A sensitive young man falls in love with a suicidal art student.
Excerpt from the Diary of Matt Murphy
July 17 4 a.m.
Three weeks in this apartment, and it still feels like I’m living in a hotel. And a cheap one at that. To think, I was so thrilled at the prospect of living alone. And when it finally happened I learned for the first time what alone really means.
I got tired of studying solitude, so I spent last weekend back on Long Island at my dad’s. It’s weird--I have a bed in two different places, and neither of them feels like home.
I never trusted the idea of home anyway. Some people may have a real concept of that, really feel they belong somewhere. But you either feel it or you don’t, and if you don’t you can’t ever fake it. You just learn to live without it.
So I was lying awake last night, and I started thinking. I was thinking about how you’re never aware of the actual moment when you drift into unconsciousness. You’re awake, then suddenly you’re not. I started wondering if it’s like that when you die. Are you aware of the moment as it happens? That was too much to deal with so I got out of bed and never went back. And here I am. What the hell, my life doesn’t require a clear head anyway.
Took my sketch pad on the train last night. Wasn’t feeling inspired but I started sketching this woman. She caught me and went into another car. I threw the sketch away.
No e-mails from Laura today. No difference from the last 6 months. Guess she still needs "time for herself." Whatever. I don’t care anymore.
I’m hitting the bar with A.J. and Stacey tonight. I hope to god they did something about the jukebox. It was a struggle to find 12 good songs last week. Had to play "Paradise by the Dashboard Light" twice.
"Ok, that makes three rejections in the span of an hour," muttered A.J. Forster as the girl in the red skirt walked out of Nice Guy Eddie’s Tavern and out of his life.
"I think you’re out," said Matt.
"Yeah, that’s definitely all for tonight," said A.J. "One more brush-off could make me cry, sensitive guy that I am."
"Yeah, right," said Matt.
A.J. nodded towards the door. "Here comes our buffer."
Matt turned and grinned, but the girl at the door wore an intense frown.
"Buffer? That’s what I am to you guys, a buffer?" Stacey Marino walked up to where Matt and A.J. were sitting at the bar and squeezed between them.
"Hey, it shows how much we value and trust you," grinned A.J.
"It shows how much you guys need to grow up," said Stacey. "25 years old and you still need a go-between to meet women."
Matt slid off his seat and put a twenty-dollar bill on the bar in front of A.J. "Order another round. I’m gonna make a call."
A.J glared at him."What, now? To whom? Stacey and I are here, all the women are here. Who are you calling, your stock broker?
Matt walked past him. "Don’t worry about it," he said without looking back. He went up to the pay phone, dropped a quarter in and punched the keypad.
Stacey watched him for a moment, then turned to A.J. "Why do you care if he wants to make a call? He’s allowed to be friends with people besides us."
A.J. shook his head. "If I’m right, that’s no friend that he’s calling."
Stacey looked back at Matt, who was holding the phone to his ear. He was clearly listening to something, but did not speak. Then he hung up the phone, and stood there for a moment, staring at the beer-stained floor. Finally he shook his head and walked back to them.
Stacey pushed Matt’s bottle of Amstel Light in front of him.
"Who were you calling?" she asked.
"Nobody," he replied before taking a long drink of his beer.
"Who were you calling, Matt?" echoed A.J., his face suspicious.
"You know," whispered Matt.
A.J. rolled his eyes. "Here we go again," he groaned.
"I’m confused," said Stacey.
Matt turned to her, his eyes suggesting both sadness and embarrassment. He shrugged.
"Sometimes when it’s late," he said softly, "I call Laura’s work number. Cause I know I’ll get her voicemail message. I like to listen to it. "
"Can you believe this guy?" said A.J. "10 months, 7 days, 12 hours and 15 minutes since he broke up with the woman, and he’s sobbing at her answering machine message."
"Leave me alone," said Matt, staring into his beer.
Stacey looked at A.J. quizzically. "How do you know exactly how long it’s been?"
"Because it was 10 months, 7 days, 12 hours and 5 minutes the last time he brought it up."
"I’m sorry you’re still hurting, Matt," she said, patting him on the back.
"Oh, don’t indulge him," snorted A.J.
"No one’s ever been in love with you," said Matt. His tone was unusually harsh. "You couldn’t possibly understand."
"What about that tollbooth operator on the way to Six Flags last month?" asked A.J. "Remember how she smiled at me?"
"You gave her a 20 dollar bill for a buck fifty toll and told her to keep the change," said Stacey. "That wasn’t an ‘I love you’ smile, that was a ‘you’re an idiot’ smile."
A.J. shrugged. "I maintain that there was something there between us."
"Nothing but exhaust fumes."
Suddenly Matt was up from his seat and moving past them. "I’m going for a walk." He barged to the door of the bar and pushed through it.
A.J. shrugged. "Something I said?"
"Everything you said, I think," replied Stacey, staring at Matt’s discarded drink. She hated to see him suffering. She thought about going after him, but confessed to herself that she had no idea what to say or do to help.
Matt hurried down the street, trying to outrun the pain of the reopened wound. Failing, he stopped in front of a mailbox, which he kicked at in frustration. It never made him feel better when he heard Laura’s voice on that machine, but nevertheless it was his habit to call every so often. The message had been recorded when they were still together, and he could be assured that the person speaking was someone who passionately, unconditionally loved him. The Laura he had last spoken to clearly did not feel this way.
At the time, he didn’t understand how that could be.
Nor did he understand it now. He couldn’t reconcile that this woman, who once gazed upon him with eyes so devoted, so loving it had made him want to cry for joy, no longer found it necessary to know him at all.
Though the realization was an old one, it continued to cause him unfathomable grief. He was about to let the despair overtake him when he heard a strange sound behind him.
It sounded very much like whimpering. A dog? No, it was a person. He whirled around and noticed, for the first time, a young woman crying in a darkened stairwell.
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