Cheatin’ Heart

Every Monday, I listen to music when Bryan calls. I don’t even remember why I started the habit in the first place. I never listen to the lyrics and I never know what song is playing. The radio is always set to turn on at exactly eight pm, and if he hasn’t called by then I know I won’t hear from him until next week. The nights he doesn’t call, I always leave the radio on. Those nights are not as rare as I always hope.

A few days ago, I had been leaning against my kitchen counter, left arm folded across my waist to support my right arm as I leaned into the receiver. We were discussing a date for his next visit and our voices were raised, almost loud enough to be considered shouting. Bryan couldn’t make the trip. He was busy and, normally, I wouldn’t have complained except that he hadn’t visited last time either. He told me he didn’t want to make the drive and he couldn’t work me into his schedule. I told him that he wasn’t the only one with a job and that I always found time to drive out to meet him. I was only important enough to visit if I was less than five hours away. Of course, he didn’t actually say that, but I knew that was what he meant.

He asked me to understand and he apologized sincerely. That was one thing he could do well. Apologize. He did it so well that I sometimes wondered if he had so much practice that apologies came to him naturally. I sometimes wondered if he had practiced the most with me.

I said a few terse words in reply and hung up on him mid-sentence. It didn’t matter, he would just call again next week and I would forgive him. I never could let someone stay mad at me for too long. Sometimes I wondered if I should let him get away with it so often. I always get mad at myself for allowing it.

I left the radio on, noticing an old country tune billowing softly out of the cracked speakers. I let it play.