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  • Come on, Miranda. I know I'm not home right now, but what about you? You're just rubbing it in, just because I stormed out.

    That fight should never have happened. I still say you have no reason to suspect me. I don't know why I called you that name, but I'm sorry. Really sorry. Are you, for accusing me?

    Pick up the effing phone! I know you're there.

    Whatever. You told me what you suspect. You were wrong, but tonight there was a woman. A blonde, short, sort of cute. Twenty-five, maybe less. At the Citgo station, all teary and fidgety. Said her boyfriend beat her up again, had to get to her mom's house in Maryland.

    I offer her carfare. She hesitates, but takes a twenty, then yells oh shit he's here, yanks open my back door and dives in just as a car pulls up. Driver was tall, unshaven, black ponytail, beer belly, scowly.

    I freak and slam down the nozzle and zoom out of there. Ask her if I should go to the police. She whimpers he'll kill me if I do. So I decide to take her across the river to the bus station to go on to Maryland.

    On the bridge she stops sobbing, boosts herself into the front seat, grabs my collar, sticks a knife in my neck and says keep driving. Directs me to go around the back of an empty strip mall, tells me get out and lie face down, then stomps my phone. Leaves me writhing there minus my phone and car. I stagger up and start walking.

    Miranda! Pick up, goddammit! I don't deserve this.

    Oh, screw it. Nothing is working. This must be a sign.

    Listen up: I flagged down a cab and the driver is letting me use his phone. I was heading home but I just changed my mind. I'll go to a motel instead.

    Tomorrow I'll resign. Cash in my savings. Then I'm out of here. You can give my clothes to charity. They and I will have new lives somewhere else.

    Remember that I really loved you. I'll try too, but it won't be enough.

    Have a nice life, babe.

    @image: http://pointlessyeah.blogspot.com, attribution unknown

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