An Awkward Phone Call
My phone bleats out a few bars from ‘Sexual Healing’, and I check the display.
It’s a local call from the 407 area code so I answer it even though I don’t recognize the number. I take a chance on answering it, just in case it’s an emergency, like my dealer calling me to let me know he got his hands on some red, white and blue…the most patriotic of all marijuana strains.
“Hello?”
“Hey Essa, it’s Nelson?”
“Who?” I’m lost. The only Nelson I can think of is the one on The Simpsons. I doubt it’s him calling me, on account of him being a cartoon and all.
“Nelson Lastnameredacted? Kristen’s friend?”
Still lost, even though I do know a Kristen. “I think you have the wrong number.”
“But this is Essa, right?”
“Fine, you have the wrong Essa.” I am quickly tiring of this conversation and am preparing to hang up the phone.
The mysterious Nelson is starting to sound a little annoyed. “I’m pretty sure I have the right one. How many Essa’s are there?”
It’s a decent question so I give it some thought. “Um, there’s me and there’s an Essa University in England. Maybe you’re thinking of that one.” My finger hovers over the disconnect button.
“I doubt that’s the case, considering I never dated an Essa University.”
Damn this fucker is persistent. I start to think back, my mind going through many blurry faces. “Sorry Nelson, you’re not ringing a bell.”
A frustrated sigh, followed by an uncomfortable throat clearing. “You sure? We did sleep together.”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, that’ll narrow it down.” I run though many still blurry faces in my head, when suddenly a thought occurs to me. “Wait, you’re not calling to tell me you have Chlamydia or something, right?”
Nelson sputters, “What? No, I was calling you to ask if you want to go out on my boat this weekend.”
I screwed a dude with a boat? Nice. I give myself a mental high-five. “Depends, describe yourself.”
“You really don’t remember me?”
“What can I say, I’m incredibly promiscuous. Don’t act like you didn’t know, that’s probably half the reason you’re calling me.”
He says nothing, so I know I’m right.
“Still waiting on that description.”
“Um, yeah.” He clears his throat again and I realize I’m making him uncomfortable. I can’t say I care. I mean, apparently I slept with this dude and he never called me. Now he wants to pop back out of the woodwork and he has the balls to be annoyed with me for not remembering him? “I’m 5’9”, brown hair, brown eyes. Thin.”
“You’ve just described ever dude I’ve ever dated.” I decide to go Law and Order style. “Any distinguishing characteristics.”
“What?”
“Moles, tattoos, birthmarks. Anything that I could use to pick you out in a line up?”
“Oh,” he pauses, “I have a tattoo. It’s an American flag.”
“Where?”
“On my lower back.”
“Fuck,” I blurt out, “tell me I didn’t know about that when I slept with you!” I mentally take back the high five I just gave to myself. ‘Dude with tramp stamp’ immediately cancels out ‘dude with boat’. Any girl knows that.
“No, but you did make fun of it for most of the next day.” He’s sounding annoyed again and I decide to shut it down.
“As well I should have.” I sigh, “Listen, chances are, if I’m having this much of a hard time remembering you, we didn’t click or you were terrible in bed. Either way, it’s been at least 6 months since I last had sex. That tells me that you waited a minimum of 6 months to call me. My guess would be much, much longer, because if I screwed a dude with a tattoo on his lower back six months ago, I would still be making fun of him today.”
“Wow,” Nelson sounds less annoyed and instead a little chagrined by my outburst. “Listen, I meant to call. I’ve been busy…”
The fact that he’s giving me some half-assed apology like I’m a pathetic clingy ex sets me off. “Yeah, I know what its like to be busy. I plan to be very busy for the foreseeable future, including this weekend.”
“Busy doing what?” He is annoyed again. Jesus, this guy is moody.
“Sinking a boat down at the marina.”
I hang up the phone, shaking my head and wondering what’s wrong with some guys. My phone rings again and I let it go to voicemail.
