“I’m not coming over. I’m not coming back to your house. It doesn’t surprise me that I find myself speaking to your voice mail instead of you. It’s a matter of timing. No matter what. If you aren’t carrying your cell phone – that’s timing. If you have your phone in your hand and are choosing not to answer, that’s timing too. It means you don’t feel like answering at this ‘time.’ I suppose I’m comforted by a lack of change. If you were to answer, then that would be change to me and perhaps I wouldn’t even know what to say. Maybe I can only talk to you when you aren’t around. I don’t know.
What I do know, as of this moment, is that I’m not going to show up at your house again – not by invitation or otherwise.
You and I…We…We have unfinished business. We have the kind of business that will never evaporate without us talking about it.
Maybe you’ve been able to let go, but I have not. I thought I had, but then I saw you again after all those years. I heard you say my name. In that moment my world cracked open with a shake of the foundation beneath my feet. The concrete split open and slowly and quickly everything started to sink in and each new week and month has only brought new revelations, clearer pictures, and a deeper sense of the permanence of these feelings.
What I understand today is that no matter how many ways I try to make myself let go, it keeps coming back to me that we need to talk.
You and I… We both are responsible for that death. I pulled the trigger. I don’t deny that. But everything surrounding this truth becomes more convoluted and is completely wrapped around you.
You don’t want to talk about it. Maybe you’ve hated me for too many years. I think it’s possible that the only reason you want to talk now is because you don’t want to hate me anymore.
It’s also possible that you have other intentions that I don’t even begin to understand.
Last night I dreamed of falling over bones at your house. I was sore when I woke up. I’m still sore, but this ache is deeper than any flesh wound.
The only thing I really have to tell you is that I’m not going to show up at your door tomorrow, tonight, or any other day this week. I might even leave town for a few days just to assure my resolve isn’t tested. I’m not going back to your yard; not entering into your gazebo; not going to be speeding away down your driveway again.
I guess you could say that the timing just isn’t right for me now either.
Thank you for not answering this phone call. I probably wouldn’t have been able to say all of this if you had surprised me by answering.
I think that when you are really ready to talk, that’s probably when I’ll be ready to talk as well.
Maybe there are just too many bones to trip over right now.”
I pressed the “end” button on my phone at that moment and wondered if my lengthy message would even ever be heard. Opening my red laptop lid I quickly clicked on the envelope icon to review what messages from anyone might be there to distract me from the gnawing sensation right below my rib cage. However, my eyes were glazing over and none of the words I saw in front of me seemed to make a dent.
After my futile attempt to absorb any of the words I saw in front of me, scanning with my eyes from left to right and then right to left; I once again closed the lid of my laptop and put my head down on my hands on top of this computer.
My mind seemed frazzled like crispy bacon and I couldn’t be sure if I was making the correct choice. Inhaling slowly I began to recite my internal grounding words and work toward a successful mental wash.
My phone rang and I jerked up abruptly. The small mobile device toppled around between my fingers and I realized I must have brushed the green phone icon in error. The screen read “In Call.” I saw the number I’d just dialed and slowly pulled the phone up to my ear.
“Hello?” I heard his voice speaking to me and I quickly pressed the red “end” button. My heart was racing, like a knocking in my chest. I hadn’t meant to hang up on him, but it’d just been a reaction of panic.
I held the phone in my hands for the next ten minutes, but it did not ring again. I really couldn’t focus now, so I turned the phone off entirely and then put it inside of the shallow drawer to my right side.
None of this should be relevant to my life! This is what I told myself as I walked to the kitchen to fill a glass of water. I cannot fix that I hung up. I cannot be the next one to call again. I needed to take the mental broom the Buddhist monk had taught me to use and sweep my mind clean.
“Empty your mind and focus on one activity and one activity only.” This is what the monk had recommended those years past in Zen training. A little ‘zen’ would feel great right about now.
