No. That, I would never do. I would rather spend the rest of my life trying without success than succeed at anything else.
Chapter Two
I spent the following day doing my acting exercises. I was still quite depressed about my meeting with Aaron, but in the midst of this sadness, I experienced little sparks of joy whenever I happened to think about the subway incident and, more particularly, about Damon. Unfortunately, these thoughts interfered with my acting and spoiled my concentration. So I tried to push them from my mind, but to no avail; they were too pleasant.
I wondered if Damon would call to thank me, and if so, how he would thank me. I wished I knew more about him. Out of curiosity, I even looked in the phone book to see if he was listed. He was. I wanted to see him again. It was practically all I could think about. I felt so lacking in willpower that I almost regretted having saved the man. I finally decided to put an end to these thoughts by promising myself that if he were to call me and ask to see me, I would refuse. This decision put me in a grim mood, but at least I felt virtuous and dedicated to my craft.
My concentration improved, and I was able to work on my acting more productively. At least for a day or two. But the problem was that my virtue was unearned, and my sacrifice soon started to feel like a fraud. My mind began drifting again, because after all, Damon had not called yet, and I had not rejected him yet, which meant that the potential for happiness was still present, floating around in the air. I started doubting whether I’d have the strength to stick by my decision, were he to call. And why wasn’t he calling, anyway?
The situation finally came to a standstill one morning, when I was on the roof of my building, with my scene book, and realized I had reread the same simple line five times without grasping its meaning. I stood there, feeling powerless, not knowing what to do. Suddenly, the sky became very dark and rain started pouring. And the solution came to me.
I realized sadly that if I were to have any chance of regaining my concentration, I had to extinguish the sparks of joy completely. I had to speed up the rejection process. Since Damon had not called me yet, I had to call him. I would do it under the guise of a courtesy call, as if to find out how he was doing, which I was genuinely curious about anyway, naturally. After some small talk, if he asked to see me again, I would refuse, claiming that it was impossible, that I had no time, that I was swamped with work, and then the whole business would be over with, once and for all.
I felt strangely invigorated by this sad scenario. I was back in control. A flash of lightning suddenly lit the sky, which had become almost as dark as night. The rain was pouring over my scene book, and I quickly ducked indoors and ran down the stairs. When I entered my apartment it was dark, lit only by occasional lightning. I did not turn on the lights. I stripped down to my T-shirt and underwear, leaving my wet clothes strewn across the place. I sat on the floor with the phone between my knees. I felt that I was about to commit a very significant and symbolic act, not entirely unlike black magic that could very well turn my life around. I was, after all, going to perform a sacrifice. This instrument, this phone, resting between my knees was the key. It was the weapon with which I would sacrifice not life, but love.
The storm outside was undoubtedly adding importance and mystery to the occasion. I liked this atmosphere and desired to push it even further, to make the whole procedure even more formal and solemn, so I lit some candles and sat back down. The lightning lit up my phone and legs. This should be an hour of celebration, I told myself. Don’t be sad. Rejoice!
I dialed the number I got from the phone book, which I hoped was Damon’s number.
“Hello,” he answered, on the second ring.
“Hi,” I said. “Is this Damon?”
“Yes.”
“It’s Anna.” I paused for a second and added, “We met in the subway the other night.”
I think I heard a faint intake of breath. And then nothing.
“Hello?” I said.
“Yes,” he answered very softly, very seriously, with more surrender this time, and a hint of sadness.
“I’m sorry, you probably don’t remember—”
“Anna Graham, my savior. Please don’t think such a thing. Of course I remember.”
“Oh. Well, I’m just calling to find out if you recovered from the attack, and from the spray.”
“Yes. Thanks to you. I was going to call you. I was wondering if you’d be willing to have dinner with me sometime.”
“No, it’s really not necessary.”
“Why don’t we, for a moment, ignore the fact that that statement, other than being completely beside the point, is wrong. Having dinner with you would mean a lot to me. I would very much … enjoy it. That’s if you’re not too busy, of course.”
“Actually, I am very busy.”
He paused. “You don’t have any time?”
“I really don’t have much free time.”
He paused longer. “Can’t I persuade you?”
“I’m sorry, it’s just that I’m so busy.”
“Oh. How disappointing. I wish I could change your mind, but not at the risk of being a pest. Hopefully another time then.”
“What other time?”
“Whenever you want. Like in a month, or whenever you’re less busy.”
“Hmm. Well, I don’t know, because unfortunately I’ll be even more busy in a month.”
“Oh. Well then, in six months, or whatever. No big deal.”
“Okay. Though in six months I will be even more busy.”
“Ah. I see. Well, it doesn’t matter then, don’t worry about it. If you want, give me a call whenever it’s practical for you.”
“Okay. Though since I will be increasingly busy, from now on, then, logically speaking, the most practical time for me would be this evening. But I don’t know if that’s convenient for you.”
There was a long silence.
Finally, he answered, “Yes, it is.”
We settled on a time and place.
When we hung up, I sat motionless, staring at the phone for a while before getting up. I left my apartment and climbed the stairs back to the roof, oblivious to the possibility that someone might catch me in my T-shirt and panties.
I walked out into the rain and sat on the ground, cross-legged, unblinking. My hair and T-shirt were quickly drenched. I was cold, but I did not allow myself to shiver. I forced my muscles to relax and let the cold enter me, hoping it would numb my body as well as my anger.
Maybe I could hang off my balcony by my hair. Or I could dump garbage all over myself. Or perhaps I should step in front of moving vehicles. No. Dying was not the point. Punishment was.
There would be a steep price to pay for that little number I pulled. If I thought I was going to let myself get away with it, I was wrong. I didn’t know what the price was yet, but I sure would think of it. And it wouldn’t be merely to be sitting out in the rain.
Strangely, my anger infused me with strength, making me feel invulnerable, invincible, even against the elements. The thunder and lightning seemed like a breeze. I felt in complete control. All I had to do was think of a bad enough punishment, and everything would be fine. I set my mind to work immediately.
I could fast for three days. I could deprive myself of sleep for four days. I could stop talking for a week. I could whip myself, slap myself. I could not blink.
These weren’t great; I was just warming up.
I could streak naked around my block. I could be a prostitute for one night. I could sleep out on the streets for a few evenings or spend an afternoon begging on the subway. I could shoplift and get arrested.
I was not satisfied with any of these ideas. They were not quite on target and seemed slightly irrelevant to the crime.