Page 29 of Two Marlboros

I still had the cell phone in my hand and my fingers were almost trembling at the idea of what I was about to do. I opened the general menu and moved to ‘Texts’. Maybe there was something that could be deleted, like the operator’s credit information. I had to take that chance.

The phone held only thirty messages in its memory, and they were a roundup of text messages from someone named Oliver. Among the last ones received, one from “Mom” also appeared. To think that Alan had a family and interpersonal relationships was far from a foregone conclusion.

I slipped inside the bed, pillow behind my back, ready for my mission. I began with the least recent text. In opening it I hesitated for a moment wondering how I would feel if they did it to me, but that qualm vanished when I realized that no one would ever find out about me.

The first of Oliver’s twenty-eight text was from October 2000 and said:You are the best person I have ever met, love, and I am happy to have you by my side.

He was his ex, clearly, since Ashton was trying to find Alan a boyfriend. So, was it just a trivial disappointment in love that had made him thornier than a cactus?

Message number two:You’re so funny when you do your Larry King’s impression, but you already know that! I’m still laughing like a fool!

The Alan I had known could hardly be doing impressions and making anyone laugh, but apparently his love for Oliver had made him an idiot. I stocked up on another twenty-five sugary texts from his ex, until I breathed a sigh of relief when I opened the last one, which read:What do you want to ask me? Can’t you tell me by text? Whatever, I’ll wait for tonight:)

Yeah, what did you want to ask him? Given the other messages, I thought for a moment that he wanted to propose to Oliver. Who knows, maybe he had really proposed to him, and he said no. It would have explained a lot of things, in fact. That grumpy attitude, distant from the world... It could have been an idea.

I opened his mother’s text, from last December, which at least didn’t run the risk of giving me diabetes.

It’s going to be hard, honey, but you’ll make it. I’m sure Oliver is up there, watching over you and wishing you the best. I give you a big hug.

...Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck.

Shit. Oliver had died.

Like… eight months earlier?

(Fuck, fuck,FUCK!)

Onlyeight months before.

...I’m sure Oliver is up there...

I closed my eyes. What a fucking idiot I had been. Was it possible to disappear from this planet? Wasn’t it? And I had to give him that phone back at some point, too.

Fuck.

Had it been for illness? An accident? Died on the spot? A long agony?

Who knows what Alan had thought of me during our date, while, presumably, pining for Oliver. Maybe he was thinking about him again and wondering why he was wasting his time with me - and not because he was a asshole.Shit.

The cell phone I was holding must have been like a sacred object for him, and who knows how hurt he was, at that moment, at the thought that his only memory of Oliver was in the hands of a semi-stranger he didn’t even think much of. It was time to set it down on the bedside table with the utmost care, turn off the light and hide under the blankets, but fate must have had it in for me, because the phone began to vibrate. I sighed as I looked up, grabbed it, and peered at the screen to find my name on the screen.

Or rather, my number.

That is, Alan.

That call was just to make sure Oliver’s fetish was okay, and who was I to deny anyone such relief? I just had to appear calm and relaxed.

“Hello?” I said.

On the other end there was a sigh. “We switched phones.”

(Be calm and relaxed, calm and relaxed...)

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