The Unfortunate Engagement

A short story by

Marcus A. Chambers

“I’m so glad we’re finally doing this.” She smiled brightly at him from across the restaurant table. He barely noticed. He had no idea why he was here. For days, his rendezvous with her had been the only thing on his mind. His work, his friends, his hobbies, they were all second to this, to her, to this meal. Now that he was finally here, he struggled to think of some way out.

It was the most uncomfortable situation he’d ever been in.

He squirmed awkwardly in his seat, contemplating what could’ve led him to think that he should even try to sit through an entire meal with her. She was the essence of purity in his eyes. She could do no wrong. She was perfect.

“My god, Joey was so jealous when I told him where we were going. This is like his favorite place.”

Unfortunately, the situation was not nearly so perfect.

He glanced up at her nervously, and stopped short of eye contact. “Oh? Heh. I really like this food here.” His hand clenched hard around the side of his chair. Who talks like that? He couldn’t figure out why he’d just said that. A thousand possibilities ran through his mind. He wondered if he’d remembered to arm the alarm on his car.

“Yeah, the food here is great. I really love the breadsticks. And they just keep bringing you more! If you just get the water, you can get out of here without paying anything!” She was so animated when she spoke. It was one of the most endearing things he’d ever noticed in any member of the opposite sex. He definitely hadn’t armed the alarm on his car, he realized. He knew at this very moment, someone was removing the stereo from his car. And there was nothing he could do about it. That thought process was suddenly interrupted by the scent of her perfume.

“The other day, oh god you’ll love this story, Joey and I were playing around on the internet…” Her voice trailed off into the nether parts of his mind. What was he doing? Why had he even arranged this little suaree? It’s not like she isn’t happy with her boyfriend. She manages to coax out at least three amusing anecdotes relating to him every twenty minutes. Each one made his stomach turn. He abhorred this ‘boyfriend.’ He loathed the man. He was the kind of boyfriend that made people wonder. Why would she stay with him? What do they possibly do at night besides fuck? Do they have anything in common?

His fingernails were almost irreversibly buried into the weakening fabric of the chair. It was then that he realized that she wasn’t even wearing perfume.

“Stereos in cars stop working if you disconnect them from the battery, right?”

She stared at him blankly for a moment.

“What?”

He had no idea why he had just asked her that. He cleared his throat. “If you um, if someone stole the radio from my car, it wouldn’t work if they hooked it up to another car, right?” He quickly took a sip of his drink.

“No, I don’t think it will. Why?”

“No reason.”

“What a funny thing to ask! Speaking of which, I was on the phone with Joey the other day, and this song came on the radio…”

He took another sip of his drink. It was going to be a long night.

John tossed his keys on the end table and slammed the door behind him. Four hours. He was at that restaurant for four hours. Unimaginable. He lingered in the entryway, glancing around the apartment. No lights on. No sounds of television. Okay. It’s safe. He sighed and meandered lazily towards his room.

“Hey fucker, you kept her out pretty late don’t ya think?”

It’s not safe.

“Oh, yeah, well more like the other way around. She can talk, huh?” John scratched the back of his neck, his fingers gingerly working around a fresh mosquito bite.

“Yeah, I guess so.” Joey climbed up off of the couch and took his headphones off.

“Laying in the dark listening to music. That’s really emo of you.”

“Yeah.” Joey briskly walked past and went into his room, shutting the door behind him. John was left alone in the inky blackness. He let the evening roll around in his mind, including what had just happened. Was Joey really jealous? He had no reason to be, as far as he knew. Or did he know? No. He didn’t know anything. He’s clueless. There’s nothing to know. Who knows anything?

John felt a drop of sweat forming on his forehead. All this denial was stressing him, he thought. What denial, though? Honestly, there’s nothing to deny. He went out with a friend and had some dinner. They ate, they chatted awkwardly, they split the last breadstick, and then they parted ways. He hadn’t walked her to her car. The fact that they arrived separately was proof enough, wasn’t it? He didn’t take her out to the parking lot and press her against the side of her car or anything. There was no hug, not even a “friend hug.” No nervous laughter followed by awkward silence. No leaning in to–

“What the fuck are you doing, just standing around in the dark?” The lights in the living room clicked on, destroying John’s night vision. He snapped back to reality.

Joey stood in the hallway, staring incredulously.

“Sorry, I spaced out.” John rubbed his eyes, and tried to focus on something.

“Get your shoes on. Let’s grab some food, I’m fuckin’ starving.”

“I just got home from dinner! What time is it, like eleven?”

“At least ride over there with me, shit.”

“I’m gonna sit this one out, man.”

“Whatever.” Joey swept past him and headed out the door, leaving him alone again. It was way off base for him to pass up a chance to get out of the house. That was suspicious. He should be more careful.

Wait.

Why should he be more careful? It’s not like he’s under investigation for a murder. It was just dinner. There’s nothing going on. If he kept dwelling for so long on every dinner he had, he’d drive himself crazy. Of course, if he were crazy, maybe his life would be interesting enough to not have to dwell on dinner with a friend.

He finally got himself mobile, and headed towards his bedroom. A long, sleepness night of dwelling awaited him.

“Hello? John?” Curtis put his pen down on John’s desk and gestured emphatically at him in a last ditch effort to get his attention. Finally, John turned in his chair and looked at him.

“Yeah, yeah Curtis, what’s up?”

“I said, are you finished with yesterdays progstat?”

The ‘progstat.’ Shivers shot up John’s spine at the mere mention. The ‘progstat’ was the latest in a series of ‘effectiveness measurement devices’ thought up by the newly installed manager of their department. The goal of the ‘progstat’, or ‘Daily Progress and Status Update’, which the form proudly announced itself as, was to measure the performance of each employee with such excruciating detail that said employee would become frustrated and quit, thus saving the company money and keeping them from having to lay anybody off.

Thus far, John had managed to keep up with three successive changes to the ‘progstat procedures’, each of which was more inclined to induce dementia than the previous incarnation. At this point, he struggled to remember what he actually did for this company besides report on his progress. In fact, merely filling out the progstat was becoming worthy of a mention on the progstat.

He lethargically reached into his filing box and pulled out a stapled two-page report, laying it out on the desk.

“Here it is, all stamped and stapled and ready to never be looked at.”

“Now John, that’s not the right attitude to have. You know very well that Mr. Davies carefully looks over each progstat to assemble the keydefs at the end of each week.”

Sweet lord. The ‘keydefs’, or ‘Key Deficiencies Report’, was yet another of the new torturous instruments management was using to prune the herd in this department. John paused and strained to determine at what point in his life he became a character in a George Orwell novel.

Curtis took the report into the stack he was carrying and trotted off, presumably to go brown-nose. John turned his gaze to his computer monitor. He studied the contents of the screen intently. The language appeared foreign to him. All at once, he could not remember what he was doing, the name of the company he worked for, or the hair color of his ninth grade geography teacher. His mind drained out as his eyes became fixed on a single word. Every synapse in his brain became completely dedicated to that word. As his focus intensified, he began deconstructing the individual letters that made up the word. And then, the bits that made up each letter. Time stretched on to infinity. Civilizations rose and fell inside the middle of an A.

“Woops, forgot my pen.”

Curtis’ voice sliced through John’s focus like a fine blade, and his existential journey through the alphabet was cut tragically short. Curtis snatched the pen off of the desk, lingering only for a moment before darting out of the cubicle.

John sighed, and scratched the back of his neck, irritating his mosquito bite and sending a sharp pain down his body. All he could think of now was getting home. Of course, he knew that as soon as he got home, all he would think of was going back to work.

John sat on the edge of his bed, nursing a beer. He had stopped and picked up a twelve pack on the way home from work, as a sort of celebration. A factual timeline would show that tonight was the second anniversary of his moving to New York City. On a lonely Thursday night, however, John tended to focus on other things.

He could still hear the sounds of her sobbing.

They laid in bed, staring at the ceiling. The room was mostly empty, with assorted boxes stacked against one wall, and red, numbered stickers on all of the furniture. He could feel her roll over to face him, and he sensed that something was wrong. Fear kept him from looking at her.

“Please.”

His entire body tensed. “Please what?”

“Please take me with you.” Her voice cracked noticeably. He felt as if she was barely holding herself together. He tried to distance himself from the moment. The kitchen. He wondered if he had finished filling out the inventory for all of the kitchen stuff. The movers were coming tomorrow, first thing, and if he hadn’t finished–

“Are you even listening to me?”

He sighed and adjusted his position on the bed. Her face briefly came into his field of view. He could see the tears welling in her eyes. He remained quiet, and unwilling to compromise. It wasn’t his fault that she couldn’t deal with this situation. She was being foolish and stupid, which was so typical for her. Only thinking of her emotions, and what she felt like she wanted, rather than doing what was logical, or what made sense. She was completely ignoring everything that they’d discussed, and the decisions they had made together. Not only that, but she was being incredibly selfish. She knew what he wanted, and he knew that. She knew he knew. Why was she being like this? He hoped it was only temporary. A last minute lapse of judgement that would quickly be tempered by reason. For the most part, she was an intelligent and responsible woman, even if a little immature at times. She’s probably working through the last few issues right now, he thought, right at this very moment. And in a minute or two, she’ll be fine.

Her last emotional barrier crumbled. It was as if a higher power had suddenly robbed her of her sanity. Tears began running down her face. She sobbed uncontrollably. Her body heaved with each gasping breath she took. He did not see any of this. He couldn’t bear to face her. In his mind, he could imagine what she must look like. He squeezed his eyes shut, and tried to shake the image loose from his head. Her sniffling only served to irritate him. He could feel his resolve slipping away. If this kept up, he would crack. He would roll over, and see her laying there, helpless and alone. A strong, independent woman, laid bare a helpless child. He would have to comfort her. Only a monster could remain emotionless in that sort of a situation. He opened his mouth slowly, his chapped lips cracking apart painfully.

“I’m going to go double check the kitchen.”

The sounds of sobbing had quieted. He felt her roll over, but did not look to see how she was arranging herself. He rolled off of the bed and stood up, then walked out of the room, moving slowly and purposefully towards the kitchen.

As he dug through boxes of pots and pans, mulling over a checklist and trying not to think about much else, he heard the front door of his apartment tear open, then slam shut. She had left.

Tonight was the second anniversary of the last time he’d ever spoken with her. Usually, he could go an entire night without recalling the details of that incident. Once, he’d even gone as long as two weeks. Lately, though, he relived it daily. Hourly. In the span of a moment, his mind meticulously replayed each word, each sound, each sob, with crystal clarity. Each time, the motivations for his decision became muddier. And each time, his feelings of remorse and regret were amplified.

Through his closed bedroom door, he heard Joey come into the apartment. John froze. Every muscle in his body tensed. He listened intently. Several seconds passed. Each one felt like an eternity. After twelve to fifteen lifetimes, he heard Tiffany’s voice. He relaxed, and let out a sigh. She was in the apartment. He hadn’t seen her since their dinner. Hurriedly, he leapt to his feet and put his beer down on his desk. He ran his fingers through his hair. Why would he do that? She was just a friend. He just wanted to make sure it wasn’t all sticking up, he assured himself. He gave it one last run-through just to be sure, then straightened out his shirt and fixed his collar. He strode across the room to his door and reached his hand out towards the knob.

He heard Joey’s door shut.

They had gone into his room.

John’s hand fell to his side. He looked around the room, as his brain struggled to come up with an excuse to be standing in front of the door. It failed to think of one in time to stop the embarrassment.

John picked his beer back up from the desk, and sat back down on the edge of the bed.

The wind blew cold against John’s face, irritating his chapped lips and painfully reminding him of the swollen mosquito bite on the back of his neck. It always felt much colder here than it did at his apartment. He assumed it was because his employer was inherently evil. This gave him a much-needed chuckle. He drew in a long breath, and walked towards the door to the building.

With each step, his mind raced with excuses he could use to not walk through those doors. He had been going through this process since his alarm had gone off this morning. He wasn’t sure when he had begun hating his job so much, but he did know that the most ridiculous excuses seemed plausible at this point. Sick grandmother? Sure. Dog ate the rat poison? Definitely. Car won’t start? His boss had seen his car, so he knew he could pull that one off.

He applauded himself for actually being in front of the building. Of course, he was still at street level. He stopped walking and stared up towards the sky.

The building he worked in was immense. From ground level, you could not see the top. It cast a large, looming shadow over the street, giving everything below a gray pallor.

He looked at his watch. Four minutes until he had to be at his desk. It takes nearly that long just to get up to the… his thought trailed off. He realized didn’t remember which floor he worked on. His finger knew exactly which button to push in the elevator to get him to that floor, but off the top of his head, he couldn’t recall the actual floor.

“This is stupid.” He hadn’t meant to say that out loud. Several people walking by turned to look at him momentarily, then continued on. In his mind, he lived out his entire day at work. Every mind-numbing motion, every meaningless phone call, every minute spent waiting at the copier. When he put it into this perspective, it all seemed so clear what he should do.

He should quit his job.

It was destroying him, and he knew it. The tedium of it all was getting to him. It was making him regret decisions he knew weren’t bad. It was boring him so completely that he was seeking excitement in any possible way. And that was going to get him into trouble. He knew what he had to do. It was time to grow some balls and take care of this problem once and for all.

He stood up straight. He looked around, and a smile came across his face. He straightened out his shirt, and tightened the knot on his tie. He lifted his chin up, and he started walking. Not walking — striding. He strode confidently towards the doors, and pushed through them as the president of his company must push through them. He made his way across the lobby and slid between the closing doors of an elevator. They immediately opened back up and allowed him in. Of course they did. He was a new man now. Doors opened for him. As he rode up towards the floor he couldn’t remember the number of, he singled out each door and promised that it would be treated fairly under his new regime. The doors remained silent, but he knew they understood. They are true professionals.

The elevator ground to a halt, and the doors opened. He looked up at the display, and noted he was on the fifty-second floor. Wow. Fifty two stories above the ground. He rocked back slightly. Where he had come from, buildings tended to cut off around the sixth or seventh floor, and those were only the newer high-rises. He wondered what would happen if he got trapped in this elevator one day. His fear of heights got the better of him. He shook it off, and realized he needed to get off the elevator and continue his march to vindication. He took a step towards the elevator doors.

They closed.

The doors betrayed him.

And why wouldn’t they? Here he was, on his grand mission to retake his life, and he was afraid of how high up he was. Pathetic. If he can’t even hold it together in an elevator, how is he going to do something like quit his job? And if he quit his job, what would he do for money? How did he expect to afford taking Tiffany out to dinner? How did he expect to afford anything? New York is a big city, but jobs are still hard to come by, unless you like waiting tables. This entire concept was flawed from the start, he thought.

The elevator stopped on the twenty-third floor to let someone on. John looked at his watch, and realized he was now two minutes late. He reached up and pressed the button for his floor. As the doors closed, John prayed that nobody would notice his tardiness.

As John walked towards the door, it was already apparent to him that something was wrong. After living in buildings with shared walls for as long as he had, the sounds of muffled yelling were very familiar to him. He just hoped that it wasn’t coming from his apartment.

He reached his hand towards the knob. More muffled yelling. In his mind, he thought back to when he had parked. He hadn’t seen Tiffany’s car. That didn’t mean much, though. She could’ve taken a cab, or walked. He could’ve picked her up. Maybe her car was at the shop.

The knob stared at him menacingly. It had a sort of cruel glimmer in the pale yellow light of the corridor. John studied the knob intently, blocking out the sounds coming from beyond the door. He once again tried to convince himself that they were coming from another apartment. The attempt failed. He could now recognize the voices. It was definitely Tiffany and Joey. But were they fighting? Were they just horsing around? He had never seen or heard them actually fight.

Finally, the knob could take no more. It insisted that John open the door. He resigned himself to his fate, and reached into his pocket to retrieve his keys.

It was then that the door flung open.

John jumped back, startled. He looked up to see Tiffany. He had never seen her like this before. Her face was red, and damp from tears. He noticed wrinkles around the edges of her mouth that he had never seen before. Her hair was tussled and unkempt. As he studied her, she made eye contact. His heart began beating rapidly. He felt exposed and uninvited, as if he had intruded into her world, invading her privacy and seeing things that were not meant for him. She stared into his eyes, and he stared back. This was the moment he had dreamed of. They had connected.

“Tell your goddamn roommate that if he wants to stop being such a fucking child, he knows my number.” The words shot like venom from her mouth. He was back on the outside, forcibly and violently evicted. He struggled to recover. She brushed past him and tossed her purse onto her shoulder. Joey appeared in the doorway.

“Women, huh?” Joey shook his head and leaned against the door frame. “I mean, Jesus. That was a little dramatic, don’t you think?” John pushed past Joey and entered the apartment. He tossed his keys down on the end table.

“I don’t want to get involved.”

“Don’t want to get involved? What the fuck does that mean?” Joey stepped back inside and slammed the door. John sat down on the couch carefully, picked up the remote and turned on the television.

“It means, I don’t want to get involved, man. I’m friends with both of you and I can’t get in the middle of some fight.”

“You’re friends with both of us? You’re my fucking friend. Don’t get sucked into this shit, damnit, I hate it when they do that. They come into your life, and they sneak around the back and steal your fucking friends, and when shit like this goes down, you can’t even count on anybody, and you can’t talk about it, because everything you say gets passed along to her. Christ and you live with me!” Joey paced around the room, gesturing wildly as he spoke. John tried his best to focus on the television.

“You just need to calm down, okay? Don’t get so bent out of shape. It’s just a fight. Fights happen, right?”

Joey stopped pacing. He looked around, and finally plopped down into a large recliner. “We haven’t fought before.”

“Not ever?”

“Not ever. Not even once.”

“Doesn’t that anger kindof build up?”

“Well, I fucking guess so! Jesus, what do you think, you saw her storm out of her. Use your head…” John sighed to himself and tuned Joey out. There was no use in talking to people when they were like this. The best you can hope to do for them is to be their emotional punching bag, letting them finish the fight on you, since the person they were actually fighting with left the ring and went home. Of course, he was very curious what they were fighting about. He strained to keep his thoughts neutral. What if this was it? What if, after this, it’s all down hill? First, a huge explosive fight. Then the make-up. Then some smaller, less serious fights. They stop talking as much. They lose interest in each other. Communication between them breaks down. And then they start looking for something else.

He looked around, and realized that Joey had gone, presumably to his room. He reflected on how he had ignored Joey’s rant in favor of plotting the demise of his relationship.

At least he hadn’t followed her down the hallway.

Betraying confidence was something that John knew how to do very well. Throughout his life, he had not been the model friend. He struggled to keep specific examples from bubbling their way to the surface of his mind, thus forcing him to relive the experience and feel bad all over again. Guilt was a constant side effect of getting what he wanted out of life. It seemed that the feelings of his friends, relatives, and co-workers always took a back seat to matters of his heart. At the bat of an eye, he would re-prioritize himself to better suit the needs of a significant other, or a potential significant other. There was a word for that, he thought. Spineless.

This form of self-berating was meant to convince him to not do what he was about to do. There was no stopping him, though. He reached up and rang the buzzer. A few moments later, there was a loud click.

“Yes?” Tiffany’s voice warbled through the speaker.

“Tiffany? It’s John.” His voice cracked. His palms were sweaty. He relived puberty on her stoop.

“John! Come on up.” That was easier than he figured it would be. The door buzzed, and he hurriedly jerked it open and ran inside. The walk to Tiffany’s apartment was, quite frankly, a scary one. Her building was ancient, and the hallways were barely wide enough for one person to fit down. Inside each apartment he walked past was either a drug deal in progress, a hooker trying to make her next student loan payment, or a crime scene. At least, that’s how John imagined it in his mind. It probably wasn’t like that. He balled his hands into fists and walked a little faster, finally arriving at Tiffany’s door. It was already open a crack. He slipped inside.

“Hey stranger.” Tiffany sat comfortably on the couch, her long hair was tossed up in a bun. This was the first time John had seen her without any kind of make-up on. She was positively radiant. He stared into her eyes. Her mouth worked its way into a smile. “Are you okay?”

“Oh, um–” John averted his eyes. He was gawking like a moron. He had to stay focused. This had to stay strictly business. “–sorry, it was a rough day at work.”

“That’s too bad. Have a seat!” John nodded and plopped down on the couch, as far into the opposite corner as he could manage. “What was so rough about it?”

“I quit my job today.” John felt a smile creep across his face. It felt so good to say that.

“Oh my god, are you serious?”

“…No. I really wanted to quit, though.” His face reverted to his usual, expressionless gaze.

“So, we haven’t really talked since our dinner, huh? I’m so sorry you had to see me fighting with Joey the other day. That was so trashy! I felt like trash.” She twirled a loose strand of hair that hung down. John’s eyes dropped down and took her in. She was wearing a loose white t-shirt and pajama pants. He realized that she didn’t have a bra on. A tingle shot up his spine. He tried to remember how many receptions Andre Davis had made in the 2005 season.

“I uh, that’s kindof what I wanted to talk to you about… what is going on with you and Joey? I really don’t want to intervene, or meddle, or anything like that, but I am just a little bit curious… and since you and him are both my friends, I was wanting to hear your side of things.”

“Oh.” She put her arms behind her and stretched, arching her back out. John stared intently. Ten. Ten receptions. Or was it nine– “I don’t really want to talk about it. Joey was just being an asshole, and I was being a bitch, and I don’t even remember what the fight was about.”

“You don’t remember? Then why haven’t you guys made up yet?”

“I don’t know. I don’t even know if we’re going to, honestly.”

“Are you serious?” John was puzzled. They had seemed so happy up until the fight. They can’t just call it quits based off of one fight. Of course, who was he to stand in the way? It was up to her. If she wanted to end things, that was fine with him. Better than fine. It was great. Because it was what she wanted.

“I just don’t know. Joey’s a great guy, but after our fight, I guess I just sorta lost interest in him. He didn’t even call me, he still hasn’t called me. And I had to start the fight.”

“Wait, what do you mean start it?” John scooted closer to her on the couch. Tiffany looked around, generally avoiding eye contact. “Huh? What do you mean?”

“Fine, okay. I was getting annoyed that he wouldn’t fight about anything. I mean, I know I was aggravating him, I was even doing it on purpose a lot of times, but he would never say anything, ever. He always just gave in to whatever I said or did. I finally had to force him to argue with me. And even then, he just got defensive and mean.”

John was confused. Very confused. She started the fight on purpose, because they never fought? She wanted to fight? That was the dumbest thing he’d ever heard. Of course, who was he to argue with her? He scratched the back of his neck, sending a wave of sickening pain through his body. He winced slightly.

“I think I see what you’re getting at.” Oh my god, he was such a sell-out. He had no idea what she was getting at. Tiffany smiled.

“That’s awesome! I figured you would be like, what are you talking about? See, you get me. I wish Joey was more like you.” The confusion got worse. He had just done exactly what she accused Joey of doing. He gave in and agreed with her. And she liked it? Did she realize that?

She put her hand on his knee.

Suddenly, he completely understood her point, and agreed with everything she had ever said. Ever. She looked at him and smiled again. They made eye contact. He was back in. A warm, tingling sensation washed over him. He put his hand over top of hers. In the back of his mind, he was nagged by regret that he didn’t actually have yet. Potential regret, for an outcome he was still only dreaming of. It was just a friendly hand-on-hand-on-knee… thing. He didn’t quite know what to make of it, but he knew it felt good. A sort of euphoria came over him. The warm sensation in his skin increased. He felt the blood rushing out of his head. Sweat dripped into his eyes from his forehead. His vision got darker. His hand slipped off of Tiffany’s, and he slid off of the couch onto the floor, banging his head on the edge of the coffee table. His vision went black.

John awoke on the floor with a bit of a headache. After a few moments, he was finally able to recall where he was, and who he was. He would worry about the rest later. “What happened?”, he asked. A few more moments passed. He realized that nobody was going to answer. Slowly, he struggled to his feet. Where was Tiffany? Had she gone to get help? He assumed that was the case. He patted himself down, to make sure all the good parts were intact.

It was then that he noticed the note taped to his chest.

He plucked it off, confused, and turned it around to read it.

“John - You knocked your head pretty good. You’re still breathing, I’m sure you’ll be fine. I went to your place to see Joey. If you don’t show up, we’ll come check on you. Thanks for stopping by. Tiffany.”

He stared at the note in amazement. She left? She’s not even here? What if he had been laying on the floor dying? Did she even bother to prop his head up on a pillow? He looked down at where he had been laying. No, she hadn’t! And she went to see Joey?! His head spun. A dull ache still throbbed behind his right eye. He rubbed it profusely, which only made things worse. Carefully, he lowered himself down onto the couch, and studied the note again. His hand slid around behind his neck, his fingers gently dragging across his swollen bite. He wondered if maybe it was skin cancer. That thought made him crack a partial smile. The partial smile horrified him utterly. He shook it off, and went back to studying the note. The fact that she’d abandoned him here would not sink in. He refused to let it sink in. If she could manage to do that, that would mean–

His cell phone began vibrating wildly in his pocket. Ah, yes. He figured he knew who it was. Did he really want to answer, though? He felt no immediate urge to do so. In fact, he didn’t know what to make of any of this. Things that Tiffany had told him randomly surfaced in his mind. The whole situation was a confusing, jumbled mess. He wondered if he had a concussion. The phone continued its incessant vibrating in his pocket. Obviously, Tiffany’s relationship was much more complex than he’d thought. It probably wasn’t just hers, though. People are tricky. This sort of thing probably goes on all the time, and he just wasn’t privy to it. Or maybe he’d been so focused on his own wants, he’d just ignored the wants and needs of the people around him. The phone was practically leaping out of his pocket. Annoyed, he thrust his hand in, pulled out the phone, and flipped it open. “Yes?”

“You’re alive!” It was Brian, a friend of both his and Joey’s. That caught him off guard. He wondered why Brian would be calling. “Hello? John? You there?” He realized that, through the power of technology, he could simply ask.

“Brian. Yeah. What’s up? What do you need, man?”

“Just seeing if you’re up and around. Heard you took quite the spill over at Tiff’s.” News travelled fast. He wondered if he’d missed any calls from his family, or possibly CNN, wanting the exclusive story.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just getting ready to head out.”

“Great. Look, we’re all going over to the theater. Wanted to see if you wanted to go catch a flick.” John looked at his wrist, precisely where a watch would be, if he was wearing one.

“I don’t know if I can make it. Who’s we?”

“Me, Joey, and Tiff so far. No clue what we’re seeing.” John sighed, and looked around the apartment.

“Sure. I’ll be there.”

“Great. Call my cell when you get downtown.”

“No problem.” John closed his phone. He struggled for a moment to make sense of everything that was going on, but after a moment, gave up. There was nothing to make sense of. He looked at his wrist again, and realized that the next time he was at the store, a watch would not be a bad idea. Still, he should get moving if he wanted to get to the movie by a decent time. He couldn’t be out too late. It was a big day at work tomorrow.

The End.