The Calling Card

This story is incomplete, but I'm not sure how to end it.

“Issues,” I laugh, the sound hollowly echoing in the studio apartment I exist in. “I have lots of issues. But I can’t discuss them.”

“Why not?”

My eyes close as I strive to block the sadness in his tone, “Because I’m not allowed.”

“But you have.”

My eyes open and my head nods, my conscious mind no longer focusing on the present. “Yes there are people that know, but no one discusses my past.”

            His silver blue eyes stare into mine waiting. I repress the tears threatening to rise. How can I explain why people outside this cell know my inner workings while this Matt Damon look alike can only see the layers that cover them? It is not as if I do not want to tell him, in fact of all the men my friends have tried to pass my way this one seems the most trustworthy.

             “I guess my worst fault would be my inability to admit I’m wrong.” I mumble, my words floating across the bare wood floor and old cartons of Chinese take out strewn across the chestnut coffee table to his ears.

            “What do you mean?” He leans forward, arms braced against bended knees. Idly, I notice how at home he looks in the cigarette burned orange love seat I had found at a random garage sale back home.

            I cross my eyes at him and stick out my tongue. Wondering if I should be lying on some couch paying him $60.00 an hour instead of the cup of sludge in the stained I love Mom mug he had not touched since I set it down.

            “Why?” I repeat. “Why should I know why I’m unable to admit I’m wrong?”

            “Well who else is going to know?”

            Instead of answering, I slouch back in the padded tan Lazy boy I had gotten for cheap at the same garage sale and stare at the cigarette burns in the arms.

            “Come on Sarah, talk to me.”

            I glance at him, knowing he is trying to understand. Watching his eyes, I feel the push to believe in him, to give him the chance to be more than the other males that have crossed the broken threshold many times before.

            “Do you remember Rent?” I ask pulling my legs over an arm of the chair.

            His dark eyebrows rise, “Yeah.”

            “I’m Maureen. Always wanting to be the center of attention, always craving the dramatic exit. Unable to push aside the limelight in order to appreciate someone who loves me to my very core.”

            He opens his mouth, but I hold up my hand.             “Even if I’m caught, I find something else to blame. I cannot say, ‘You’re right, I made a mistake. Let’s just forget this happened.’ I find something else that will prove I’m right.”

            “Sarah…”

            “Whenever I talk, I find myself relating other people’s problems to something in my life. I’m a selfish person.”

            “But what does that have to do with admitting you’re wrong?”

            I move from the chair unable to sit so close to him. I feel his head moving as I skirt around his chair to move towards the middle of the hallway and walk towards the sliding glass door. I stare out at his reflection watching sorrow fill his eyes as I continue.

            “Just like Maureen, I can not admit when I need to stop because the annoyance of someone else at my misconception gives me a stage to perform too. As long as they argue with me, the longer I am not alone.”

            My eyes glue, not to his face, but the stretching expanse of the office building before me afraid to see the goodbye I know is deep within his eyes. “I cannot admit I’m wrong because my stage would pack up, my audience would disappear and I would be the only one to care.”

            I close my eyes again, leaning my forehead against the cold sheet protecting me form the roar of life behind my hell. Footsteps retreat behind me, the door clicks shut. Slowly, I turn around watching the thin white card float across my floor from the only hole to the real world. Without a word, I pad barefoot down the floor afraid to pick up that thin sheet of cardboard. The phone rings and I find myself moving towards the sliver of silver hanging from my kitchen wall.

            “Hello?...Hey Rachel, he came by…What did I do? Well, he told me to talk about my flaws. Can I help it if I took him seriously?... Huh?...Oh, okay. Talk to you tomorrow?...Yeah, see ya.”

            I hang up the phone, sliding to the floor as I stare at the white card against the brown floor. Tears flow down my face as I stare at it, wishing the one person I had always talked to about this was still only a phone call away. Slowly, stretching out onto my stomach, I reach the corner of the card with my fingers. His cell number stares back at me.

            Pulling down the phone, I clumsily punch in the numbers, my eyes still streaming water. He answers on the first ring. “Ryan, I …” My tears interrupt, above my sobs I hear him tell me to hold on. The phone goes dead and a dull thud centers on my door. He bursts into the hall, surrounding me with his strength, as my heart breaks open for the first time since my mother’s passing. The phone, forgotten, clatters to the floor.

            “Shhh, hey I didn’t mean to walk out. I’m sorry.” Ryan’s deep voice apologizing penetrates the pain. I stare up at him, tears still wetting my reddened cheeks. He settles down on the floor beside me, pulling me closer. Tears streak down my face as I bury my head in his shoulder. “I don’t think you’re like Maureen from Rent. You have more heart than she could ever recreate on stage. Let me in, I promise I won’t betray you.”

 

Reviews

[Hannah!]

This story has a sort of complete incompleteness--like there could easily be more to it, but there doesn't have to be. I've always been a fan of open endings, so I really like where this cut off.

I liked the Maureen from Rent comparison--thought it was interesting, and something I could easily pick up on, since I really like that movie. I also loved your description of the apartment. I mean, you didn't REALLY describe it, but that which you did describe gave the whole room a definite, indefinable, sort of hopeless feel.

I have to say, I didn't really understand why Ryan walked out. It seemed almost pointless, honestly--while I'm sure he had a reason, I'm sure it could have been better explained. The dialogue, too, seems the slightest bit rough and choppy, but it's nothing major--there are just a few lines that seemed, to me, to need reworking. Other than that, I really liked this piece. It was really well-written.