my arm away. I really, really wanted to. And I would have, but I didn’t want to be just flat-out mean. So, I figured, I’d count to about 30 or 40 and then stretch a little, releasing her from her grip and making it look like I had a real reason to knock her off me. I got up to about 32 seconds when SUDDENLY! And again, without ANY telegraphing, another SUPER scary scene appeared. I again felt her head bury itself into my armpit. I felt her hand squeeze I again looked down at her. Again, she looked up at me. This time, she did not yelp the name of Jehovah or whisper how scary the scene was.

No. This time, she reached up and went to kiss me.

This was neither an intent nor a purpose for which Jennifer was great.

"Gah!" I yepled. I immediately flinched back. She reached my face just in time to plant her lips on the base of my jaw.

“Alrighty,” I announced, pulling my arm away and standing up, “That’s the evening for me.”

Mike yanked his tongue out of his girlfriend’s mouth long enough to mutter the word, “Dude…”

“Nope,” I said, sliding past him and Rachel and reaching the stairs, “I’m out. That’s it.”

“But…”

I didn’t even hear what he said. Someone three rows behind us elevated the natural volume of their voice such as to remind us that there was a movie going on, they had paid for it, and if we’d be so kind as to “Shut the fuck up,” he would much appreciate it.

I lifted my hand and waved at my friend, his girlfriend, and the little kid they stuck me with, all without turning to face them. I just managed to hit the door when I heard Mike from behind me.

“Dude, seriously – how are you going to get home?”

“Walk,” I said, not holding the door for Mike as I exited the theater.

“I can’t let you walk,” he stated from the open doorway. “It’s freezing out there!”

“I’ll be fine,” I said, turning and walking backward so I could see him. “Don’t let that door close, you’ll have to buy another ticket.” I turned back around, almost performing a full walking 360.

“Dude…” I heard him mumble.

I heard the door close. “Enjoy the evening,” I said to my friend who left me to walk home alone.

“What do you mean?” he asked from behind me.

I turned in shock. “You fucking idiot… You’re going to have to buy another ticket to get in there!”

“Nah,” he said, “I’m not going back in.”

“But…”

“If you leave, I’m leaving,” he said. “I’m not going to have this on my conscience all night.”

“If I stay, I’m going to have to hang around a fifteen year old who’s trying to molest me all night!” I stated. “You’ll have THAT on your conscience instead.”

“Nah,” he said, “Let’s go.”

I looked at him for a moment. “What about having the house to yourself tonight?” I asked.

“There’ll be other opportunities,” he said as he began walking to the car.

“But…” I said, beginning to feel like an incredible ass as I chased after him. “Shit… I’m totally screwing you over, man.”

“No,” he said, “We should have left the second she brought a kid in as your date. You’re not screwing me over.” He stopped walking and turned to face me. “It took a real friend to even put up with that. Thanks.”

He smiled a little and then turned to walk to the car. I smiled a little myself and followed him.

Two days later, Rachel finally forgave Mike and came over to the house we shared. She apparently got over her phobia of “doing it” with the housemates present in the house, because Mike’s stereo boomed far louder than it needed to all night (for the record - it was Rachel's favorite artist, Celine Dion. I'm outing my friend getting laid to Celene Dion to the tens of people who read my stories. And I'm not even slightly sorry about it).

Not that THAT’s what kept me up… I had old letters to read over and a chat room to sit in.