when they said the phone was for me i felt the cold hand of dread tickle down my spine
no one ever called for me at work
and if they did they certainly never asked by real name
the last time it happened it was the police
they wanted to ask questions about a destroyed toilet
a detective
for the record
i had nothing to do with that destroyed urinal or restroom
or the bomb at burger king
i still occasionally get questioned in the things i didn’t do
like urinate in the cooler of food before the big cookout
i wasn’t even aware i was blamed for that one until recently
this time was different
i was guilty
“hello”
“hey”
“#*$” *redacted to protect the
not innocent
dead
i suppose that is accurate now
“i lost the baby”
“okay”
i said okay
she said what she said and i said okay
i didn’t know what else to say
as some kind of liquid ran down my cheeks and i stared at the mortal kombat poster on the wall
the sounds of pinballs and juke boxes and multicolored lights designed to lure the player in flashing and calling behind me
i said okay
and then neither of us said anything
while she was processing the loss
i was processing the pregnancy
she hadn’t mentioned it prior to the call
the box tops song the letter came on
and i stood
shell shocked
punch drunk
incapable of saying anything but okay
because i lost what i didn’t know i had and it felt dream like and unreal
she just wept
“i’ll be there soon”
dial tone
it was an hour drive to her
i left the music off as i drove
it became the rule after that to take a message for me at work
grew gun-shy of the phone
with reason
she was furious with me for my reaction
i was tentatively angry at her for keeping it from me until it was too late
inside
outside i was loving and there for her
it nearly killed her
a month later
when she thought she miscarried it was really a ectopic pregnancy
long nights at the hospital
worry fear sadness
but we were over at this point
we died way before any of this
ours was one of those amazing sexual relationships with none of the other stuff that makes a good couple
and that was fun for a while
a good while
the things we taught each other
ritalin and booze fueled adventures through strip clubs and hotels across the state
but not enough to sustain anything meaningful
one night after we broke up she came to my bedroom window in the middle of the night
she was half dressed and drunk
passed out and woke up to find her date undressing her
she slapped the hell out of him and came to me
i held her through the night
then took her car and broke into the guy’s house to get her stuff as the sun rose
element of surprise and he handed me her stuff as i flared with bravado
turned out he was a black belt and had nothing to worry about from me
but neither of us knew that at the time
i broke his jaw and left
woke her up and got her dressed and sent her home
but as i was sitting here drinking coffee and watching the rain
my phone rang
and for a second i thought it was her calling to tell me she lost the baby
and i wanted to say more than okay
but i still didn’t know what to say
and couldn’t even if i did
what a story in a poem!
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god. So fucking hard. I’ve got a lot to say here… but it doesn’t feel appropriate in a public forum.
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the poem might not have been either
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It was. Thank you for sharing it. Truly.
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Damn ☹️
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