It's Not You, It's Me

3:03 a.m.

The phone rings. 

My first thought is to not answer it, because what good could possibly come from a phone call this early in the morning? Any phone call between the hours of 11 p.m. and 7 a.m. usually means someone’s dead. I bet it’s my father. I never did think he’d make it long enough to see me graduate college, and when by some miracle he did, I said he wouldn’t live to see me turn thirty. I’m twenty-eight. I could still be right. 

I shuffle out to the living room, switching on every light along the way. Who has the number to my landline? Who actually calls the landline? The better question is why do I still have a landline? It’s taken me something like ten rings to roll out of bed and get out here in no hurry whatsoever and the damn thing’s still ringing. 

“Hello?”

“Lara? Is that you?”

“No, it’s the Pope.” 

“Ha-ha. You’re even wittier in the wee hours of the morning.” 

And somehow Rebecca is even livelier in the wee hours of the morning. 

“How did you get this number?”

“Alina Doogan gave it to me, since you never pick up on your cell.” 

“Yeah, there’s a reason for that. Alina Doogan? You mean Carlton’s girlfriend?”

“How many Alina Doogans do you know?”

“Just the one.” 

Now the question is how Alina Doogan got this number. Carlton always takes my side over hers so surely he wouldn’t have given it up to her, the damn snoop. 

“Well is there something I can do for you, Rebecca? I was having a nice dream.” 

It was actually a nightmare. 

“No. Just wanted to chat. Gordon didn’t come home again tonight...THAT CHEATIN’ PIG!!!” She shouts it as though Gordon might hear her. 

“Why don’t you try cheating on him? See how he likes it.” 

“I’m tellin’ ya, you should become a marriage counselor.”

“Yeah, right.”

“No, I’m serious. People’d pay good money to be given permission to cheat on their spouses.” 

I put the phone on speaker and start fixing myself a cup of tea. If we go on another minute about Rebecca’s semi-successful marriage, (I say “semi-successful” because though she may not always have the man, at least she’s got his money to keep her warm at night) I’m gonna end up playing marriage counselor indeed, a part that requires props in order to be executed successfully.

“Gordon’s not the reason I called you though.” 

Oh, thank god. I really wasn’t ready for that. 

“Well what is? I thought you said you didn’t call for any reason.” I settle into my recliner, putting my feet up on the ottoman. 

“I just said that so I could sort of ease my way into it. You’d get upset if I suddenly sprang it upon ya.” 

Would I though? Sure, I had been suffering through a nightmare--a nightmare in which I was back in high school, and that alone is enough for it to qualify as a nightmare--but overall the sleep itself was enjoyable. I’d like to get back to it as soon as possible, so spring away, Rebecca. 

“Just tell me. I promise I won’t get upset.” 

“You promise?”

“Yes, I promise. Cross my heart, if that makes you feel better.” 

I imagine her lying down, facing the side of the bed where Gordon occasionally sleeps and caressing his pillow, inhaling what little scent lingers. Or does she sleep with a pile of cash next to her and not even really miss him like she pretends? 

“Okay.” Deep breath. “Our ten year high school reunion is this Saturday, Lara.” 

WHAT DID I SAY? WHAT DID I FUCKING SAY? NOTHING GOOD EVER COMES FROM A LATE NIGHT/EARLY MORNING PHONE CALL!!! So that nightmare wasn’t just a nightmare; it was a sign. Well screw high school. Screw Rebecca. Screw Alina Doogan for giving her my number. Screw my brother for dating Alina Doogan. I oughtta chuck this damn landline at the wall. Out the window, into the neighbor’s yard. NEVER PICK UP A THREE A.M. CALL!!! Lord Jesus Christ Almighty, I’d rather it be Carlton calling to tell me Dad is dead. High school is in the past. It happened a long time ago and I don’t wanna talk about it. NOT! EVER!

Alright, cool your jets, Lara. You crossed your heart you wouldn’t get upset and that’s a pretty big deal to Rebecca. I take a sip of my tea. Just calm down. Just relax. 

“Oh? That soon? Seems like we just graduated yesterday.”

“I know, right? It’s crazy. But ten years? Someone who started a ten year prison sentence the year we graduated is already gettin’ out!” 

Now what the hell kind of analogy is that? Can’t even call it an analogy, really; just a weird way of putting time into perspective altogether. 

“Yeah. Well anyways, you going?” 

“Of course I’m going! Who would miss it?”

I would. 

“We can get the whole gang back together. It’s you and me, Johnny Waterland and Scottie Pistol and Ruby McLaughlin and Diana Ferdinand and oh! Matthias Cutter. My first love.” 

Matthias Cutter was a psychopath. 

“Please tell me you’re planning on going, Lara. It won’t be the same without ya.” 

She’s making a really lame attempt to be nice. 

“What do you need me to go for? You know good and well you’ll be caught up with Matthias Cutter all night, if he bothers to show up.” 

If he’s not busy taking inventory of all the corpses stock piled in his attic. 

“Yeah, I know,” she giggles. “Still though, I miss you. Last time I saw you was at the funeral.” 

Oh God, she better not start crying. Her great uncle--whom she met once, by the way--died eleven months ago. She called me up bawling, begging me to come to the funeral, and then didn’t shed a tear at the service, but every time it’s been brought up since…

“I JUST MISS HIM SO MUCH!!!” she sobs, but now I’m not really sure she means Great Uncle Marty or Gordon or Matthias Cutter. 

I sit there in the dim light, swallowing the last bit of my tea and trying to come up with a good, solid stock phrase one uses to console a friend. 

“There, there, it’s alright.” 

She sniffles. “You’re right. Everything’s gonna be alright. You know why?” 

“Why?” 

“Because you’re gonna come to the reunion this Saturday and I’m gonna get to see you again and we’re gonna see all our old friends and Matthias Cutter and...what was that girl you used to date? Sherri Keller?”

My body goes rigid. 

“We’ll see her too and all the rest of ‘em. It’ll be just like old times. Whad’ya say?” 

I want to say “goodnight”. 

I want to say “I’ll block your number if you call here again at three a.m.” 

I want to say “I should’ve cut ties with you like I did all the others right after high school.” 

But do I? No. Why? Because I’m a half-decent person at best, I suppose. As opposed to high school when I was a complete and total (I’ll let you fill in the blank). I always blamed others--the people I called my friends--for my ghastly behaviour, but once I got to college I started to realize I was the only one I could really pin the blame on. I was needy, selfish, always seeking the approval of others. I had to put people down in order to make myself feel good. I slacked off more than I probably should’ve, and yet somehow I graduated with the fourth highest GPA in my class. Book smarts don’t always translate into street smarts however, or a good handling of yourself amongst other people, but by the time I realized this it was far too late. The only reason I kept in touch with Rebecca was because we had known each other longer than that four year period in hell. All the others were long gone; they had probably forgotten all about Lara Townshend. 

“Lara,” Rebecca sings in my ear. “You still there?” 

Shit. How long was I out? 

“I’m here, I’m here. Listen, Rebecca, as much as I’d love to go…” 

“Aww, no. You’re not gonna say no, are you?” 

“Unfortunately, I’m gonna have to. I just got a lot going on around this time…” 

“Oh, save it for someone more gullible than me. I know you don’t wanna go because you think you’re better than me. Better than all of us, isn’t that right?” 

“Rebecca, did I ever say that?” 

“Thirteenth of January, 2009. I was waitin’ after school for the cast list to be posted for the spring play. You said you didn’t see what the big deal was, high school theatre was lame and you were too good for it.” 

Damn, she’s good. 

“That’s not the same as saying I’m better than you…” 

“IT’S ALMOST EXACTLY THE SAME! Listen, Lara, if you don’t wanna go, just say so. I don’t need a reason. You don’t need to keep coming up with these shitty excuses.” 

Did I not just say so? 

“Fine. I’m not going. You have fun. Don’t bother saying hello to anyone else for me.” 

“Wasn’t planning on it.” 

She hangs up and I can hear her slamming down the receiver, leaving me with that annoying ehhhhhhrrrrrrrmmmm sound. 

She can’t and won’t stay mad at me for long. She’ll be calling me up Saturday night, relaying all the latest gossip and events to me. 

“Guess who’s a no-show tonight. Aside from you, of course.” 

Just as I predicted, Saturday night has rolled around, I’m lounging around the house in my pajamas and bunny slippers with a glass of chardonnay in one hand, the phone in the other, talking to who else? Rebecca. How much could she possibly have to tell me already? She’s been there a measly twenty minutes by her own account. Guess there’s no time to waste when there’s so much catching up to do. 

“Matthias Cutter?” I try. 

“How did you know?”

“Wild guess.”

“Did you set him up to this?” 

“Set him up to what?” 

“When we were datin’ I never saw it coming. You know he’s in jail, Lara?”

No shit. 

“Are you serious? For what? Murder?” 

“Just about everything but. Carjacking, drug possession, armed robbery, aggravated assault, resisting arrest. Attempted murder, but not actual murder.” 

That they know of. 

“Well that’s a shame. I’m sorry, Rebecca. I know you were really looking forward to seeing him tonight.” 

“I know and I got all dressed up for nothing,” she whines. “Anyway, I guess he’s not missing much, and neither are you. Do you remember our class being this dimwitted and boring?”

I try not to remember them, period. 

“Hmmm, I dunno. Why?”

“None of them want to laugh! They’re all stiff, just like the collars they’re wearing. I can’t even look at them. They’ve all got jobs now and some of ‘em even families. Got their noses stuck so high up in the air they can’t even see where they’re going. I’m tellin’ ya, Lara, I don’t fit in here!” 

“That’s because none of ‘em married rich like you did. They’re just jealous of your free money.” 

Rebecca scoffs. “Free money? You think being married to Gordon is just that easy, eh? I have to work every day of my life in that relationship. Nothing’s for free.” 

I chuckle. “So what? You didn’t drag Gordon along with you then?”

“To the reunion? What on Earth would I do that for? He wouldn’t know how to control himself around all these women. Married or unmarried, it doesn’t matter. They wouldn’t be able to resist him either. It’s disgusting.” 

“Well what about the gang, all our old friends? Have you caught up with them yet?” 

“Ahh, if you’re so interested you should’ve come. It’s not too late. Party’s just gettin’ started. Why don’t you grab your coat--”

“I’m not going, Rebecca, okay? I just...I can’t.” 

“Are you about to cry?”

“No.”

“Your voice is doing that trembling thing.” 

“I’m fine, Rebecca. Really, I’m fine, but I’m not going to the reunion. It’s bad memories and bad blood. I just...I don’t want any part in it.” 

I raise my glass to my mouth and I am indeed trembling. 

“Bad blood? Lara, what are you talking about? You don’t have any bad blood with me or anyone in our group.” 

“It’s not you. It’s none of you, I swear.” 

It hurts to swallow. 

“Well then who is it?” 

The sound of radio silence is comforting. Rebecca must’ve stepped outside because it sounds nothing like a high school reunion on her end. Although if they were really all as drab as she claimed, would it really sound any different? 

“Lara? Are you still there?”

No. I hang up and feel a tinge of guilt for being this way with Rebecca, who’s something like my best friend, I suppose. I never really gave it much thought. She’s always been there for me, even when I’ve been impossible to deal with, and this is how I treat her in return. Sometimes it slips my mind that I’m the antagonist. I’m the source of my own problems. 

4:15 p.m. 

The phone rings. 

I don’t hesitate to get up and hope it’s Rebecca. I haven’t had the nerve to apologize yet. If she initiates a conversation it’ll be a lot easier, but that’s just me again, not wanting to admit I’m at fault. 

“Hello?”

“I missed you at the reunion, Lara.” 

“Rebecca, I’m sorry, and I shouldn’t have been so harsh with you…” 

“This isn’t Rebecca.” 

I glance at the receiver. 

It’s not Rebecca. 

“Well who is it then and how did you get this number?” 

“Rebecca gave it to me.” 

Screw Rebecca. 

“It’s me, Sherri Keller. Do you remember?” 

Do I remember the very reason I avoided my ten year high school reunion? Of course. 

“Sherri! It’s been so long. How are you?” It doesn’t come out without stammering of course. 

“I’m doing alright for myself, but like I said, I missed you at the reunion. Why weren’t you there?” 

“I’m sorry. I--” 

“It’s not an accusation. You don’t need to apologize. I was just wondering. You and Matthias Cutter were the only ones who didn’t show.” 

“Matthias Cutter’s in jail.” 

“And you?” 

“I am not.” 

Can I not be sarcastic for two seconds? 

“Well you don’t have to give me a reason if you don’t want to. Like I said, I was just wondering. Ten years is a long time. A criminal sentenced to ten years the year we graduated is now gettin’ out. Obviously not Matthias Cutter.” 

I snort and laugh in the least attractive way possible, not that there’s an attractive way to do so. Good thing we’re on the phone, but the sound isn’t too pretty either. 

“Did you steal that one from Rebecca?” I ask. 

Sherri giggles. “Yeah, she said something like it earlier this evening. Listen, I realize callin’ you up like this at such an hour as it is must seem awfully rude, but I was just thinkin’ about ya, and I...wanted to say hello.” 

I don’t get speechless; I’m always full of snippy remarks and witty comebacks, but now doesn’t seem like the time. What do I say? 

“Well hello, Sherri. I’m glad that you called. It’s nice to hear your voice. Five heartbeats. “I’m so sorry we left things the way we did between us.” 

“No. Oh no, Lara, don’t beat yourself up about it. It’s my fault.” 

“No, it’s mine.” 

It comes out harsher than I intended it, meaner, but maybe it needs to be that way. Not for Sherri. Not for Rebecca. Not for anybody else, other than myself. 

“It’s my fault we broke up, and it’s my fault we could never be friends afterwards. I have to own that. I have to accept it.” 

If only Rebecca could hear my voice trembling now. 

“You know that saying,” Sherri picks up, “that says time heals all wounds?” 

“Yeah?” 

“You tell me if it’s true.” 

If it were true I would’ve gone to the reunion. 

If it were true I wouldn’t have been so nasty with Rebecca. 

If it were true I’d be enjoying this conversation right now, but I’m not. 

Time alone doesn’t possess the power to heal all wounds. You have to help it. You have to do some of the healing yourself. 

“It’s not. It’s not true. Sorry if that’s not the answer you were looking for…” 

“No, no, I agree with you. I think you’re right. I think...by our fifteen year reunion is when we could be alright.” 

I can practically hear her smiling over the phone. 

“Our fifteen year reunion?” 

“Yes.” 

“That’s only five years from now. Someone sentenced to five years in prison today will be gettin’ out then.” 

Sherri’s laughter mends something inside of me. I cannot tell you what it is, but it’s healing, that’s for sure. 

“Well listen, I should go. I don’t wanna fall asleep on you or anything.” 

I yawn. “Yeah, me too. It was nice talking to you though.” 

“Always a pleasure. Goodnight, Lara.” 

“Goodnight.” 

Ehhhhhhrrrrrrrmmmm. 

(818) 732-3222. 

Thirteen rings. 

Fucking hypocrite. 

“Hello?” 

“Rebecca? Is that you?” 

“No, it’s the Pope.”