Josie (conclusion)

December 8

As it turned out, you called me yesterday afternoon and left a message on my machine. Where would I be without this machine? You had taken the day off and asked that I call you back to talk or maybe come over for a visit. At 2 p.m. I called you and we talked and you did not invite me over. We hung up and then I called you back to say, "What are you doing for the rest of the day?"

"Nothing," you say. I wait. It's quiet, you don't venture to invite me. I hang by a thread. Then, "If you want to come over, that's fine. If you don't, that's okay too, 'cause I'm doing my own thing for another hour or two."

We hang up. I am angry and frustrated and I will myself to take a nap.

Evening

Against my own best advice, such as it is, I decide to call you at 5:30 p.m. I let you know I'm angry with you. I tell you, "I'm going downtown."

You say, "Hey, I can come with you."

What? I say, "Alright."

Five minutes later you call to say you can't come because your colleagues from work may see you shopping on a day when you have called in sick. I'm not surprised. I say, "You're killing me, you know?"

Even before you said anything on the phone, I knew you had called to cancel. With me, it's your way: One step forward, two steps back.

I go downtown to the Eaton's Centre and on my way back I'm captured by this brilliant idea: I am going to get a milkshake for myself; you like milkshakes; wouldn't it be great if I surprised you by bringing you a milkshake too?

I do this, I come over, spend a half hour at your place and then get up to go. You don't resist. My welcome is thirty minutes thin. You don't get up to see me off because, I imagine, you think, I might try to kiss you or something.

I say, "Don't get up, I'll see myself out."

You laugh. I'm halfway down the hall when you stick your head out your door to say, "Drive carefully."

I'm lost in my thoughts, you catch me off guard and all I can manage is a sad nod of my head. On my way home I tumble in anger and turmoil, adolescent angst and adult sorrow. I hurt all the way home.

December 9

Today, I have not called you and you have not called me. Now the scales must be balanced.

I went to a Chinese restaurant with a friend. Got the obligatory fortune cookie. The fortune read: "An admirer is concealing affection for you." I bought a dozen other cookies trying to uncover your identity.


December 15 Morning

Not talking to you is not as bad as I thought it would be. And if it's this easy for me, it must be a breeze for you. Now, if only I could stop these technicolour, neck tightening dreams!

11:22 p.m.

You have not called. I must face those dreams again tonight.