Who Really Cares

I saw a guy I went to school with. We had a cordial relationship, but we were not friends. At this time, he was getting popular as a buzzing upcoming musician, with a couple of hit songs on the radio.

He stuck his hands out and pulled me into his section at Soko’s, a popular bar where creatives always hung out. He got me a seat and made me comfortable. He waved his hands as iPhone photographers took a dozen-plus photos

We sat down and he reached into his pockets for some money. He was paying for some T-shirts he owed money for. I cringed and told him to wait, but he ignored it. I wasn’t there for the money, we just happened to bump into each other.

He paid me in public.

Later, word went around that he was telling people I had asked him for money when I left. At first I was angry and ready to snap. Then a voice in my head tells me control my emotions. In bed later that night, replaying that day, I think about it properly

There were girls at the table that night, and maybe it was his way of impressing them. Thinking about it that way is how I was able to forgive him. I never asked him about it because, at the end of the day, who really cares?