So It Goes

March 8, 2004

My ex-girlfriend called about a week ago, but I didn't answer. Nor did I bother to call her back. When her number showed up on my cell phone’s caller ID, I just let it ring. But the day after Stephen died, I decided I should return her call. She'd been close to Stephen once upon a time, and even though the two of them had drifted apart in recent years, I knew she still had fond feelings toward him, so I wanted to make sure she'd heard the news. And I suppose I just wanted to talk to someone who knew Stephen and knew his place in my life.

This time, it was she who didn’t pick up. I left a message.

A few days later came the first truly spring-like day of the year, and I decided to walk down to what they call the Williamsburg Pier. There's not a pier there, only a small bit of shoreline next to the Domino Sugar refinery where the East River laps at a few large rocks. I was walking along the industrial stretch of road that leads to the water when my phone rang. It was my ex.

“Hi Jame, I just got your message. I don’t know why, but my phone never tells me when I have messages.”

“Yeah,” I said, “mine does that too sometimes.”

“Mine never tells me. I had to get a new phone, and I asked the saleswoman about it. Oh, and get this, I never get my bills either! I figured Bobby had been paying them, but he wasn't...”

Bobby is the fireman she cheated on me with. After I finally discovered the affair, she went to live with him. Their relationship lasted about a year. Now she lives with a new guy.

“So I owed the phone company a few hundred dollars. They were going to turn my phone off. I’m surprised they hadn’t. I didn't even know I owed them anything until I went to get a new phone. But this one never tells me when I have messages, and I just got yours now.”

It was a strange start to the conversation, and even though it had been a couple of days since Stephen had passed away, I couldn't be sure if she knew or not.

“So, did you hear about Stephen?”

She had. She was upset that I hadn’t told her sooner. We spent a few minutes talking about him, but like all our conversations, there was a lot of dead air. She chose to break one particularly long stretch of silence with a startling fact:

“I'm pregnant.”

I instantly stopped walking and struggled for an appropriate response. After about a minute, it was apparent I wasn't going to say anything, so she continued: “I'm going to keep it. I'm going to have a baby.”

After another minute or so, I mumbled, “Congratulations.” And a few moments later, added: “I guess.”

She started to sob and said she was sorry about everything. She was sorry for what she'd done to me and for how it all turned out.

“I wish that I'd had a baby with you,” she said.

I didn't respond. What was there to say?

She told me how far along she was and how she didn't feel as though she had a choice about it.

“At my age, I don't know if I'll ever get another chance. It's not anything I planned, but I'm starting to get excited about it. I'm sorry to blurt it out the way I did, but I didn't know how to tell you. I just wanted you to know. I'm just hoping you can be happy for me.”

It was a lot to ask.

But so it goes.

One life ends, and another begins.