10 May 2006
Everything in my life is going well until today.
It’s a Wednesday night around 10 p.m. R. has just gone upstairs to bed about ten minutes ago, and I have just finished straightening up the kitchen and am getting ready to retire for the night as well when my cell phone rings.
That’s odd. No one ever calls me at this time of night, especially not a weeknight.
I flip open the phone in the darkness of my kitchen and see David’s number flashing on the LCD screen.
Shit. He never calls me at night, because he never knows if it’s safe for me to talk to him. What the hell does he want, anyway? We already talked earlier today.
David had called me earlier in the evening while I was sitting in traffic on the way home. He had had a terrible day at work and told me he needed a friendly ear. I allowed him to rant and rave for fifteen minutes until he ran out of steam. After that, I asked him for his professional opinion on a landscaping project I’d been thinking of doing. He offered on the spot to come up to my house that night to take a look at it, but R. was home that night, so I had to turn David down.
Now I consider rejecting the call, but decide to answer it.
“Christine?” he slurs. “Hello?”
“Ahh, no. It’s not Christine, David. It’s Lori.”
Silence. Then, “Oh…sorry, Lori. I guess I accidentally dialed your number.”
A famous quote I’ve read somewhere pops into my head, the author of which escapes me at the moment. I think it was Napoleon. There is no such thing as an accident; it is fate, misnamed.
I reply, “Where are you?”
“I’m out. In Ardmore. At a bar.” No kidding.
“Sounds like you’ve been enjoying yourself a little too much tonight, huh?”
“Uh-huh.”
“You okay?”
I am completely taken aback when he begins to sob. “Noooo…cause you’re not in my life anymore, Lor!”
I purse my lips and try to think of how to respond. I decide to completely disregard any references to emotions and instead focus on the more practical issue at hand. “David, you’re not driving tonight, are you?”
“Noooo,” he whimpers.
“Good. Now call your girlfriend and figure out how to get home. I’ll talk to you later.” I snap my cell phone shut and sink down into one of the oak chairs at my kitchen table. He’s still drinking, then. Still drugging too, probably. Man, am I glad that he’s not my problem anymore. I feel bad, just for a moment, for his girlfriend. She must really have her hands full with him.
Nevertheless, this incident has planted a seed, and my mind is now spinning with a thousand different thoughts. People are usually most honest when they’re wasted, isn’t that what everybody says? He still has feelings for me. Accidentally dialed my number, my ass! He knew exactly who he was calling, but he needed to be drunk first to do it…why? He still loves me, I just know it. But I guess he hasn’t really changed much. Why can’t he just grow the fuck up and quit drinking? It would be perfect then.
That night, I realize that I still love him, too.
It’s a Wednesday night around 10 p.m. R. has just gone upstairs to bed about ten minutes ago, and I have just finished straightening up the kitchen and am getting ready to retire for the night as well when my cell phone rings.
That’s odd. No one ever calls me at this time of night, especially not a weeknight.
I flip open the phone in the darkness of my kitchen and see David’s number flashing on the LCD screen.
Shit. He never calls me at night, because he never knows if it’s safe for me to talk to him. What the hell does he want, anyway? We already talked earlier today.
David had called me earlier in the evening while I was sitting in traffic on the way home. He had had a terrible day at work and told me he needed a friendly ear. I allowed him to rant and rave for fifteen minutes until he ran out of steam. After that, I asked him for his professional opinion on a landscaping project I’d been thinking of doing. He offered on the spot to come up to my house that night to take a look at it, but R. was home that night, so I had to turn David down.
Now I consider rejecting the call, but decide to answer it.
“Christine?” he slurs. “Hello?”
“Ahh, no. It’s not Christine, David. It’s Lori.”
Silence. Then, “Oh…sorry, Lori. I guess I accidentally dialed your number.”
A famous quote I’ve read somewhere pops into my head, the author of which escapes me at the moment. I think it was Napoleon. There is no such thing as an accident; it is fate, misnamed.
I reply, “Where are you?”
“I’m out. In Ardmore. At a bar.” No kidding.
“Sounds like you’ve been enjoying yourself a little too much tonight, huh?”
“Uh-huh.”
“You okay?”
I am completely taken aback when he begins to sob. “Noooo…cause you’re not in my life anymore, Lor!”
I purse my lips and try to think of how to respond. I decide to completely disregard any references to emotions and instead focus on the more practical issue at hand. “David, you’re not driving tonight, are you?”
“Noooo,” he whimpers.
“Good. Now call your girlfriend and figure out how to get home. I’ll talk to you later.” I snap my cell phone shut and sink down into one of the oak chairs at my kitchen table. He’s still drinking, then. Still drugging too, probably. Man, am I glad that he’s not my problem anymore. I feel bad, just for a moment, for his girlfriend. She must really have her hands full with him.
Nevertheless, this incident has planted a seed, and my mind is now spinning with a thousand different thoughts. People are usually most honest when they’re wasted, isn’t that what everybody says? He still has feelings for me. Accidentally dialed my number, my ass! He knew exactly who he was calling, but he needed to be drunk first to do it…why? He still loves me, I just know it. But I guess he hasn’t really changed much. Why can’t he just grow the fuck up and quit drinking? It would be perfect then.
That night, I realize that I still love him, too.
posted by Anonymous at 11/30/2006 10:22:00 AM
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