The weekend was almost over and I was quite pleased with how well things had been going. Audrey was set to move in on Friday and I had almost finished packing, but most of all I hadn’t even thought about Phil in days. I had even contacted my internet provider to cancel my account so I really was over him. I was on a roll, and all I had left to do was call my mother.
My father, who is very easy going, never really objected to any idea I had. Not that he always agreed with my decisions, but he always had a “go with the flow” attitude and made a joke out of every awkward situation or conversation, a trait I inevitably inherited. This became very problematic at times, especially when it came to Phil, which is why we never got around to actually going on a proper date.
I cringed at the thought of having to call my mother. I still hadn’t returned her phone calls and she had left me two other messages asking if I was alive and did I know where the skis were? It was Sunday and I was leaving in less than a week so I knew I had to call her.
I looked in the mirror and studied myself. I felt and looked exhausted. My black-dyed hair shining under the light made me look like I had been on a four day cocaine binge. Why did I dye it this color anyway? I wondered as I applied copious amounts of concealer under my eyes. Oh right, Phil mentioned that he liked black hair, I reminded myself. Prior to meeting Phil I had blonde streaks that highlighted my natural light brown hair color, but one night when Phil and I were having one of our infamous lengthy chats online, he mentioned that he liked black hair. I immediately found myself telling him how funny it was that he said that as I was thinking about dying my hair black and would it look nice? As I was typing it, I knew I was lying. He told me I would look beautiful even without hair, but I wasn’t keen on shaving my head so I opted for the black.
I twirled a strand of hair around my finger and smiled at myself in the mirror as I thought about Phil. No wait that’s not right. Stop smiling, Joyel, I instructed myself. The ringing phone broke my thoughts and I looked down at the caller display. I took a deep breath and managed to say hello.
After an hour long conversation, I finally hung up with my mother. That didn’t go as I had hoped, I thought as I slumped miserably into my chair. All those practice conversations in front of the mirror went so much better, I realized. I wasn’t prepared for any of her questions, and who asks so many questions anyway? She kept asking things like what if the job doesn’t work out and was I just running away from this Phil boy? Okay so I didn’t have it all figured out yet, but I had faith that it would all work out. I wondered why she couldn’t be more understanding, like the mirror. Anyway never mind her, I thought. I refused to let anything or anyone ruin my happy streak.
The truth was that a little over a week ago I was standing behind a desk in a hotel lobby in my black pumps, pencil skirt and white blouse, sporting a nametag and a smile as I said things like “Checking in?”, and “Enjoy your stay!” I had been saving money to buy a car and maybe nicer furniture for Paddy-Cakes and me. Actually, most days I secretly imagined Phil there with us. I would close my eyes and imagine us lying together on an L-shaped couch watching The Notebook. He would be saying things like “I would write you 365 letters and build you your dream house too” and I would look up at him with googly eyes and say “really?” and then flash him huge smile. He would give me kisses on the forehead and wipe my tears - I always cried at least 100 times while watching that movie. Then I would wake up from my daydream and make a wish. I could never bring myself to tell him though. Phil knew a lot of my secrets, but not this one. Up until last week, I wondered if he had a secret like mine that he wasn’t sharing with me. However, the new me did not care about things like that. Phil was no longer a part of my life and the more I thought about it, the more I realized that he was just a phase. I was moving away and starting a new life sans Phil.
I had just finished supper when Malorie walked in to my apartment. She was coming over to help me pack, but from her outfit – a black sequin top and a jean skirt – I knew she didn’t really want to help clean out my wardrobe with me. I was vacuum sealing most of my winter apparel when I heard Malorie yell out something from the living room.
“What?” I yelled back at her turning off the vacuum.
“Your internet connection seems to be broken.” She repeated
“I don’t have internet anymore, I cancelled it.” I yelled through the walls.
She came rushing in the bedroom.
“I’m sorry, you what?”
“Well Mal, I’m not going to be living here, it seems kind of useless don’t you think?”
“So you haven’t had any contact with Phil since you told him you were thinking of leaving?” She looked confused.
“Nope,” I said, looking away.
“How can you be so calm?” Malorie yelled out.
“I really don’t have anything more to say to him Mal, he made things pretty clear.” I said and paused. “He doesn’t care what I do.” I thought for a moment. “Besides, it’s better this way. Things would have never worked out.”
“I suppose your right.” Malorie said picking up my beige Roxy uggs. “I mean, how many people actually end up with their soul mate?”
“We are not soul mates Mal” I insisted. “Our relationship was always very...” I paused looking for the right word. “Symbiotic.” I continued.
“Huh?” Malorie looked at me confused.
“What I mean is...we relied on each other in order to survive, but none of it was ever real.” I said forcing myself to smile.
“So you’re really over him?”
“Yeah Mal, I am.” I rolled my eyes.
“Then why do you have all of your conversations and e-mails printed out.” She said pulling out a stack of papers from behind her back.
“Where did you get that?” I asked her.
“On your computer desk.” She pointed to the living room.
“Oh...” I nodded. “I didn’t know they were still there.” I admitted.
“Well they were, and I read through a few of them.” She bit her lip. “I hope you don’t mind.” She continued. “I just couldn’t help myself. They’re so romantic.” She said hugging the papers.
“How are they even remotely romantic?” I looked at her confused. “Our conversations make us seem bi-polar, if anything.” I paused. “One minute we were saying cute things to each other, and the next we were fighting about nothing.” I said taking the stack of papers from her hand.
“That’s what makes them so romantic.” She took the papers back. “You fight because you aren't able to say how you truly feel. If you two would stop playing a game and tell each other how you really feel then you could make your dream world a reality.” She paused and thought for a moment before she continued. “It’s like Romeo and Juliet, if he had known she didn’t really kill herself then they would have ended up together for real.”
“We are hardly star-crossed lovers Mal.” I whined. “The only thing we have in common with Romeo and Juliet is our delusional belief that we could actually make our dream world a reality.” I took the papers from Malorie’s hands and quickly scanned them. “It’s what psychiatrists call folie à deux.” I pointed out.
“So why keep the conversations and e-mails?” She asked me.
“You never know, I might need them someday.” I replied as I placed the papers in a box marked Storage.
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