"mankind is resilient: the atrocities that horrified us a week ago become acceptable tomorrow."
― Joseph Heller
One hundred and seventy-two. That is how many tiles line the ceiling of the conference room. Four of which have brown water stains.
Thirty-eight. That is how many minutes are left in this God awful tax meeting. The slides the presenter is showing probably have some helpful information. Too bad Giraffe Man is sitting in front of me. I can't see a thing through his abnormally tall and rectangular back. The phone in my purse buzzes softly. Maybe it's someone with an emergency and I'll need to leave right away. Wait, no, I shouldn't wish that. Whatever it is, I gleefully welcome the distraction. Whipping my phone out I look at the screen. Shining brightly at me is one word. Seth. My heart struggles to beat in my chest. He has sent me a text message.
Six months. It has been six months since we have spoken. I remember the last words he said to me.
"I can't give you what you want. This is as far as we'll ever go. Accept it." He told me.
"Alright." Was my response, and I walked out of his apartment.
How stupid I was to just take what he said and not fight. Accept it. I should have told him no. That I completely disagreed. That our three years of bliss meant something and I wasn't going to let him throw it away. But I've been doing well since our split. It took a while, but I'm in a good place now. I've graduated from college and started a new job as an accountant. Recently, I purchased a small home in a nice neighborhood. That is something not many twenty-three year olds can say they've accomplished. I remember thinking my life would be over if I lost Seth. But it has been six months, and I am still living.
My finger hovers over the view button. I need to mentally prepare myself for what this message might say. Quickly I rack my brain for the date. It's not my birthday or a holiday. He must have something to say. After all this time, he has finally found something to say to me. What could he want? Probably needs me to do his taxes. I feel shame for the thought. Seth isn't like that. He would never use someone. Deciding not to waste anymore time on speculation, I open the message.
We need to talk. Meet me at 43 Target Lane this Saturday at noon.
I read the message over and over, deciphering every word. We need to talk. Must be important. The address is not some place I know off the top of my head. I wonder if he's moved. I read the message again. He isn't asking me to meet him, he's telling me. I guess in the time we've been separated he has lost his manners. In actuality I know his intention is not to be rude. I'm just reaching for a reason to be mad at him. Saturday will be here in two days, and at the moment I don't have a legitimate reason to say no.
But, I could do it. I could meet him. This could be my chance to say everything I didn't six months ago. How do I begin to re-open a door that has been bricked shut with a layer of steel bolted behind just for added measure? As if sensing my uncertainty I get another text.
I sigh loudly and use my index and middle fingers to rub my temples. How do I tell him it's not that simple? And two days is kind of short notice for me to drop everything and meet him. I just need to type something. Anything.
"Ok." I send back. He did say please.