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I'll Call You Later
Danny Brophy
We were best friends all through high school. Freshman year to graduation, at Plaithmore High. Our tenth year reunion was tomorrow, and I had already run into every former classmate who would attend. Except Billy. We hadn’t spoken since graduation. I hugged him goodbye, and said I’ll call you later. He hugged back and said I love you.
And not like a friend. Like I love you. Billy had a way of saying the wrong thing at the wrong time to a woman.
Except to me.
Up until then, we were planning on going to college, and keeping in touch.
The way I took the whole ‘I love you’ thing hadn’t gone the way Billy planned it.
“I’ll call you later,” I went again.
And walked away to see my boyfriend, Jason.
Right now, I’m walking down Clifton St. toward Main, having just visited where I used to live. The house was worn down, lethargic from dissimilar families over myriad years. I know the people who live there now, but I didn’t desire observing my old room and encroaching their peace.
Bad memories.
Except with Billy.
I turn onto Main to head toward the waterfront. My son was at my sister’s in South Plaithmore. It felt immoral. To expose him to where his mother grew up.
My ruminating is interrupted by the approaching young man. He wears a black suit, with his hands thrust in the slack’s pockets, the shoulders slightly hunched, the all-to-familiar face directed down in perpetual genuflecting watching each step traversing past, present, future, no worries, just step, step, step.
He looks up at me as I pass, an ever-so-slender smile holding up his lips.
“Hi Missy,” he goes.
I go, “Hi…Billy.”
I nearly tear up. We embrace warmly, that embrace I’d only felt once before. He takes a step back to look at me.
“Wow, we graduated ten years ago? You look like you did ten days ago.”
“Shut up, Dippity Dog,” I go. That was my nickname for him. Silly, huh?
“How are you,” he goes.
I go that I’m fine. Hunky-dory.
But I’m not. Who is?
I’ve dreaded and anticipated this for a long time.
“I was walkin’ ‘round town,” he goes. “Wanna join?”
I go yes, I would.
We begin our stroll, silent and contemplative, waiting for the proper moment to begin our catching up. He starts.
“Are you looking forward to tomorrow?”
“Not really. I only came just so everyone wouldn’t be questioning my absence.”
“I know. Judy’s forcing me to go. She said it would be good to reconnect with old friends. If only for a moment.”
I hesitate at the mention of another woman’s name, which he detects.
“Judy’s my wife.”
Ow.
“How long you two been married?”
“Eight years last month.”
“I’m glad to hear that, Billy,” I lie.
“And you? Ever work out ‘tween you and Jason?”
“Broke up after graduation. Married another guy, got divorced.”
“How come?”
“Grew apart, I guess.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
“Wasn’t your fault,” I go. Actually….
We turn towards the waterfront; the tourist shops and traps to our right, the mighty Atlantic forever undulating in unrest on our left as we re-enter our walk through our past life.
“What happened to us Billy? We never spoke after graduating.”
“It happens. I think people make promises that subconsciously we have no intention of keeping, yet consciously, we believe every word we say. At least we didn’t end acrimoniously.”
“What are you doing with yourself?”
“Well, Judy and I-“
Fucking Judy again.
“Started a construction company a few years ago.”
“I’m glad to hear that, Billy.”
“You?”
“Nothing worth noting. Time just pisses by nowadays.”
We walk quietly again.
“I’m sorry I freaked you out, Missy.”
“Huh?”
“At graduation. What I said.”
I love you.
“You always helped me out when it came to girls, you always were there, I figured, fuck it, fortune favors the bold. I felt like it was, maybe this was it. My only shot.” The tears knock at the door again.
“But I don’t begrudge you,” he goes, “I mean, it would’ve spoiled our friendship. Better to have happy regrets. But I’m happy that I ran into you.”
“Me, too, Billy.”
I stop walking, fighting tears that are slowly winning their battle with my frayed emotions. I put on a pair of sunglasses.
“Are you happy, Billy?”
“With?”
“You.”
He rubs his shaved chin.
“Sort of. I have a wife I love-“
Jesus. Enough.
“A job I like. But…I feel sometimes I’m destined for something else.”
“We all do.”
“But, no regrets. That’s important.”
He reaches into a coat pocket and produces a pack of cigarettes.
“When did you start smoking?”
“After high school.”
He holds out the pack to me. I take one. He leans onto a railing protecting pedestrians from a thirteen foot fall onto the rocky beach below.
“It’s weird,” he goes, “All your plans, all the hopes are so radically different from what actually happens when you enter the world.”
I say that’s true.
“It’s like…there’s something missing, something I missed out on. Or lost out on.”
I go, “I can relate.”
He stands from the rail.
“I gotta be putting my skates on,” he goes, “Judy’s waitin’.”
I go, “Ok.”
“It was great to see you again, Missy.”
“You too, Billy.”
“See you tomorrow night?”
“Yep.”
He hugs me, like a friend. I hug back, like a lost opportunity.
“Bye, Missy.”
“I love you.”
He steps back, then widens that omnipresent smile of his.
“I love you, too. Be good.” That’s what he says. Like a friend.
He walks away.
When he’s out of earshot, that’s when I start bawling.
I lied to my former best friend. My divorce was due to my husband, my only husband, Jason, not honoring his wedding vows, imbruing my life with as much callous behaviors as he could. I wanted to tell Billy this.
But I didn’t.
I wanted to tell him so many things. About my regrets. About my tiny, empty life.
I wanted to tell him about my son, William.
Who is called Billy by his mother.