Hello, whoa, Vienna calling (pt. 3)
While sitting down in the library, reading the latest edition of Vanity Fair, I see two women turning the corner of the music section. One of them is unknown, while the other is R, my friend who called me a few days ago.
“Why hello, the former Ms. F,” I say – forgetting her married name – as she walks towards me.
“Oh my God,” she says as she puts her hand in front of her mouth.
“How are you doing?” I ask, coolly lounging in the chair.
“Fine. Fine,” she says.
After our pleasantries and some idol chit-chat, I bring up the phone call.
“It wasn’t me,” she says.
“Really?” I pull out my cell phone and look for the call history. “This is the number that called me? Ring a bell?” I turn the phone towards her.
“No, that’s not my number. That’s not even my area code.” In a snap, I think about calling the number, just to see if her phone rings. How I'd love to watch her sweat as I press "send" on the dialpad and hear her purse chime. That would be sweet.
“Well, you know, it was weird." I twitch my mouth. "It was someone who sounded like you, asking for K – who, by the way, isn’t even in the province – and then hung up after saying bye.” I pucker my lips. “Just too strange.”
Later on in the day, I am in the kitchen with my parents while they’re preparing some food.
“Guess who I saw at the library?” I ask my father, both of us standing in the kitchen.
“I don’t know,” says my mother by the stove.
“Come on, guess. It’s not hard at all,” I goad them.
“R. It’s R, right?” asks my father.
“Uh huh.”
“Did you ask her about the phone call?” He looks at me.
“Yup.”
“And, what did she say?” Now, my mother has turned her attention towards me.
“She said it wasn’t her.”
My father guffaws. “Do you believe her?”
“Well, I guess I have to. What was I going to do? Tell her, You’re lying! You’re a liar! LIAR!!” I say, pointing my finger outwards, as if I was directing it to R.
“Well, those Jehovah's Witnesses are just a strange group of people.” Disinterested in discussing religion, my father turns around and my mother goes back to the food. "She probably just didn't have the balls to call you because she thought her husband would be jealous that she was talking to another man."
"Yeah." Even if that other man is me.
It’s interesting how a phone call can make you relive memories (and grudges). Two years without a phone call, a hello. Was it marriage, or religion that changed the dynamics of a long-term friendship? Are these forces so powerful to eradicate 25+ years of history?
Who knows?
Maybe this mess will be forgotten… unless she calls me in two years asking for the whereabouts of K. Only this time, I won't be waiting by the phone.
“Why hello, the former Ms. F,” I say – forgetting her married name – as she walks towards me.
“Oh my God,” she says as she puts her hand in front of her mouth.
“How are you doing?” I ask, coolly lounging in the chair.
“Fine. Fine,” she says.
After our pleasantries and some idol chit-chat, I bring up the phone call.
“It wasn’t me,” she says.
“Really?” I pull out my cell phone and look for the call history. “This is the number that called me? Ring a bell?” I turn the phone towards her.
“No, that’s not my number. That’s not even my area code.” In a snap, I think about calling the number, just to see if her phone rings. How I'd love to watch her sweat as I press "send" on the dialpad and hear her purse chime. That would be sweet.
“Well, you know, it was weird." I twitch my mouth. "It was someone who sounded like you, asking for K – who, by the way, isn’t even in the province – and then hung up after saying bye.” I pucker my lips. “Just too strange.”
Later on in the day, I am in the kitchen with my parents while they’re preparing some food.
“Guess who I saw at the library?” I ask my father, both of us standing in the kitchen.
“I don’t know,” says my mother by the stove.
“Come on, guess. It’s not hard at all,” I goad them.
“R. It’s R, right?” asks my father.
“Uh huh.”
“Did you ask her about the phone call?” He looks at me.
“Yup.”
“And, what did she say?” Now, my mother has turned her attention towards me.
“She said it wasn’t her.”
My father guffaws. “Do you believe her?”
“Well, I guess I have to. What was I going to do? Tell her, You’re lying! You’re a liar! LIAR!!” I say, pointing my finger outwards, as if I was directing it to R.
“Well, those Jehovah's Witnesses are just a strange group of people.” Disinterested in discussing religion, my father turns around and my mother goes back to the food. "She probably just didn't have the balls to call you because she thought her husband would be jealous that she was talking to another man."
"Yeah." Even if that other man is me.
It’s interesting how a phone call can make you relive memories (and grudges). Two years without a phone call, a hello. Was it marriage, or religion that changed the dynamics of a long-term friendship? Are these forces so powerful to eradicate 25+ years of history?
Who knows?
Maybe this mess will be forgotten… unless she calls me in two years asking for the whereabouts of K. Only this time, I won't be waiting by the phone.
Authored by S at 12:00 am
8 Comments:
Steven....
What a bizzarre course of events... Have you called the number yet to see who answers? Inquiring minds (nosey fellow bloggers) need to know...
Thanks again for the sweet VD card!
Huggzzz
Tom
I am with Tom -- bizzarre!
Old acquaintances often drive me crazy. Sometimes I don't feel like making stupid small talk with some dude I went to school with...I like to do the walk-by hi, where you talk as you pass but don't stop moving.
Gay people are the worst, because they always want to HUG YOU!
That's just an odd, odd story.
So you didn't call the number back yet? Seriously?
Weird...wild. (Just like you!). I'm afraid that I would have pointed a bony finger at her, screamed "you lying sack of dog shit," and then dialed the number. But, you know me.
I've lost track. I'll need a flipchart and six colours of markers. And Post-it notes. (I thought, in part 2, that it was a lesbian couple.)
you totally should've called the number!! or maybe do a reverse look-up online somewhere. I know some JW's and they're not so bad. I work with one who is quite hardcore, i.e. he reads his little book during breaks. But he's quite friendly to me and I am out at work.
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