What did she mean by that?
I couldn’t think of anything else driving home. This was stupid. I could have an accident. If I died it would be no big deal, but what a pain in the ass it would be to go through physical therapy to recover from my injuries. Damn car coming straight at me with its high beams on. By the time I figured out where my high beams were to flash at it, the car was gone. That was my problem. My reflexes were just too slow. Physical and otherwise. By the time I thought of a smart comeback it was the next morning. Way too late by then.
At the next traffic light I turned left, and home was two blocks away. Turning left across the dark other lane. With my luck some drunk would come out of the darkness and ram my car. I had physical therapy once before. Those people were paid to ridicule patients into recovering faster. The insurance company did that. I was sure of it. No one patted me on the back for all the hard work I had put into the therapy. They just told me if I had taken two days longer the insurance company wouldn’t pay any more.
Good. I made it through the light without getting hit. The evening wasn’t a complete disaster. Just a few more minutes I’d be in my apartment. After I pulled into the driveway and got out of my car, I took my time walking up the stairs. Nothing was waiting for me that would make me feel better. Even the key didn’t cooperate. It must have taken me five minutes to get the door open. After taking my shoes off I went to the refrigerator, opened the door and stared at the stuff inside. It had become my favorite thing to do. Sometimes I stood there staring at the bottles and jars for an hour and never took anything out. So I undressed, fell into my bed, nestling my head into the pillow. Who was I kidding? I was too upset to go to sleep.
Why did I go to that party? I didn’t even like those people. It was easier to accept the invitation than to invent a good reason to say no.
“You people are a bunch of pompous asses.” That was what I really wanted to tell them.
But I still had to go into work and deal with pompous asses who got their feelings hurt. After I considered fixing myself a rum and coke, I shook my head. All that would do was give me a headache and upset my stomach. I could watch television but at this hour of night the only thing on were talk shows. Smirky people who thought they were funny when they commented on current events that weren’t funny in the first place.
The telephone rang. I decided to let the answering machine take it. Just as well. It was her.
“Hello? Hello? Are you home? Hello? Hello?”
Finally she gave up. I enjoyed the silence. I rolled back in bed and stared at the ceiling.
Just what did she mean by that?
“Do you know what you are?” I remembered she paused to sip from her wine glass. “You are an illusion.”
An illusion? What was she alluding to? It’s time to look for another job, I decided. Suddenly a burden was lifted from my shoulders. I felt better already. Yes, that was what I needed to do. The phone rang again.
“Hello? Hello? Are you home yet? Hello? Hello?”