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The voicemail plays, just as I’ve managed around my way out of the main driveway, and head for my favorite less-traveled route home. It takes a little longer to get there, but it’s better than spending the same amount of time stuck in traffic.
“Hello, my love,” begins the message, “It’s Dennis. I’m calling to apologize for earlier. For the way I left things with you a few days ago. If you’re not totally and completely angry with me, I’d like to make it up to you. I’d like to visit with you at the end of the week for an extended amount of time. I’ll make sure to be there on time this time, Melissa, so don’t worry.”
I stop at a stoplight, gripping my phone a little more tightly, so it doesn’t fall out of my hand or fly through the windshield.
“Again, I’m sorry I was such a jackass. Work and everything got to me, but that’s no excuse. Be well, my love, and I hope to hear from you soon.” The message is ended with a kiss or two over the receiver — exaggerated, so I can hear and feel them as if he were right there.
I press the button to end the call and toss the phone on the passenger seat. Listening to that message, my heart feels strange. On the one hand it feels warm and happy to receive Dennis’s apology. Any apology from him, really, since he usually doesn’t apologize. But, on the other hand, I did have to apologize first. I did call him, leave him a message and apologize to him for being so far away. I did this on the last bit of my lunch break after getting my phone back. So I feel sour or used by him. That he can’t legitimately apologize or make amends to anything he broke himself; he always relies on me to do it first, even if I didn’t do anything wrong. Even if I’m not the person who should be apologizing, he always waits for me to do everything.
I sigh, thinking about this. I wonder if he would even be leaving a message for me right now if I hadn’t called him and left him my apology?
Bitterness rises in me, and I think better of actually answering that question in my head, or out loud. I already know the truth, though. He wouldn’t have left me a message. He would’ve just gone on with the rest of his week, and then expected me to plan for our next date.
It’s been like that a lot, lately. Way too much actually, for someone who says he’s in a relationship with me.
But for my health, as well as the safety of other people on the road, I let those thoughts go. As I pull up to my condo, my private little part of the parking lot/driveway, I turn my thoughts toward Tommy and the good deed I did for him today. The way I came to his rescue. How thankful he looked when he finally realized that someone was there to help him, not hurt him.
My heart swells with warmth and tenderness as I think about the way his eyes shifted from dark to light as he registered that it was me who came to help him and stand up for him. That I was the one to pull him out of that situation.
As I get out of my car and head up to my front door, I think, I wish I could’ve told him the good news. I wish I could’ve let him know how many of those little slugs I saw running out of the building, and taking all of their crap with them. I sigh and smile, imagining the look he might have on his face: the gratitude, the love, the relief all present there, all because of me. In my head, I imagine Tommy saying, “Thank you so much, Melissa. Thank you so much for taking those risks. For being so brave and strong for me. Without you, I might have been beaten up in there!”
I imagine his cute face flushing with heat. His eyes moistening with emotions, both good and not so good. Which only succeeds in making him appear more adorable and more in need of my care. “Without you,” I imagine him continuing, “without you, I’d still be in danger. I’d still be suffering, if you hadn’t been the big, bad woman, and dealt with it all like that!”
With these thoughts, I hate to admit it, but I’m feeling aroused, happy, strong, and giddy. With Dennis, I was never able to be the one coming to the rescue. I was never able to be the strong, confident one. That would’ve emasculated and embarrassed Dennis too much. He wanted to be the man in that way. He wanted to be the strong type, and me — he wanted me to come running to him, submitting to him — always.
