The day before she left, he had asked her if she would recommend him to one of her girlfriends. She had declined, explaining, “You’re an acquired taste. I really don’t have a clue who you might appeal to…” As she drove off in the U-Haul the next day, he mused on those words. It was one of those days that he felt like a man, huddled in a wool coat, watching trains come and go -- on a windswept platform. One after another. So too were women in his life. They came. They paused. They left his station.
After her truck had disappeared around a snow drift he went inside and made a cup of coffee. He pulled out a yellow legal pad and a stolen ballpoint pen that had the word “Chase” on it. He chuckled. He was neither being chased nor chasing right now. Simply in a valley, between events, wondering which mountain to climb – or whether to just stay in this quiet valley.
He listed a number of women he knew, one per page, and then made two columns on each sheet. At the head of the left-most column he put a smiley face. At the head of the right column he put a similar face but this one bearing a frown. After he did that, he stopped. He simply lacked enough data to go further and to make any evaluations of his prospects. He put the pen down.
The phone rang. It was Alice, one of his ex’s friends. “She dumped you, huh?” He replied, “How did you find out?” “Oh, she told me yesterday.” He didn't like the tone of the last remark, but he let it past, simply remarking, “I see.” He then added, “Why are you calling?”
“I thought you might want some company,” she said, quite gaily. The last thing he wanted was to listen to Alice’s inane chatter today.
“Uh, can we take a rain check on that?,” he said. He heard her sigh over the phone. He wasn't giving her the response she’d hope for – obviously.
“Oh”, she said. “Yeah, sure…. I guess you have things on your mind, huh?”
“Yep. And things to do….”, he added, hoping that she would take the hint. She did. The phone call ended quickly.
He looked down at his yellow-pad. He realized he no longer needed any sheet for Alice. He tore hers out and was going to crumple it up, but paused. “Why waste paper?” he thought. He turned the yellow sheet over and put the words “Groceries to buy” at the top. He laid the paper aside.
He looked around the empty room. It was nice not having to ‘report in’ and account for his actions, misdeeds, thoughts, comings-and-goings, and so on. This was like a vacation! He decided to do his prospect lists later. He picked up a novel he’d tried unsuccessfully for weeks to read -- over his ex’s yammering. He had never been able to get into it due to her interruptions. As he opened the book he realized also that he could now play music without the distraction of the TV being turned on -- to Bloomberg. He chose Prokofiev’s Second Violin concerto. (“Maybe I’ll listen to Mahler’s Fifth tomorrow – when I have more time”, he said. The fish in his aquarium ignored him.) Then into his mind’s eye flashed an image of Inspector Morse, enjoying the Overture from Tannhäuser. He grinned. Wagner, he thought. Yes, definitely Wagner, too!
At that instant the phone rang – again.
It was another of his ex’s friends. One he didn't know that well. Mary (or was it Murray?). He had meant to ask his ex about that, but he hadn't gotten around to it. There was a lot he never got around to doing with his ex.
The woman on the phone simply said, “This is Murray. I’ve been waiting.” What a strange way to start a conversation!
“Uh, she’s not here. She’s gone.”
“I know”, the voice on the other end of the line said. “I know a lot.” She repeated herself: “I’ve been waiting.”
“What do you mean, Marie?”
“Murray – since you don’t seem to know my name.” Pause. “I’ve been waiting for the fucking moron you’ve been living with to move out, you ding-a-ling.” He was shocked. He barely knew this woman!
She continued. “I’ll be over in an hour and 30 minutes. Have a meal ready for me. I want to discuss your future with you. I have plans. Do you understand?”
He mumbled, “Uh, yes.” And the line went dead.
He wandered back to his yellow pad, in shock. He looked at the pad. He looked at the pen. As he put the pad back into the drawer, he gazed at the ballpoint again. Again he read the word “Chase”. Then he sat down, hit the start button on his CD player. The sounds of Prokofiev’s sonata filled the room as he d stared out the window. He was being chased.
With a start, he looked down at his watch. Time was passing! He walked into the kitchen. Objectives: start cooking a steak, open a bottle of wine, and roast some veggies in the oven. He didn't have much time.
He didn't want to disappoint her.
It seemed his vacation might not be as long as he’d imagined it might be.
Outside he heard the sound of a distant whistle echoing across the winter landscape. A train was coming through town. He wondered if trains still stopped at the platform…. Then he opened the refrigerator door to start work.
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