Don't Do It

All I heard was more crying.

"When you are ready to do those things I asked to save our marriage, let me know. Until then, goodbye."

I hung up. She called back. I let it go to voicemail. She called back again. I silenced her ringtone.

That Monday, I told Neal to file the petition with the court.

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"Holy shit. Did you ever see her again?"

"Yeah, at the final divorce hearing. She looked terrible. She'd lost weight. She'd obviously been crying, and had rings under her eyes. The judge tried to get me to agree to counseling."

"How did that go?"

"It didn't. I told the judge that the weekend before I had the petition drawn up, she'd come home with a tattoo reading "PROPERTY OF STEVE" on her (to be delicate) bikini line. Then I pointed out that I was not Steve. He granted the divorce."

"Ever hear from her again?"

"She tries to call me a couple of times a month. All she says is that she loves me and we need to talk. Every now and then I answer and ask if she's willing to break up with him and remove the tattoo, but she still 'can't' do that. The thing is, even with everything, I'd take her back in a heartbeat. It's sad, but I truly do love her, and I know that she truly loves me. But it's been two years. I'm thinking about changing my phone number. If she hasn't come around by now, I don't think she ever will."

"Damn. That's harsh. But I know my wife would never do that."

"I knew the same thing, but look where I am. And now you've heard my sad tale of woe. Just in time, too. I think they're done."

She was walking up holding hands with her dance partner. "Hey babe! This is Brian. I invited him back to our place for drinks if that's OK."

"Sure thing! Let's go!"

I caught his eye and raised my glass in a toast. "I hope it works out for you." The three of them walked out. I returned to my booth, hoping that he'd learn from my mistake.

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Epilogue, four months later

It was a Friday evening, indistinguishable from the last several dozen Friday evenings I've spent in this bar. I was sitting in a booth, by myself, nursing a rum and coke, when someone slid into the seat on the opposite side of the table.

I didn't recognize him at first. He looked like he hadn't shaved in a couple of days, and his eyes had that same hollow look that I see whenever I see myself in a mirror.

Then I remembered. "So. How'd it go?"

"I should have listened to you." Then he dropped his head into his hands and started silently weeping.

THE END