If Only He'd Call....

    She glanced at the kitchen clock and closed her eyes in yet another desperate prayer.  Outside the rain pounded against the dirty brownstone like the heavy beating of a funeral drum; as though the heavens themselves mourned her loss.

Work ended for him an hour ago.  He hadn’t returned one of her calls.  He’s working late she reasoned, recalling his worn-out excuse.  She leaned her limp body against the hallway wall, too exhausted from crying to stand fully on her own.  The hum of the refrigerator was a welcomed distraction in her silent apartment.  Any sound was better than the echo of her hopes, her dreams crumbling into disillusionment.

She lost count of how many times she peered up at the damn clock, praying it was fast as the day passed into early evening.  It willed her to look, mocking her.  Each time she glanced, she vowed not to fall prey to its laughter again.

    “Why hasn’t he called?”  Her shout broke the silence.  She paced from one side of her lonely apartment to the other.  Her nerves were shattered from hours of silent guilt.  Her constant restlessness knew no bounds. 

    “Where is he?”  Her frustration ripped through the stillness of the empty room like a knife.  He should have been here by now.  He should have been with me all day.  She stared down to the empty street below, willing the sight of his car.  A damnable thought struck her in the pit of her stomach.  She covered her mouth with shaking hands.

    “What if everyone is right?  What if he doesn’t...”  She couldn’t bring herself to say the words.  She shut down her brain in mid-panic and forced herself to listen to her heart.  “How can everyone be right when they don’t know him like I do?”

Eyes closed, she sucked in air, hoping to calm her nerves, steady her sinking belief.  They don’t know how he is with me, she told herself.  My friends, my family, they don’t hear him when we’re alone.

    Her heart fluttered with thoughts of him.  The memory of his throaty whisper in the dark slipped between the growing ache of doubt.  For the first time it was not enough to calm her.  The realization of the long morning was sinking in.  Again, she fought the desire to check the time and lost. 

    Spent, she dragged herself down the hall to her bedroom, slidding her hand along the chilly tectured wall for support.  She dropped herself onto the crumpled bed.  Numb, she stared at the quiet phone on the floor.

    Why hadn't he called?  She ran through scenarios, each one more far fetched than the last.  She couldn’t fathom his cool indifference, or his failure to inquire about the procedure.  The procedure he himself insisted upon.  At the very least, he could have shown concern over her health.  One quick call was all she wanted, just to know she was in his thoughts. 

    He promised her to be there this morning.  Promised to hold her hand.  He never showed.  The nurses lowered their eyes, avoided her tears and offered to call him again.

She turned their last conversation over in her head until she was half mad, trying to remember something he may have said, something to explain his behavior.  She could think of nothing.  There was no reason for his silence other than blantant relief, his life once again free from responsibility.  She swallowed hard, her lip quivering.  Now he was done with her.

    She too could start over, the voice promised.  Go back to school, start a new life for herself.  She didn’t need him.

    Tears came once more as her heart broke and want for his touch overwhelmed her.  He had been her first real love, her first everything.  There must be a logical reason for his absence, she told herself.  There had to be.

She'd never been good alone.  Certainly she was nothing without him.  She was equally sure no one would ever love her again.  Not as he had.  So many friends told her she was lying to herself, that she was too good for him.  So did the voice in her head.  Maybe they were right.

    But the idea of moving forward in life alone ripped through her so violently, she grabbed her chest and gasped aloud.  “No,” she argued, “no, he loves me.”  But if that was true, the voice questioned, where was he?  And why didn’t he call?

    Desperation and fear clogged her mind, spurring her to act, to do something.  She would do anything to get him back.  “When he calls, I’m going to tell him.”  She sobbed.  Unable to stay still, once again she paced and planned the dialog word by word.  “I’ll tell him I handled it myself, that he has nothing to worry about.”  She grabbed a Kleenex box, tugging free another tissue, wiping her tear-stained face, the thought momentarily calming her.  “I’ll tell him everything is fine now, like it used to be.  It’s over.  And then he'll come back.”

    The hateful voice whispered through her dense fog of need, “He let you down…” and she fixed her tired gaze across the room to the silent phone.  The crying had momentarily stopped, leaving her drained.  She was too tired to move or even think. And so she did nothing.  Nothing but wait. 

    As darkening shadows fell across the window, a new, black thought began to form.  If he was gone, then life had no meaning.  “Please, if he calls," she bargined with God, "I won’t mention it.  It was my fault anyway.  He doesn’t need to hear about it.  It's over.  It's done.”
 
  Through the stillness of her apartment, she heard the clock in the kitchen ticking, reminding her of each passing second.  She wished she could start the day over.  Start her life over.  Not allow anyone to ever inflict their will on her again.

  It was all too much.  The waiting, the regret and her fear of being alone accumulated into nauseous whirlpool and she sunk to her knees.  Her raw insides twisted and she cried out like a wounded animal.  She had no strength to deny the taunting voice any longer.  “You deserve better….” it whispered.  Her body fell forward, crumpling to the floor in a tight ball, a fresh flood of warm tears erupted. 
 
  “Why?” she screamed to the darkness, clenching her wet Kleenex like a weapon.  She remembered nights in the dark, when he had held her so tight, kissed her so passionately, and begged her to let him love her.  Eventually his needs wore her down and she allowed him to woo her, body and soul.
 
Her first time, she cried out.  He quieted her with a sharp scolding and then a pillow to muffle her protests.  When it was over, he was so loving.  He told her once she stops being so uptight, she’ll like it more.
 
  He acted so strange when she told him the devastating news.  He acted not at all like she hoped.  She herself suggested the appointment, hoping he would protest.  He hadn't. 
 
  She had gone against her own morality.  Something she was sure she would never do.  Things aren’t always black and white.

  And after all her suffering, he hadn’t even bothered to show up.  She raised her head with sudden spirit, refusing to look at the clock.  Never again, she promised.  I won’t call or ever speak to him again.  I’m worth more than that.”  Her heart stopped at the sound of her words and her newly found strength failed.  She shook her head, her pounding head sunk against her chest.
 
“No, he’s right, I am too emotional, she told herself.  He loves me and I love him.  And when he calls, I going to say all the right things, let him know how much he means to me.  I’ll tell him how handsome he is.  That always makes him smile.  Oh, how she loved that smile!  “I’m going to tell him that,” she said out loud, if only he’d call…..”