I began to think about him. Selfish, I know. Maybe it had already been a hard week. Maybe I was lonely. Maybe I was interested. Maybe it was one of those psychic connections that can never be proven. (I'd rather not know.) So I sat there, not knowing what else to do. I knew I could not call him. I tried to remind myself how mad I was, how I prided myself in figuring him out and how I finally had a reason to be mad. It was a simple way out. And I had taken it almost two weeks ago.
Reading, reading no. Ineffective, once more.
Then the phone rang. For the past week, I had screened my phone calls, but for some reason, this ring was different than the rest. So I picked it up.
All I heard was background music, the familiar undertones of every conversation I have ever had with him. It was familiar enough for me to drop the phone then and there. But he hung up first.
I knew it was he, but I wanted to be sure; I dialed *69 to make sure I knew where to channel this anger. Was he trying to check up on me? Did he just want to hear my voice? I called back, furious. "You might not want to hang up the phone as soon as I pick it up, just for future reference" or something like that. I don't even remember what I advised his voice mail. I was too enraged.
Two seconds later, the phone rang again. Suddenly it occurred to me that he might not have wanted to drop the phone-among other things. So I let it ring over because I felt embarrassed and curious. What was his excuse?
He introduced himself using his full name. He always does that, as if I didn't recognize his voice.
He said he felt bad about the way he acted. He was an asshole. No kidding.
He apologized. So cowardly to do it over the phone.
He said he wanted to talk to me. Did he think I did not want to? He had been thinking lately. About her, I know.
He mentioned I was a "valuable resource." It made me feel like a tool for him to use. I knew that. Funny how all the answers have always been in his words.
And then he said I was fun to be with. That was new.
He hoped to talk to me later.
I listened to the message only one more time before deciding what to do. History was truly a blur. I ran into the computer room to start typing.
I sent him my spilled anguish. Now I truly couldn't read my history. It had already happened.