Josie (16)

December 6 (12:20 a.m.)

I've debated all day on whether I should call you or not. Part of me is saying, don't call, save yourself from more pain. In the end, I succumb to baser instincts and call. I will call you now and simply won't call you as often or as quickly the next time. (Yeah, right!).

We talked for an hour and you took a somewhat cavalier attitude in dealing with the topic of when to call and how often and on and on. Otherwise, our conversation ranges from politics, to poetry, to your family, to your trip to Trinidad, to my job hunt, to stuff. In the end, we got off the phone somewhat abruptly with nothing spoken of the future.

I lie on my bed for a few seconds and feel sorry for myself, then I get up to use the washroom. The phone rings. I race out thinking it may be Lisa calling from Montreal. It not Lisa; it's you! What the...?

You say you just felt like calling back, but you don't have anything profound to say except that I'm a "helluva nice guy." I'm quiet. The line is silent. You add, "Just take it as that...don't read into it."

"Okay."

"Bye."

"Bye."

Click.

So I'll paint a scene from memory, so I'd know who murdered me
It's a vain pursuit but it helps me sleep

The Tragically Hip

December 7 (11 a.m.)

The time when we would normally get in touch with each other has passed. In the meantime, my search for a job has opened up; whereas before I had a contact, I now have a potential job. A completely charitable and unforeseen turn of events. And now, I'm excited and then sad because my first impulse is to call you and tell you the good news. But I can't -- shouldn't do this. I should be happy to tell it to myself. Happy -- by myself, without the excuse of anything to talk to you about. No excuses. No call made.