Tuesday, August 21st, 12:26 p.m.
Christ, what’s happening? Where is everybody? We have to move mountains just to see each other, and I hardly talk to Deanna anymore.
Are you still mad at me? You’ve been so snippy lately. I’ve reconsidered Schaumburg. At least we’d be close to the VooDoo Club. Mitch, talk to me. What’s wrong?
Thursday, September 6th, 4:41 p.m.
Now this is just silly! It almost seems like you’re avoiding me!
Yeah,
the
money
thing,
again. The
checks
I
wrote
for
my
bills
all
bounced! And
today,
I
get
our
Visa
bill. What
are
all
these
charges?
Hon, when did you go to the Palmer House? You said you always stay at Days Inn, to remind you of how life was before me.
Charges for Nordstrom’s, Victoria’s Secret, and the Diamond Gallery? I didn’t get any of that stuff. Are you planning a surprise? Well, here’s one for you: Visa and the bank are totally pissed! They’ve started calling me at work!
Your place. Tonight at six. Be there.
Friday, September 7th, 11:14 a.m.
Oh my God. I can hardly speak.
I went to your apartment yesterday, but you don’t know that, because you weren’t there! I rang your bell until my arm fell off, and then I rang them all. The guy in 3B answered, and said you “moved.” He said he saw you loading up a U-Haul truck the other day. This morning, I stopped by your office. The receptionist said you’ve taken some “personal time.” I died, Mitch, I fucking died. Did you want to kill me, because you did, you son of a ...
Friday, September 7th, 11:30 a.m.
Babe, what’s going on? Deanna won’t take my calls, and you’ve disappeared. I know she’s jealous, but what’s your excuse? I’m so worried, I almost called a private detective today.
Is it the bills? Like the Beatles said, we can work it out. Besides, you have to come back anyway. You know your mint-condition copy of Silver Surfer #15, where he fights the Human Torch? You left that here. Is it okay to leave it out of the plastic bag?
I bet you want to be alone, to think, maybe. I can understand that. But alone is bad, Mitch. I’ve been alone, and it’s scary. Everywhere you turn, there’s only you.
Tomorrow is our six-month anniversary, and I’m making dinner. London broil. You know I only cook on special occasions.
Don’t give up, because I haven’t. We’ve got a soul connection, remember? Come any time after six. We’ll get past this, Mitch. I know we will.
 |