Good-bye
My response to this week's Word of the Week.
Marty would always remember the exact moment that she came home from her date and saw the cell phone that she had forgotten, laying on the dining room table exactly where she had left it that evening. It was 3:14 a.m., and it had been a very fun date. Dinner (Chinese…she loved Chinese, even though she would never eat it again), a movie, then drinks afterward. She almost didn’t come home afterward, the date went that well.
She picked up the phone and started to plug it in to recharge when she noticed that she had a voicemail. The number belonged to her ex-husband’s cell phone. She hadn’t spoken with him in almost two months, but she still knew the number by heart. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to talk to him, the divorce had been remarkably amicable, and they still considered each other best of friends. But she had started dating again, and had started doing the things that she used to do for fun before they got married, and just never felt like calling him. And whenever she tried to call him back she always wound up missing him.
She almost didn’t check her voicemail, but then she decided that it might be important. She flipped the phone open and listened to the message.
“Hey, Marty. It’s me. Billy.” Like he ever needed to introduce himself, she always knew who it was, recognized his voice. Although for some reason his voice sounded a little slurred, like maybe he was too tired to move his lips right or something. “I guess you’re not there, or you’re dodging my calls, or don’t really care about me anymore. Whatever. I just called to say goodbye. It’s been a pretty rough couple of months, and things have gotten to the point where I just can’t deal with it anymore. I’ll be gone by the time you get this, so…um…I guess goodbye pretty much says it all. Goodbye, and I love you and miss you. Take care of yourself, okay?”
The phone made a muted thump when it hit the carpet in the hallway. Marty leaned against the wall for support, senseless. She could hear the voicemail system telling her what to do in the distance. She reached over and picked up the phone to listen to the message again. It still said the same thing. She pushed the button to save the message, then checked to see what time the call had come in. He had called around 7:30 the night before, well after she had left. Of all the times to forget my goddam phone, she berated herself.
She picked up the phone and stuck it in her purse, then went to the drawer in the kitchen where she kept the spare key to his apartment. Marty wasn’t really a religious or spiritual woman, but she found herself praying to…whoever, whatever might be listening that she wasn’t too late. She grabbed the key and ran out the door without bothering to throw the deadbolt. If only Billy hadn’t moved half way across town, she thought angrily, I might be able to get to him before it’s too late…if it isn’t already too late. It was normally about a half hour drive from her apartment to his, but since it was three o’clock on a Sunday morning, she was able to shave about five or ten minutes off of that.
She glanced over to where she thought Billy usually parked his car, but didn’t see it. She hoped that meant that he had had to park somewhere else. She didn’t know what she would do if he was actually somewhere else. She had assumed that he had called her from home, even though he had called her from his cell. After all, she only had the one phone, herself.
As she climbed out of her car, she looked up at his apartment but didn’t see any lights on. Her heart threatened to escape from her chest as she ran up the stairs as fast as she could. When she got to his apartment, she pounded on the door as hard as she could. She only waited a few seconds before putting her key in the lock, but she didn’t hear anything from inside.
“Billy? Where are you?” she called out as she reached for the light switch by the door. She didn’t expect an answer, and wasn’t really disappointed by the silence. “Are you home?”
As she moved through the living room, she found that she was surprised by how clean it was. Granted, her husband…her ex-husband wasn’t really a slob, but since the divorce he hadn’t been as keen on housework as he used to be. A quick glance at the kitchen showed that he had apparently done the dishes, too. She had a very bad feeling when she saw that…as though he hadn’t wanted anyone to clean up after him.
She made her way easily back to the bedroom, turning lights on as she went. She saw Billy laying on top of the bed, which was as close to made as she had ever seen it. He had even folded the ends of the sheets under the mattress. He looked like he was asleep. Marty watched him closely for a few seconds before reaching out to push his arms, but she didn’t see any signs of breathing.
“Billy? Come on, Billy, wake up!” she said loudly as she started to shake him, to no avail. “Billy! Damn it, come on!” she yelled, her voice starting to catch in her throat.
After shaking him for a long minute, she pulled her cell phone out of her purse and dialed 911, the numbers on the keypad blurry through the tears.
Marty would always remember the exact moment that she came home from her date and saw the cell phone that she had forgotten, laying on the dining room table exactly where she had left it that evening. It was 3:14 a.m., and it had been a very fun date. Dinner (Chinese…she loved Chinese, even though she would never eat it again), a movie, then drinks afterward. She almost didn’t come home afterward, the date went that well.
She picked up the phone and started to plug it in to recharge when she noticed that she had a voicemail. The number belonged to her ex-husband’s cell phone. She hadn’t spoken with him in almost two months, but she still knew the number by heart. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to talk to him, the divorce had been remarkably amicable, and they still considered each other best of friends. But she had started dating again, and had started doing the things that she used to do for fun before they got married, and just never felt like calling him. And whenever she tried to call him back she always wound up missing him.
She almost didn’t check her voicemail, but then she decided that it might be important. She flipped the phone open and listened to the message.
“Hey, Marty. It’s me. Billy.” Like he ever needed to introduce himself, she always knew who it was, recognized his voice. Although for some reason his voice sounded a little slurred, like maybe he was too tired to move his lips right or something. “I guess you’re not there, or you’re dodging my calls, or don’t really care about me anymore. Whatever. I just called to say goodbye. It’s been a pretty rough couple of months, and things have gotten to the point where I just can’t deal with it anymore. I’ll be gone by the time you get this, so…um…I guess goodbye pretty much says it all. Goodbye, and I love you and miss you. Take care of yourself, okay?”
The phone made a muted thump when it hit the carpet in the hallway. Marty leaned against the wall for support, senseless. She could hear the voicemail system telling her what to do in the distance. She reached over and picked up the phone to listen to the message again. It still said the same thing. She pushed the button to save the message, then checked to see what time the call had come in. He had called around 7:30 the night before, well after she had left. Of all the times to forget my goddam phone, she berated herself.
She picked up the phone and stuck it in her purse, then went to the drawer in the kitchen where she kept the spare key to his apartment. Marty wasn’t really a religious or spiritual woman, but she found herself praying to…whoever, whatever might be listening that she wasn’t too late. She grabbed the key and ran out the door without bothering to throw the deadbolt. If only Billy hadn’t moved half way across town, she thought angrily, I might be able to get to him before it’s too late…if it isn’t already too late. It was normally about a half hour drive from her apartment to his, but since it was three o’clock on a Sunday morning, she was able to shave about five or ten minutes off of that.
She glanced over to where she thought Billy usually parked his car, but didn’t see it. She hoped that meant that he had had to park somewhere else. She didn’t know what she would do if he was actually somewhere else. She had assumed that he had called her from home, even though he had called her from his cell. After all, she only had the one phone, herself.
As she climbed out of her car, she looked up at his apartment but didn’t see any lights on. Her heart threatened to escape from her chest as she ran up the stairs as fast as she could. When she got to his apartment, she pounded on the door as hard as she could. She only waited a few seconds before putting her key in the lock, but she didn’t hear anything from inside.
“Billy? Where are you?” she called out as she reached for the light switch by the door. She didn’t expect an answer, and wasn’t really disappointed by the silence. “Are you home?”
As she moved through the living room, she found that she was surprised by how clean it was. Granted, her husband…her ex-husband wasn’t really a slob, but since the divorce he hadn’t been as keen on housework as he used to be. A quick glance at the kitchen showed that he had apparently done the dishes, too. She had a very bad feeling when she saw that…as though he hadn’t wanted anyone to clean up after him.
She made her way easily back to the bedroom, turning lights on as she went. She saw Billy laying on top of the bed, which was as close to made as she had ever seen it. He had even folded the ends of the sheets under the mattress. He looked like he was asleep. Marty watched him closely for a few seconds before reaching out to push his arms, but she didn’t see any signs of breathing.
“Billy? Come on, Billy, wake up!” she said loudly as she started to shake him, to no avail. “Billy! Damn it, come on!” she yelled, her voice starting to catch in her throat.
After shaking him for a long minute, she pulled her cell phone out of her purse and dialed 911, the numbers on the keypad blurry through the tears.