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Subject: five am phone conversations

Author:
jessie

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Date Posted: 03:00:33 12/01/04 Wed

I stopped writing in my diaryland while I participated in an intense fiction writing class, but now that it is over (9 short stories later), I am compelled to begin journaling again. However, my diaryland had disappeared into thin air, as have those of my friends, which I used to read. In light of that situation, I will create a new journal soon, but until then, I will post the "journal entry" I just wrote here. (What can I say, I enjoy an audience...)

I am alone in my room, in the dark, laughing. It is almost 5:00am, and she is at the other end of the telephone line. She has work and I have class in the morning, but tomorrow's obligations could not be further from our minds. Through miles and miles of telephone wire, we are drinking in each other's presence, flirting, making fun. But we are also avoiding. I know she wants to know if I'm sleeping with anyone else. But rather than volunteer that information, I am waiting for her to ask me. I am waiting to see how much she will give. I know the ball is in my court.

I could easily asuage her fears by telling her that I want monogomy, that I want the flowers and the dinners at restaurants, that I want her--- but I choose to keep silent. I let her mind linger with the knowledge that I'm this woman from california, still largely unknown to her, who once lived in a pleasure community, who has been with 12 women in the past year, who told her, the first time we slept together, that she was my 5th woman that week. I know that I both excite and intimidate her. She does the same to me. But I mask my reactions better than she masks hers. I am less willing to surrender my power.

"I read a Midsummer Night's Dream" she says to me. "My favorite," I remark. "I know," she says. "That's why I read it." I smile, but she can't see my lips from her apartment 20 miles away. I quote a passage for her, Helena talking about the nature of love and attraction. "Do you know what that means?" I ask her. She pauses. "No, not really" she says. "Well, that's how I feel about you." I can sense her confusion. "But I don't know what that means," she says. "I know." I smile again.

I fake a yawn and tell her that it's getting late and I should go to bed. I hang up the phone. I picture her in her bedroom with a curious expression on her face, twirling her brunette curls and wondering who I am and what role I am going to play in her life. I don't know, I think, as though in response to her question. But I can't wait to find out.

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