The evening had started in a relaxing manner. Bubble bath and my favourite music. I was daydreaming, and I started wondering if I was falling in love, after four months of getting to know David.

It was raining hard outside, its noise prompting me to turn up the stereo. I was debating whether to call him so that we may arrange to spend a few hours together. We liked each others company, there was no getting away from that.

The phone rang. It was David. We decided that as soon as the rain let off, I would drive to his house, which was close to mine.

David lived on his own. It was a typical batchelor’s home. His guitar rested on the worn couch. Books spread on the top of the fireplace, on the dining table and even on the floor. The thin, worn, being coloured curtain swayed a little in the wind that came through one of the broken windows. David was not a person who would worry too much about fixing things in a hurry.

A video tape was running. An American thriller.

Presently he offered me some red wine. An open, half empty bottle stood in front of me on the coffee table. He went to the kitchen to fetch another glass.

The phone rang. From his tone of voice in conversing with the other end, my instinct told me that this was not the usual call from one of his friends.

His voice was low, and in my view he was trying to fake vagueness.

By the time the call was into 20 or so minutes, the thriller had finished, but David was still talking to whomever on the phone.

I started getting a bit restless. In our very good, let’s say, intimate friendship the rules were that we would in any way possible, try not to limit our freedom to meet up with other people. However, if there was more to it than just meeting other people, we had made it clear that we would tell each other about it. A simple question of respect – nothing more, nothing less.

Talk related to David promising the other person on the phone that he would try his best to visit her (I had decided that it was a female at this point) reached my ears. An unexpected feeling of jealousy suddenly hit my guts.

‘I cannot talk about it here and now…’, David told this person now.

I though, ‘What the f… does he mean by that?’

Wanting to try to act the ‘civilized’, understanding person that I had been in this relationship so far, I decided to grab my handbag and car keys and with a smile (even though false) I performed sign language that was intended to make him understand that if he needed privacy to finish his call, I could go home.

‘Can you just hold on a minute’, he said into the receiver.

‘There is no need for you to leave’, he said, a slightly worried expression on his face.

‘But I think that you may need to discuss things in private, so it may be better that I leave’, I replied, with a little of anger in my voice. Damn it…! Was I loosing my cool with him for the first time?

‘If I wanted you to leave I would have told you so’, he replied softly.

After another round of both of us more or less repeating the same sentences, I lay (or rather, half threw) my handbag and car keys on one of the armchairs and sat in the one next to it, grabbing a book at random from the top of the fireplace.

‘Only five more minutes’, he told me, before returning to his call.

At this point I was practically fuming inside. I was known to be a very patient sort of person, but when certain emotions trigger inside of me, there was no knowing of where, or how, a situation would end. Usually in a fight…

Luckily, the book that I had chosen revealed itself a rather interesting pastime, and even brought a few smiles and grins on my face during the next ten or so minutes. David, finally, and, literally, even though in a let’s say diplomatic manner (‘…this call must cost you a fortune…’), ended the call.

I did not know whether to feel a bit guilty about this. Perhaps, if I would not have been around, he would have wanted to talk for another hours. Well, I had offered to leave…so why should I feel guilty?

‘Are you ok?’ he asked a bit sheepishly, as he would do sometimes when he thought that I was pissed off about something or other.

‘Yes’.

‘It is something that has been going on for six years. Something that I have to sort out sooner or later.’

I thought, ‘Yeah, I am sure it is.’ But said, ‘Aahh, really?’

Then I remembered what he had told me a few weeks ago about one of his ex girl friends calling him from time to time. This must have been her, and, from what I had understood, he was trying to make plans to visit her. Shit…!

‘It is a long story, a very long story.’

‘Wanna talk about it?’

‘Not really. I don’t even want to think about it.’

His tone of voice did not convince me. I had always found him to be a rather truthful person, but this time, my instinct told me that he was being evasive, even, not being truthful to me about his thoughts and feelings on this issue.

‘Wanna watch another movie?’, he asked, already inserting another video cassette into the VCR. Obviously he wanted to change the subject.

‘Not really. I’ve watched too much TV lately.’

Another thriller started running. So much for accusing me at times that I was not listening properly to what he was saying to me. This was true on occasion, particularly when I had other things on my mind. It was his turn now, having other things on his mind. I was getting more pissed off by the second.

I thought, ‘What the hell am I upset about? We’d both decided that ours was a very good and intimate friendship, but both of us till had lots to do in our lives and would consequently get on with it accordingly, without one or the other making a fuss about it.’

Yes, his lack of truthfulness did hurt me. I felt that I could accept anything, as long as I was not being thought of as a ‘fool’, let’s say, by not having the opportunity to know and share what is on the other person’s mind.

We’d watched that particular movie before, therefore we started discussing about this and that in between. No further mention of the phone call issue.

Suddenly he started becoming very defensive. We had been discussing the various meanings of ‘convenience’. Problems, and the potential solving of problems, at times result in ‘useful gifts’ to us, that can be of convenience. He had been thinking of resuming his studies, and brought this issue up as an example.

‘Going back to studying is a problem for me, in many ways. But I know that it is the right thing to do, and that it will be convenient for me in the long run.’

We continued talking aobut the meanings of convenience, and I said, ‘Lying is also a convenience.’
Too late I realized that I was referring to my inner state of mind at that moment, and my thought about his untruthfulness, or one may call it, omissions in filling me in on certain issues…

Of course he picked that ‘hint’ up, but tried to keep cool. So did I. But hell, I knew that if something ‘crucial’ had to be said, tonight was the night.

Suddenly I was being blamed by him for something that had f… all to do with me. For certain mistakes that certain politicians had made years, and even centuries ago. His criticism extended to issues in my line of work, the humanitarian field, and other charitable institutions.

We had been through these discussions before. I’d told him that I’d realized long ago that I cannot change the world, but that in my own small world I felt that I was doing what I could, and helping people on an individual basis whenever possible to me.

This time round he seemed more angry and determined to hurt my feelings on this issue. This time round I was not willing to take it in a calm, diplomatic and light manner. That phone call no doubt had something to do with my determination.

‘Why should I feel responsible for mistaken decisions that have been taken by politicians years if not centuries ago?’, I snapped at him.

‘Because we are part of a nations and therefore we are automatically responsible.’, he snapped back.

‘Sorry, I was not born when certain decisions were taken, and I refuse to accept responsibility. As far as your criticism of humanitarian activities are concerned, I agree with you in part, but, again, in my own small world, I do help people, whenever I can, and will not accept responsibility for the mistakes made by others.’

‘But you are just as guilty as ‘they’ are…’.

‘I repeat, I do not accept responsibility for the mistakes of others. In the morning, when I look at myself in the mirror, I do not feel ashamed of myself.’, I interrupted him, and realized that my tone of voice had changed to aggression. This was something that he was not used to, as I had never used this tome of voice before when talking to him.

‘Just let me finish saying what I want to say…’, he insisted.

‘You hardly ever let me finish my sentences, in case you hadn’t noticed.’. At this point I was practically beyond control, and we continued arguing, with the result that we both started becoming more defensive and aggressive in our respective statements.

After a few minutes of this, I got up and took my handbag and car keys. He got up, too. I did not say another word. Neither did he. I walked slowly toward the front door. He followed me to the car, and, without another word, I drove off into the night.