When I was in high school, I had a girlfriend. Her name was Audrey. I loved her; and in my youthful naivete, I imagined spending my life with her. But our relationship had been going sour. We had been arguing over trivial things and were constantly making amends with one another. One night in February, after a brief argument, we had driven her back to her parent’s house in silence. When she exited the car, she didn’t say goodbye, and she slammed the car door. I drove home, pensive.

The following afternoon after school, I was sitting in my parent’s basement. What I was doing, I can’t remember. Perhaps I was idly clicking away on the Internet or passively playing a video game. But I remember hearing the basement door open. The stairs creaked as, to my surprise, Audrey made her way down to the basement. She was wearing blue jeans and a downy white sweater. We exchanged hello’s, then she reached into her back pocket and handed me a sealed envelope.

“What’s this?” I asked.
She said nothing.
Suddenly, I knew what was happening. I was being dumped. My hands, still holding the unopened letter, trembled.
“I just wanted to give you that,” she said finally.
“Aren’t you going to at least stay while I read it?” I said, my voice cracking.
“I can’t,” she said, “Danielle is waiting in her car outside.”

I stared dumbly at the letter in my hands for a few moments. I was on the verge of tears. I looked at Audrey imploringly. Then the phone rang. I didn’t move to answer it. The ringing stopped.

“Mike,” my mom called from upstairs, “telephone.”

I picked up the phone.

“Hello,” I managed to say.
“Hey, man, what’s up!?” It was my friend Dave.
“Hey, Dave.”
“So, what’s going on? What are you up to?”
I started crying. “I’m gonna have to call you back. It’s a bad time.”
“Oh, Ok. Well, give me a ring, buddy.”
“Ok.”

I hung up. Audrey said she had to go. Fine, I said. And, with that, she left. I don’t remember calling Dave back.

Great timing, Dave.

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