Chapter 48

I'd continued to keep my apartment long past my desire to remain there. My lease had been up at the end of February but I simply switched over to month-to-month, and renewed twice more. It was where I'd lived with Susan, and I had this vague idea that if she did decide to come looking for me I needed to make it as easy as I could for her.

By May, though, my landlord had enough of that; either I needed to sign a new lease or get my butt out so he could find a replacement tenant. And it was pretty apparent by then that she wasn't coming, wasn't looking. I'd always considered the place pretty much of a stop-gap while I established myself professionally, and I'd done that. So, without much heart for it, I went house-hunting and found myself much better digs, which I could now easily afford. Moving day would be the end of the month, which was fast approaching.

It was also time, as several of my friends-cum-coworkers had been pointing out to me lately, for me to "get back out there" socially. They'd been terribly sympathetic when I finally acknowledged that Susan had gone out of my life. I gave them no details, of course—what was I going to say?—but they realized that it hadn't been my decision. They were really sorry for me—for a while.

The "while" had long since been over with, though, and I was getting pushed to "put it behind me" and "get on with living." "Man, the thing to do when you fall off is just get right back on," I was told; "get your social life started again." Nobody seemed to remember that, pre-Susan, my "social life" had been pretty much a zero; that kind of goes with the status of certified nerd. Besides, when you've had your dream and lost it, it's tough to get all excited over the idea of settling for an empty substitute.

But my friends didn't want to listen to that, which they downplayed as "just whining." I'm not sure why friendship is deemed these days an excuse for intrusion into one's private feelings, but it seems to be so in the eyes of an awful lot of folks. They were all enthused about my move, kept telling me it was high time I got a "new start" and how this was a great opportunity to do that.

It struck me as more an opportunity to improve my living circumstances but not much else. And I had little real enthusiasm for it, truth be told. Still, nicer quarters would be pleasant, and these days I was into putting the best face that I could on things.

So I was pretty much packed up by the evening the phone rang. I checked the caller ID as I always did, but didn't recognize the number. Resigned to what was probably telemarketing, I picked up with my usual laconic "Costain." For a minute there was nothing, then just a dial tone. Wrong number. Just as well, I didn't a lot feel like having a cozy chat with anybody much.

I banged the phone back down and went back to what I'd been doing, which was mostly just looking around nostalgically. This was where Susan and I had first kissed. That was where I'd been standing when we'd come back from an evening at the theater and she'd first said "I love you" to me. There was, over here was, that chair was sitting just yonder when, on and on, every corner of the place seemed to be filled with memories of her.

Memories. It was all I had left.