Page 28 of Two Marlboros

I stopped at the mailbox. Inside was an advertisement for a laundromat, a pamphlet of which I read only the large print that said God would save us all, and finally a small card with random words written on it and the letters “WH” in the lower left corner. I stuffed everything into my pocket with the idea of throwing everything into the garbage and went back into the house.

I sat on the edge of my bed, my head resting in the palm of my hand and my mind unable to find peace. All evening my father’s words had been echoing in my head. That I was a failure, a fool, an immature boy. If he had seen me that night, he would have been nothing but right. Maybe he was right. Maybe I should have listened to him. Even Alan seemed to have figured me out.

I bet your serious relationships didn’t even last a year.

What a cheap shot. So true. Was it so obvious that I didn’t know how to hold on to someone?

Harvey had been my longest relationship, after him only flings. I was a normal guy, with normal interests, no inhibitions on a sexual level. I was the perfect lover, yet I wasn’t good enough for anyone, and Alan only took one night to realize thatI was a failure on every level. Just as my father had said. Was it that obvious?

I hid my head in my hands.

I could have at least said something on the car ride, tried to patch things up; but no. I had netted any chance of bringing him along for the party, because I certainly wouldn’t be able to find a replacement and Steve would be back buzzing around me.

The phone, which I had propped on the cabinet next to the bed, vibrated. Who could it be at that time of night? I went to the text section and displayed the sender: Ashton. The number was saved. Weird. Maybe I had saved it and didn’t remember. I let my fingers slide over the central button (had it always been this hard?) and the text appeared on my screen.

Hey, Alan - how’s it going?

I hope I haven’t made a

mess and I hope you’re having

a good evening!

I reread that once more and a chill ran down my spine.

I still had my finger on the middle key, and suddenly I understood why it felt so rough on contact. I peeked at the other keys and realized that they were not as worn as mine.

Simply because they were not mine.

Alan.

It was his cell phone!

We had the same brand, and I had certainly picked it up by accident when I had gotten out of the car.

Unlike mine, however, there was nothing on the back of the cover to personalize it a bit. There were no stickers, no micro-photos taken at photo booths - nothing at all. It was sad, just like him. Yet he had no less than one hundred and forty-two contacts in his telephone book, more than mine, even though they were all saved with first and last names. Such a formality.

The temptation to poke around in his phone was extinguished, however, when I found that message in front of me again. What was I to do with it? Did I have the right to use Alan’s phone, even if for a just cause? I thought about it for a while, but finally put it back on the nightstand. It was his business, and I had no right to meddle.

I looked at the time and it wasn’t even 10 o’clock. The date between Alan and me, if it could be called a date, had not even lasted an hour.

I pulled my pajamas out from under my pillow and from the drawer took a clean pair of underwear with the idea of taking a shower. It was early to go to sleep, but I felt like I had lived through enough of that day. I headed into the bathroom and took Alan’s cell phone with me as well, as if having it close by would assure me of its safety, but I set it down far enough away from the shower because something could happen to it and I certainly didn’t want to be the one to cause its death.

I slipped into the shower and turned on the water. It was lukewarm as it stroked first my chest and then my thighs, but it washed away all the inadequacy and shame I had felt that night.

The cell phone vibrated. I stuck my nose out of the shower curtain and cast a glance toward that tempting object, but told myself a couple of times that it was none of my business. I sighed and brooded a lot, so much so that I turned off the water, because bills weren’t going to pay themselves. I grabbed my bathrobe, stepped out of the shower, and cast a glance at the damn cell phone, which I had switched without realizing, like an idiot. I would have had to see Alan again to give it back to him, and what would I have looked like?

Like a fool, as always.

I sighed. For a moment, it seemed to me that it was my father’s voice speaking.

Fuck you, I replied with a raised middle finger. One point for me.

I dried my hands perfectly on my robe, after which I unlocked the phone. An alert appeared on the screen, and I couldn’t help but roll my eyes at that perpetual jinx that seemed not to want to leave me.

Full memory, it said.

Alan had no more room for new texts, but it could be something important, perhaps a work-related matter, like a breakthrough in the investigation or a reminder for the next day. What if the operator stopped delivering it after a certain time? But I couldn’t afford to delete texts as I liked, and I didn’t have any other idea on what to do.

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