Josie (9)

November 20 (Saturday)
Continued

I dropped by to give you your wallet and stayed to for two-and-a-half hours. I invited myself because it was obvious you wouldn't mind the company; and, equally obvious, you would not ask.

We talked, you showed me your degrees and essays. I sat on your bed. I lay on your bed. And you sat right next to me. You, finally, unfortunately, had to go to work, although, you said, you wished you didn't have to.

And, and, you gave me a peck on the cheek at Yonge and Eglinton. I said, being innately goofy, "Oh, boy! Now I won't be able to sleep all night."

In being with you all afternoon I neglected my plans with Marshalin and suffered her wrath accordingly, fairly and without a missed beat. She was right, I was wrong. It's what you do to me.

When I called you later at your work, I said, "Is it my imagination, or are your lips really soft?"

You said, "uh, it's your imagination."

"That's what I thought."

At the Rowing Club on Friday you said, "I know what you need...you need sex." I blushed, looked away and laughed.

Now, I say to you, "I'm tired. I should get off the phone."

You say, "You need to move around, get some exercise, maybe some sexercise." I didn't pursue this line. Just for the record: You said it, I didn't.

(Late Evening)

I called you and am waiting to hear from you. You are going through your getting ready for tomorrow morning's work routines. What's to do? Eat breakfast, shower, put clothes on and head out. What's to prepare?

While I wait, I begin a list:

I haven't ever:

1. Seen you in curlers;
2. Touched your hair;
3. Touched your cheek;
4. Kissed your knees;
5. Helped you dress or undress;
6. Told you how I really, truly and completely feel;
7. Had you tell me how you honestly feel;
8. Gone swimming with you;
9. Prepared a meal for you;
10. Cleaned up after you;
11. Blamed you for not cleaning up after yourself;
12. Showed you an article from Harper's;
13. And, I haven't ever gone with you to an island nation near the South American continent. (No. Not the Falklands.)

10:51 p.m.

I'm on the phone with you...you're telling me about your date with Peter. And each word is a splinter in my ear. You want me to be unbiased, give you a man's point of view. I hurt.

You say, "We're going to see if we like each other."

You and him. A producer. I hurt. What could you possibly be thinking? What? What? What?

I'm telling you, in a phrase, to keep your options open. "You never know," I say.

I'm telling myself, you're not interested. You don't want me, you don't want me. Brilliant bit of deduction on my part. Your voice in my ear is oblivious. How could you be so oblivious? You don't want me. Maybe he wants a friendship?

Our conversation moved on from Peter. Not talking about Peter made our conversation go much more smoothly and in an animated way. My powers for self-delusion are incredible.

You got off the phone, as you sometimes do, by abruptly (to my ear) announcing that you should let me go. Why can't you just say: ' I better go now, it's getting late.' I say, "No, you want to go."

"That too."

"Bye."

"Bye."

Click.

Somewhere during the conversation you pointed out that I seemed to be kind of quiet. "No, I'm just listening," I lied.

You ask before you hang up, why we have such great conversations on the phone and such crummy ones when I'm over at your place?

"Probably 'cause we're avoiding the obvious," I say.

You agree. It becomes quiet for a second or two. Having made my point, I say, "moving right along...." And begin a new topic of convolution.