"Never attribute to malice that which can be adequately explained by stupidity." So said a wiser person than me. Which could be almost any of the people riding the planet Earth that day when my self-loathing finally decided that it would be more fun to watch me flame out in a blaze of idiocy than to watch me bemoan a lost love for the foreseeable future.
I sat there, weighing my cellphone in my hand for about an hour, trying to convince myself that what I was contemplating was indeed the pinnacle of human stupidity, replacing Getting Involved In A Land War In Asia at the top of the list. I was trying to find a reason not to act on this impulse, a reason not to dredge up bitter memories of me in Lisa's mind. However, the zombie memory of Lisa Williams continued to shamble about in my mind, making it impossible to concentrate on anything. It was starting to affect everything: my concentration; my sleeping; my ability to do my job. I needed to make it stop, if for no other reason so that I could make sure my attention at work was where it needed to be. A wrong decimal point in a building's design specifications will ruin someone's day at some time, and I couldn't imagine telling my boss that I put in wrong data that got someone killed because I couldn't stop thinking about an ex-girlfriend. I couldn't imaging a jury at a personal injury trial buying that as an excuse either.
Part of me hoped that if I simply wished her well when I spoke to her, she might say something pleasant to me, something to help erase that lingering image of that Medusa stare she gave me when she finally walked out on me. The rest of me knew how selfish that was and how unlikely an outcome it was. I was more likely to get a Go Fuck Yourself, a dropped call, and then I'd have not one but two women mad at me: Lisa and whoever Mrs. Williams was.
But I had to make it stop. Lisa was more resilient than I was, or so her ability to admit her orientation and marry someone seemed to hint. She could overcome what I could not. So what if I dredged up bad memories? Maybe it'll finally stop for me. She'd be able to overcome it, especially with the help of someone who loves her. Someone I'm not likely to find. Ever.
Yes, God, I know this is stupid! But I don't see any other answer here that doesn't involve alcohol, and You and I both know how that ends.
My thumb was poised over the telephone receiver icon in my contact list for more than three minutes before either my courage or my idiocy overcame my hesitation.
Who am I kidding? It was my idiocy.
I tapped the icon.
It rang.
The fuse on the bomb ignited. What the hell am I going to say?
It rang again.
The fuse burned shorter and shorter. I do have a plan, don't I?
It rang again.
Only an inch of fuse remained. Try saying that you're happy for her. That's innocent enough. It's a lie but... no, it's not really a lie... if she's happy...
Four times, it rang. Sometimes, answering services pick up after four rings.
It did not get to a fifth ring.
The fuse burned to the nub, and I awaited the Earth Shattering Kaboom.
The voice that spoke back was not the controlled, orchestrated voice you'd normally hear on an answering service message.
"Hello?"
The voice was feminine but alto-toned. Even if Lisa had changed a lot since we broke up, her voice could not change that much. Any courage I had suddenly seeped out of my body through the soles of my feet and left ice in its place.
"Uh, hello," I stammered. "I'm sorry, I... I was looking for Lisa Williams."
There was a silent pause. It was about as long a pause as was needed for someone to pull a cellphone away from their ear and check the caller ID.
"Sorry, we don't want any..." started the disinterested reply.
"Can I at least leave a message?" I desperately interrupted.
"What?" came the terse answer.
I chose to expand that reply into, what is the message? instead of, what, are you out of your fucking mind?
"Tell her...," I began, and then stopped gracelessly.
Tell her what? What was my great master plan here, outside of making an ass of myself? Correction: bigger ass, biggest ass, the Lord Emperor of All Asses.
I decided that I might as well be as polite as I could be given my current mental and emotional state. I might no longer possess the courage my family tried to instill in me, but I still had respect, or at least its distant red-headed step-cousin: fear.
"Tell her... that David called," I said clumsily, the syllables tumbling out of my mouth as if I were speaking English for the first time in my life. "Tell her... that I heard she's married, and that I wish her all the happiness in the world."
Dead silence responded.
God, this is stupid.
The Universe punishes stupidity, and it was conjuring up the appropriate fireball to smite me as I waited on the other side of the cellphone for it. I could practically hear the foreboding change of tone to a minor key in the soundtrack playing through this stupid scene. Any moment now, a death ray was going to beam out of the cellphone touchscreen and incinerate me.
"This is David?" came a hesitant question through the speaker.
"Yes," I confirmed slowly. I might as well state my name for the record in advance of the autopsy. Otherwise, all they'd be able to salvage of my charred remains would be teeth to compare to millions of dental records. I tried to prepare myself for the obliteration that I felt I deserved for initiating this chain reaction of stupidity. The How Dare You Poison Our Relationship accusation. The Who The Hell Do You Think You Are query. The Go Fuck Off And Die closing argument. The Guilty Of Being An Asshole As Charged verdict. The funeral pyre to erase all evidence of my existence.
I was not prepared at all for the actual response.
"David, I'm... I'm Allison," came a few whispered words back through the speaker.
The name meant nothing to me.
"Lisa's... wife," the voice explained softly.
Oh, dear God, I really have screwed up now. The wrath that I'm about to receive will be double what I feared, and I can't say that I don't deserve every ounce of this.
"It's nice to talk to you," I offered weekly as an olive branch through the phone call. It was a reflexive reply, the same one I used with Jenni if she picked up when I was calling Crystal.
"David," Allison's voice stammered nervously, "uh, Lisa's a little... tied up now?"
Whoever this Allison was, she was not interpreting me as being the vindictive prick that I worried I was when this call began, and she didn't seem to be unloading a verbal belt of full-metal-jacket bullets at me as she had every right to do. She was being polite, even empathetic. It was much more than I deserved.
I decided to end this very bad idea as gracefully as I could to limit the possible damage not only to myself, but to this woman and to Lisa.
"I'm sorry, Allison?" I asked more than said, afraid that I forgotten her name already. "This... this was a very bad idea on my part... I don't know what I was thinking... this was stupid. Just... just erase the call history so she won't see that I called and let's just forget..."
"Don't hang up!" Allison interrupted in an urgent whisper.
"Huh?" What could she possibly want to say to me?
"David... I think..."
The phone went silent. I pulled the phone away from my ear to make sure the call was still connected, that my thumb hadn't moved on it's own impulse to end this completely embarrassing episode. The call was still connected.
I put the phone timidly back to my ear and waited for Allison's sentence to end.
"I think... I think we should meet."
Oh, dear God, this was rapidly spinning out of control. The ship was no longer responding to helm control, and the crest of the waterfall was approaching fast. As much as I tried to rescue a less-than-disastrous outcome from this foolishness, the Universe seemed determined to toy with me and steer me towards the worst possible of outcomes. Time to jump ship with as much grace as I could muster.
My mouth didn't obey my expressed, explicit orders to keep closed while the minions in my head scurried around for a suitable, polite refusal. What came out was, "I don't know, Allison. That seems like it is all sorts of wrong on so many levels."
"Please," she whispered back. "I... know what Lisa once meant to you."
Lisa hadn't forgotten me after all?
Damn it, heart! Start beating again!
As soon as the lungs start breathing again, Chief...
Lisa told her about me?
What am I thinking; of course Lisa would tell her! If anyone could unlock Lisa's heart to solve the mystery of what the "nothing" was, Lisa would hide nothing else from that person. Lisa married this woman, which implied complete and utter trust in Allison to know her desires, her fears, and her secrets. After all, lesbian marriage is still very new, and not something to enter into unless you completely and honestly trust the other.
Trust.
Trust was now the problem. Although Lisa hadn't trusted me, she obviously trusted this Allison, enough to confide the failure of our relationship with her. Lisa might no longer love me, but I still loved her in spite of everything. Because of that love, I couldn't destroy what she entrusted to her wife's keeping.
"Lisa trusts you, Allison," I answered. "She wouldn't have married you if she didn't. She trusts you to keep her secrets safe and to not hold any secrets from her."
Dead silence replied once again.
"Meeting me? That... that would violate that trust," I finished. I left unsaid the fear born of my own personal experience: violated trusts ruin relationships. Up until five seconds ago, I could not possibly care less for this Allison than any other anonymous person. But Allison's politeness - no, kindness - changed that. I cared about her, and not simply because Lisa loved her and I still loved Lisa. Because Allison was treating me much better than I deserved. I needed to return that kindness.
I know, I know: then explain why I'm on this damned phone in the first place if I care so damned much? Sometimes, stupidity can't be explained.
"David," Allison said in a slightly stronger whisper, "We need to do this. You see..."
She paused.
I made no answer, and decided to wait for her to finish her own sentence.
"I know that Lisa... wishes... things ended differently between you guys," Allison muttered.
She does?! There is a God after all!
Maybe that's all I need to hear?
"I... I want you two to be friends again," added Allison haltingly.
I could not imagine just being friends with Lisa. How could I look at her and not love her, not desire her, not remember how she looked naked? How could I not try to steal her back from this woman who obviously loved Lisa so much that she was willing to help out her long-departed ex-boyfriend? How could I not ruin everything, again? No, this was a textbook example of a Bad Idea, and I tried to slam on the brakes to stop it.
"Allison, I..."
She interrupted me. "You know the coffee shop on 68th and 5th, near River Music?"
The bow of the ship was now leaning out over the crest of the waterfall. If she was suggesting what I was thinking that she was suggesting, I could not see how this was not all sorts of bad in every way imaginable. But my anxiety had completely eroded my wilting common sense. I even tried to tell myself that I might learn something useful out of all this, like how to be less of an ass in the future. If there was a future.
"I'll find it," I capitulated.
"Tomorrow at 2:00?"
I didn't know if I had a work appointment or not, but my reflexes spoke before I could check. "I'll be there."
"Goodbye."
The line went dead before I could return the goodbye.
At least it was not a soap-opera hang-up. It was polite, even respectful.
Maybe this was not going to be the World's Worst Idea, but at that moment, I wasn't willing to place even a fifty cent bet on that. Instead, I was wondering if my landlord had my next of kin's correct contact information, and how pissy he'd get if I called up to check.
