The brush-off

Even before you called, I knew I wasn't going to do it. I had already heard from BT, who had heard from KP, who had heard from LC that you were asking about me. When did I get back in town? What was I doing now? Was I seeing anybody? LC knew all the answers, but told you he didn't, telling you, instead, that maybe you should call me yourself. I’ll get him back for that. The phone rings. I answer, and you say:

If I didn’t know better, I'd say you were avoiding me. If you're here, why not call and let me know? If you're up to something, why not let me in on it? If you're truly seeing someone what would that do to your cynical edge? I’ve read your recent piece in OND and found it be as full of pessimism, bitterness, and insolence as ever before. How can it be true that you are in love, yet retain such tight control of these delightful qualities?

I know that if I don't interrupt you now, you will continue talking forever. I note, also, the sarcasm of your last sentence, and I say to you, simply: It is because I am in love that I have the luxury of remaining so fiery. Without love one is forever searching, and to search effectively one must not be pessimistic, but optimistic. Not bitter, but agreeable. Not insolent, but polite. And those three delightful qualities do not make for good writing. In the ensuing silence, I hear you noting the sarcasm of my last sentence and you finally ask me the unasked question:

Do you want to go for coffee sometime? There's a little coffee shop down by the river; they've got a roast there from Nigeria that is just to die for! I know how you love your coffee, and - oh, who am I kidding? You used to live here. Sometimes I forget. You're not around much anymore. Sure I hear about you now and then, or read about you here and there, but it'd be nice to catch up right?

Even before you called, I knew I wasn't going to do it. I had already heard from BT, who had heard from KP, who had heard from LM that you were asking about me. I knew what you were going to ask, and how, so I had one of those rare opportunities to have rehearsed the best possible line. I answer: No thanks. I gave up on coffee, and you, a long time ago.




How does coffee grow so cold?
My cup leaves a ring
Like a memory.