Flashback to the year 2004.  I was 19 years old – nearly 20.  I had graduated high school a year prior (3.62 GPA, thankyouverymuch!) and was attending a local college on a five-year track to get my Masters in Music Education. I also worked at a local steakhouse in my town as a waitress. A damn good waitress.

I was still living with my mother, and commuting to school. I was working nearly full time hours, and definitely going to school full time. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, I was at school from 7:30am until 9:15pm. I slept in my car in the parking lot between classes and I kept a cooler with my lunch and dinner in the trunk. Thankfully, nearly all my classes were in one building – so I could leave most of my crap books in my car and avoid lugging it all plus instruments to each class. On Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays the schedule was a little lighter and I would do a shift at the restaurant at night. I also worked nearly every Saturday and Sunday.

Things were a little rough at home, to be honest. My mother and I weren’t getting along and number of factors were contributing to our stress and our inability to communicate with each other.

I had broken up with a very serious boyfriend (though a short relationship) early in the year. We had been commuting together every morning and I was sleeping over at his house; then he got jealous of my gay friend and it was over. I was shell-shocked. I don’t remember today why I was so upset by the breakup – I hardly remember most of the relationship. It probably had something to do with the fact that I had lost my virginity to this guy – I had been “saving” myself for my “one true love” – and he had given me a gold claddah ring with a diamond, and I thought that we were really going to be together forever. So when he just stopped calling after spring break, I was heartbroken. He was in the same major as I was; it was impossible not to see him. One morning, I woke up and realized that I couldn’t remember the last three months of my life since he dumped me. I realized that I could not actually say for sure whether I had attended class, gone to work, interacted with my family, seen my friends. I was looking frantically at my calendar and trying to find class notes to verify that I had even existed. I decided that day to stay awake. I got over it (mostly) and moved on.

And by moved on, I mean that I started giving booty calls to an ex-manager from a party store that I worked in when I was 16. Don’t get too skeeved, I was 19 and he was 27 by the time we were going at it. I didn’t even really like him. And his hair smelled like dirt.

So one Sunday afternoon, around 3pm, in early August, I had several motivators when three guys with fresh tattoos and willing laughs sat down in a booth at my table.

I bounced over (I was one of those perky, smiley, happy waitresses), sat down in the empty seat (restaurant policy!) and said, “Welcome to the *** Steakhouse! My name is Cat, and I’ll be your server today.”

I was sitting next to a very tall guy with a crazy dragon tattoo on his arm – done the night before, I believe – with glasses and blue-ish eyes. He was somewhat unshaven, and had a bit of a bad-boy attitude about him.

~ To be Continued ~

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Originally posted on my old, hidden-away Blogger Blog. If you made the jump with me to WordPress, you probably read this already. Sorry! Love this story, and really wanted to tell it (again).