Like Someone I’d Never Known

One thing led to another. And I called her. I couldn’t believe that I did. But I did. The world stopped, letting me take in every single moment. When I thought of it, everything seemed inevitable, and – let me say that – this made me feel a bit relieved. I called her, after a year, and I told her that I only wanted to know how she was doing. I tried best to say that in a tone of self-control and rather distantly. She said she was doing fine, in an equally distant tone, a stranger’s tone. Then I remained silent. Perhaps, she felt pity for me. Perhaps she realized how hard things were for me. Because she grew kinder after that silence. Or I thought she did. She asked how I was doing. I hesitated, and said that nobody really cared. She hesitated, and said she only wanted to know. Only. What did I have to say? What did she have to say? Why had I called her in the first place after what she had done to me? A year after she’d married. What would she think I had called her for? A few moments passed and she said, “You don’t wanna talk?” And then the kindness went away. It vanished. Tough and distant. The stranger’s tone again. “I gotta go. But I hope things are okay with you, too.” She had uttered her last words. Too. That word was meant to convey things were okay with her. Meant to signal that the “only” reason I had to call her was now responded to. That I didn’t – or she didn’t – have more to say. She disconnected. Once again before I said anything. Just as she did a year ago. Just as then. Except for that she sounded like a real stranger this time. Like someone I’d never known.