The anvil

New Order starts playing Blue Monday and the director signals for someone in the supporting cast to phone right in exactly as per the cue in the script. I consider letting the phone ring instead, wondering whether it would go on forever, but then decide against vegetating through suppertime like this, lying on the couch and contemplating infinity plastered in white at the ceiling. I get up mumbling something barely intelligible even to myself and hurry into the bedroom.
The cell phone lies on the carpeted floor, cornered near the wall on a small space left between the door frame of the threshold and the nightstand. Beyond the nightstand is the bed, and leaving the phone- which doubles as an alarm clock- there, helps to assure my waking up in the mornings to work.
I pick up the phone. Caller ID says it’s G****. I say Hi and goof around saying I love her in mock-Spanish for a second, then I tell her I miss her. She says Hi and that I’m a fool for letting her go like that, and that she misses me too. She says something about going bowling with this new fiancé of hers she wants me to meet, also that they’re handing out the wedding invitations and so on.

“Sure,” I tell her. “It’ll be great.”
Still every single time the phone rings in the evening I think it’s A**** and it just makes me feel…

Pretty bad.