March 19th 1999

December 23, 7:23 pm: "Karen, are you there? Please pick up, I need to talk to you. You can't avoid me forever. I need to set things straight with you. Please talk to me. Karen? Karen?" Message erased.

January 4, 1:18 am: "Please. Let me know you're okay, at least. I haven't heard from you in over a month. Just let me know you're okay. You don't have to say anything else. Just pick up and tell me that you're okay. I want to hear your voice. You don't owe me that, I know. But I just want to hear you." Message erased.

The answering machine to her private line was filled with these messages. He would leave two or three a week, sometimes more, begging her to call. These were the days when it hurt the most, when the bitter taste of it was the most prominent, when the stinging wouldn't go away. He knew Rosario didn't touch her private phone; he knew he would be able to sneak a message in. Karen hadn't seen him since "that night." She couldn't bear to refer to it any other way; how would she? "The night it ended." "The night he ripped my heart out." More like "The night Grace ripped my heart out."

January 15, 3:04 pm: "Karen, talk to me. I messed up. It wasn't supposed to be like this. Please, call me and let me explain." Message erased.

She picked an evening when she knew Stan would be out; there would be no way of him overhearing this. Karen closed the door to the room on the second floor that was only meant for her—Stan had given this space to her so she could have a bit of privacy when she needed it. She added a separate phone line for the room shortly after she started seeing Will, thinking it was best for him to call her that way. She wondered why he started out trying to reach her by the main phone before resorting to this one. Maybe he thought Rosario wouldn't lie when she picked up, and let him know where she was. He was obviously gullible.

Grace didn't really talk to her about it, about him, about anything anymore. She looked as though she felt guilty. Karen didn't mind it. As much as she took a liking to Grace, despite the small attempts to make her second guess her relationship, Karen definitely put some of the blame on her. Some days, Karen could tell that Grace wanted to apologize, but whether it was fear or the inability to form the right words or feeling no real fault for what happened, something kept her from doing so.

Karen didn't need an apology. She needed a time machine. Take her back to her world of delusion, take her back to her world of make-believe. At the very least, take her back to November.

February 2, 12:14 am: "You've got to be there. I'm not going to let you think that this is how I wanted things to go. You know me better than that. Just…five minutes. Can you please just give me five minutes? Not even, I just need time to explain, and you can hang up. At least I'll know you have the truth to help you make your decision. Call me. Please." Message erased.

February 17, 9:32 pm: "I'm not going to stop until I get your voice. Your real voice, not this recording. I want you. I don't want the machine. Karen, if you don't feel love for me anymore, at least take pity in the fact that I'm desperate to talk to you." Message erased.

Not stopping. That was the first lie he told her. No, no it wasn't. Saying that he wasn't going to let anyone come between them was the first lie he told her.

She held her face in her hands. She didn't want to think of him like this. That's why, on a diamond-sharp day when he called, she usually ran off to Washington Square Park; she would watch the children play on the playground, look across the way to her childhood home. Will made her defy her mother here; Will made her realize who she was, who she wanted to be. Will made her come alive here.

But when he called, he made her feel hopeless. He made her feel guilty, although she was certain she shouldn't be feeling that way. He made her come undone. She was amazed at how easy it was to do that; she was certain it was a slow process, and she would realize what was happening to her. But Will untied the strings in one fell swoop and she fell apart so quickly.

His messages became shorter and more desperate as time went on.

February 20, 2:20 am: "Please give me a chance." Message erased.

February 23, 1:54 pm: "I just need to talk to you." Message erased.

He was beginning to repeat himself. That's when she knew he was breaking, too. She wanted to run, fly out the door and take the train down to Washington Square, maybe stop by that coffee shop on Tenth Street before making her way to the park. Take comfort in what used to be. But Karen knew eventually she would have to go through these messages, delete them, try to forget that they ever existed together. And if she ever ran into him, she could act like what they had never happened. She could act like she didn't know him at all.

On some level, she already felt like she didn't know him.

February 26, 2:03 pm: "Karen." Message erased.

March 1, 4:55 am: "Karen." Message erased.

March 5, 3:32 pm: "Please." Message erased.

Even though the last messages were usually one word, they were the hardest to get through. She didn't want to think of him being miserable because of this. It made her lose her desire to vilify him. She might have gotten over all of this if she didn't have those constant reminders ringing in her ear every day. She might have found a reason to stay with Stan after all. She might have found a way to move on.

But that obviously was not how it was meant to be.

Karen went through his messages one by one, until she got to the very last one. The last time she would hear his voice. The last time she would have had an opportunity to pick up the phone. The last time she would have had an opportunity to listen.

March 10, 11:57 pm: "I'm sorry."

That was the one to hurt her the most. She changed into the shirt and jeans she wore every time she went downtown to live in the past, grabbed her purse and rushed out the door. She had to make a stop before going to Washington Square. She found herself at Riverside Drive, entering the door of the apartment building she once thought would be hers. Up the elevator, across the hall. She took an envelope and a roll of tape from her purse. Karen opened up the envelope one last time to make sure it was in there before closing it and taping it to the door.

She figured that once she gave it back to him, everything would start to fade away.

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Will heard a faint scratching at the door. He got up from the couch and walked to the door. When he opened it, he saw the elevator doors in the final second of closing. He figured someone had the wrong apartment, until he saw an envelope taped to the door. He took it off the door and opened it. No note. No writing on the envelope, but he knew who it was from.

And he knew it was over when his apartment key slipped out of the envelope into his palm.