Taken!
>> Monday, November 12, 2012 –
Communication,
Humor,
intrique,
Suspense,
Washington DC
When he
doesn’t respond to my text message I know something is wrong, can feel it in my
bones. I call his cell phone; four rings
and it transfers to voice mail. It
sounds too chipper, as if the message should somehow change to reflect the
situation. When the recording of his
voice answers, I expect to hear sirens blaring and a half coherent message with
long pauses as he gasps for air: “I
can’t talk right now…I’ve been in a horrible and disfiguring accident… Leave a
message and if I’m not dead I’ll call you." Because if that is not what
has happened to him, then by God he’ll wish it had.
If there is
one thing that Paul and I do well, it is communicate. The day after our first date, he sent a text
message to me: “Good conversation, good
looking, good start, it’s all good!” From
that point forward we were as good as married. Couldn’t let a day go by that we
didn’t know where the other one was. Because
when you finally find your split-apart there is a fear that you will lose track
of him again.
When I leave
work at ten pm, much later than I told Paul I would leave, I call his phone again but
there is no answer. This is so
uncharacteristic that my mind creates a variety of scenarios to fill in the
missing details. It’s good like
that. My brain will take a little
snippet of a past experience mix it with the present and embellish it with a
flourish to make it interesting but believable. Behold the string of blog posts
before this one.
My mind goes
back to Halloween night at a local night club. The men are all in costumes;
sailors, policemen, soldiers. But they
all seem to be missing their shirts or wearing pants a few sizes too small. I
don’t think there is such a thing as a costume that is not preceded by the term
sexy anymore. Except for clown costumes, they seem to have cornered the market
on creepy. I see a man lean in and
whisper into Paul’s ear. When I ask Paul what the man said to him he says “He
told me that I should win the contest for most handsome.”
I wouldn’t
disagree with that and it is a validation of what I already know, although I
wonder why I wasn’t included in the most handsome category too. But tonight my mind uses that experience to create
a scenario for Paul’s absence. I cross the street and walk into the Tapas bar
where Paul was waiting for me. I tell
the hostess that I am incredibly late and should have called to let my party
know and ask if I can search the bar.
She looks genuinely concerned. I assume this is because I am in
Washington, DC and not Boston.
He is nowhere
to be found. 
I am
inconsolable as I walk to the hotel eating an extra-large order of French
fries. I make a mental note to be angry
at Paul, if he is alive, for making me eat crisis food. When I get to our room, my key card does not
work. I bang my fist on the door. There
is no answer!
When I
present my key card to the hotel desk clerk he eyes me suspiciously. Who can blame him? My eyes are red, my heart is racing and I am making
love to French fries. I hand him my
driver’s license and he slowly hands me the repaired key card.
When I open
the door, I expect carnage, a lifeless body.
What I find is Paul snoring on the bed and an infomercial playing on the
TV. Spitting out my French fries I angrily
shove Paul’s arm. He wakes up with a
start and says “You scared me!”
“I scared
you?” I ask angrily. With ketchup on my lips, piercing red rimmed
eyes and the harsh light of the hall behind me, I am aware that I would win the
creepy clown costume contest.
You should
know that it took a full day for me to forgive him. But I knew that Paul would be travelling for
work this week to someplace, I can’t remember where. Graciously I decided that it was important to
talk about this before his trip and put this event in the past. In the end, it all comes down to
communication. And if there is one thing
that we do well, it is communicate.
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