What Is All This?

by Stephen Dixon

  I don’t like to dial. And never liked the sound of the rotary part going backwards after my finger went around. I also don’t like waiting, even for a half second, for the rotary part to rest after each digit’s been dialed before I can dial again, or the frustration, after so much dialing, if the line’s busy. Now it’s so easy. Just push push seven times for the city or ten for long distance, and I’m there or I’m not.

  You’ve sold me, despite the additional expense.

  It’s not much more. About as much per month as having an extension.

  You have one of those too?

  Three.

  Three? How big’s your apartment?

  Two rooms, and kitchen and bath, all of which have a phone.

  Why a phone in the bathroom? No particular sexual or scatological hangup, I hope.

  The bathroom’s separated from the rest of my place by a long hallway, so I have one there in case I get or want to make a call.

  Wall or standup?

  Both. It can be attached to a wall hook or set down on a flat surface. Again, push push, peep peep, and my phone call’s made.

  Those do seem like the appropriate sounds for a bathroom. How does the one in the kitchen go, chop chop, squirt squirt?

  Push push, peep peep. They’re all the same.

  Are all the colors the same?

  You’re not really interested.

  But I am. Who wouldn’t be? A man who has four phones in one apartment?

  But all the same number.

  I know. Three extensions and the original. Are you more attached to the original phone than the others because it was your first?

  I got them all at once. I had four in my last apartment also. I always felt I needed them. I don’t like running from one room to the other and have the caller wait for me for five or six rings.

  But it’s natural to wait for someone to answer.

  With me, people calling avoid that wait.

  What they don’t avoid is your calling.

  You’ve avoided calling.

  I said your calling. But it’s getting late.

  You’ve some place to go?

  Yes, and I have to get dressed. Look. Now that we’re speaking so congenially, would it be too much to ask you to understand that I’m short of time and you’re tying up the line and that I’m expecting a call?

  From that man?

  The one who occasionally craps on me, yes, him. You must feel content now.

  I was wondering why you didn’t leave your phone off the hook before. Most of the times I called, you probably thought was him.

  Right. All the time, right. In everything you say, right. Seriously, though, we’ve had our nice little chats. Now free me for the time being?

  You’re free forever.

  Thank you. I hope you mean it too.

  What can I say to convince you?

  Not what you say but what you do. Don’t call back?

  Got ya.

  Okay. You said it. Now remember. Bye.

  He calls back.

  I forgot to say goodbye.

  Goodbye, Biff.

  Goodbye.

  He calls back.

  You disappoint me, Biff. I thought you were being serious.

  I’m never serious. I should have warned you. And I’ve just pulled a great grand joke on you that maybe backfired a little. Because if you believed what I said about anything before…My getting upset. My acting silly and sullen or weird and especially that I was serious in this sequence of calls, then you don’t know me at all. You’ve been taken in, though I miscalculated how deeply you’d believe it. And now I want you to have a wonderful weekend with whomever you want to be with, and that’s all.

  Thanks. You too.

  Me too, what?

  A good weekend. Be happy and well. Long life and…goodbye.

  Goodbye.

  He calls back. The line’s busy.

  He has another beer and then calls back. The line’s busy.

  He calls three hours later. The line’s busy. He calls an hour after that.

  Yes?

  It’s Biff, Jane.

  He calls back.

  Now listen, you big dope. Will you stop annoying Jane?

  Who is this?

  Whoever I am, I’m not a big dope. Leave her alone or I’m putting the cops on you.

  Not yourself?

  Stop being a schmuck. Can I level with you? You’re tormenting the hell out of her. Who could stand someone phoning every minute. And look at the time. It’s past two. Grow up. You’re interested, she’s not, then don’t bother. Simple as that. I know what you’re feeling. Who hasn’t been through it, but that’s the way it goes.

  Isn’t that true? Whenever you really care for a woman, she doesn’t for you.

  Not always. This time it didn’t work out for you. So forget it.

  Do you care for her?

  I care, I care.

  You don’t crap on her?

  He says do I crap on you?—What man doesn’t crap on a woman and she on him in return or before the fact? What’s important is if in general the relationship works. That.

  Does it with you and Jane?

  What’s it to you? We get along. We like each other. So now leave her alone. Be a good guy.

  I love her.

  You hardly know her.

  She told you that?

  I know. Accept that I know. And if she wanted to see you, she would. She’s an exceptionally honest, straightforward person. If you love her as you say, that’s good, but it should also mean you wouldn’t want to hurt her as you’re doing. It isn’t nice. Be nice. Maybe this sounds overrighteous. And giving advice isn’t my line. But on something like this, you’ve got to take it like it comes.

  What is your line, crapping on girls?

  Oh, brother. Your wasting everyone’s time. Hers, yours, and what’s maybe not as important, mine.

  Sure, sure.

  Okay. I don’t know why I said that. Maybe thinking humility would get you to stop. Worst of all, you’re wasting my time. I’m sleepy, I worked hard today, and I don’t want to hear this damn phone ringing all night.

  Ah, the truth comes out.

  Truth, yes, shallowness, no. What can I possibly say to convince you? Jane must have said it all. She’d nodding her head. She’s making like she’s cutting her throat. Maybe my throat. Oh, the phone’s. She wants me to hang up. Who could blame her. And as entranced as I am with our talk here, what do you say we call it quits for the night? It’s very late.

  You’re starting to sound like Jane now.

  So, Jane and I are pretty close. But it does seem dumb to let everyone on the phone know you’re a misfit. Even dangerous. People get put away for less. But I don’t think you actually are. You’re just very distressed over being rejected.

  Deferred.

  Not deferred; rejected. She doesn’t want you no way. You’ve struck out. Zero. What more can she say—get lost?

  Let her say it.

  Listen: get lost. Take a walk. Scram. Vamoose. But leave her alone. For your own sake, you have to.

  Take care of your own problems.

  I said leave her alone, you dumb creep, is that clear? Now I tried to be nice before, but if I have to break your dumb neck to get you to stop, I will. I mean that.

  You convinced me.

  And I’m not saying this for selfish reasons. You’ve got to have some consideration for others and yourself too.

  No, you’re right.

  Peace, then, brother.

  Peace.

  He calls back.

  Do you mind, brother? We’re screwing.

  He calls back. The line’s busy. The line’s busy ten minutes later. He goes to bed, calls her.

  No one can be as crazy as you.

  Wait, Jane. I’m sleepy myself. Drunk, besides. No, that was said for affect. What I meant—

  Go to sleep, Biff.

  What I mean is now that I know you’re in no way interested—

  I can’
t pretend. I can’t say yes, you’re right. Everything would sound too absurd to say. I can’t even hang up on you again. That would also seem absurd. You have to just hang up on yourself and fall asleep and never call again, because there’s nothing else I can say or do for you.

  Jane? Jane? You still there? Don’t answer, then, but you’re still there, somewhere by the phone. Well, I love you, Jane. Beery and sleepy as I am, I hope you know that. I never told you that on or off the phone. I did your friend. I know it’s a little late to tell. Late o’clock and late for us and so on. But now you know. I’m also sorry for all my disturbances today, and to you too whatever that fellow’s name is. The man you’re with or I hope were. And whatever he said to me about me was right. And he didn’t seem to be crapping on you, as much as I know you don’t like the word. He seemed all right. He implied I should act more like a grown man, and of course he’s right. He told me I was tormenting you. I wish he wasn’t right on that, but how could I believe he’s wrong. I’m sorry, Jane. You listening? Well, listen, then—I’m very sorry. This whole day’s been awful. It started off horrible with something I didn’t even tell you. And then those calls. How do I ever get out of them or forget all this? I’ve never done anything like it. They just built up. If you had said yes for the weekend, they wouldn’t have happened. I would have come over, tonight, or last night, because it’s now morning, with the car. Driven us to where we would have gone. Who knows if from there we might not have gone on for years or for life, even, and I never would have done anything remotely like those calls. But it snowballed, as they say. Snowballs in summer. It can happen anywhere, anytime. Jane? Is the receiver on your bed? Are you on your bed? Alone, or both of you? Are both of you listening to me now? Well, I love you, Jane, I do. And you, whatever your name is, I don’t love you, but if you’re there—well, you were very kind. He was, Jane. Smart. Thoughtful. He blew up at me because I was asking for it. I’m sorry. I hope you’re both happy and well, if both of you are there. And have fun together, if he’s still there. Though I wish I was in your place. His place with you, Jane, if he’s there or not. But that’s all right. I mean that. Jane? I can’t talk like this. It sounds crazy, talking to myself. It does. But I have to say something. You knew I wouldn’t like it. You’re a real shrewdy. And I know this is my last call to you. Even if you hung up or said call me again, it would be my last call. Listen to me, Jane. I’ve only a few more things to say and then I’ll be gone. You probably thought there’s nothing left for me to say, but you’d be wrong if you thought that. There is. You see, I felt forced into making those calls. Maybe some spirit got hold of me inside, but it wasn’t really me. That’s nonsense, of course, spirits. I mean…please say you’re there and listening, Jane. Then just say you’re there or listening. I’ve never in my life talked to myself like this. It’s a new feeling and I don’t like it. New for me. I mean new in that I’ve never in my life called anyone so many times in a row. I think I already said that tonight, or something like it, but it’s true. And surely it wasn’t important what I had to say. Everything. We both know that. Nothing was. But I felt compelled. That’s it. That’s what I meant by my being forced to make these calls. Compelled, now and all the other times with you, but less so now. And I know it wasn’t in any way a joke. I realize it was the worst thing I could do to you. And it won’t ever happen again. I’m saying I’ll never be like this again, Jane. I can’t. I learned. I promise. It was so totally uncharacteristic of me. I mean it. Totally. Jane? You there? Well, speak.

  LEAVES.

  I’m sorry but I’m not going to leave. Even if you slipped another message under my door and this one begging me to go, I won’t leave. You could send a half-dozen messages if you want, two dozen if you like, and all typed on the finest stationery or written in the most elegant hand, but I still won’t leave. You could have anyone or any number of people you know or I’m supposed to know slip under my door any number of messages that you or they as a group dictated and someone else wrote, but these aren’t going to get me to leave. You or anyone else could phone me a hundred times in succession and all night long and all day tomorrow and the day and week and even the next week and month after that if you think it’ll do any good, but it won’t get me to leave. You could send a satchelful of telegrams of any kind including ship to shore and anniversary and get-well singing grams, but I still won’t leave. I’m telling you, I will not leave. I won’t even stick my head or foot past the door to give the impression I’m about to leave. I won’t even make a single move to open the door, even so much as to get closer than I already am to the door, for as I said before, why should I give you even the slightest hope I’m leaving or even thinking of leaving, as there isn’t anything I can see that’ll change my mind to get me to leave.

  Of course you could try coaxing me to leave by pleading through the door. You could say “Would you do me this very one favor and leave?” Or “Would you please, without any more fuss, get your things together and leave?” Or “Listen, I’ve been reasonable and fair up till now, haven’t I, so what do you say you leave?” Or “Haven’t we had enough of this trying to wheedle and coddle you, so will you please just leave? Then will you just plain leave? Then will you just leave then, spelled 1-e-a-v-e, and please?”

  But no matter how emotional and assertive you get through the door, I’m not going to leave. Even if you said in a much angrier voice “All right, that’s more than enough now, are you going to leave?” I wouldn’t leave. Or “Okay, do you hear what I say?—I want you to leave.” Or “Fun’s fun, but I’ve taken all I’m going to take from you, so leave. Now I’m more than asking you to leave. I’m more than even telling you to leave. I’m saying you have to leave. Once and for all now—you’ve got to leave. Now I don’t want to say this again—leave. This is the last time I’m telling you—leave. Did you hear me, I’m ordering you to leave. I said, I order you to leave. Now I want you to get out of there or I’ll really do something more than just order you to leave. Now get yourself straight the hell out of there, as you’re forcing me beyond the little self-control I’ve left to do something more than just order you to leave.”

  But nothing you say or how or where you say it will force me to leave. Even if you screamed those threats from the street up to my window, I wouldn’t leave. I wouldn’t leave even if you got several people to yell from the street and outside my door that the only right thing for me to do is leave. That I’m spiting nobody but myself if I don’t leave. That I’m not doing it by the book or following any of the traditional or unspoken rules. That whatever little game I’m playing is up. That I should know by now that no place is anybody’s for keeps. That when you have to leave you have to leave and that’s all there is to it. But no matter how many of you yell from the street or through my door that I’m driving the lot of you beyond whatever self-control you have left to do something more than just order me to leave, I still won’t leave.

  So go on and give the most rational arguments and doomful warnings imaginable, but you have to know by now they won’t make me leave. I’ve yakked about it through the door to you, yowled so loudly the whole block must have heard, sent my own telegrams and other dispatches and made calls why it’s impossible for me to leave. But you never seem to understand why I can’t leave. Or if you do understand, then you still can’t, or refuse to believe if you can, that nothing you or anyone else can say or do will ever get me to leave.

  Of course you could do more than just yell from the street and behind my door that I’m forcing you to do something more than just order me to leave. You could tap on my door and ask to be let in so you can try and reason with me why it’s in my own interest to leave. Or even rap on my door and demand I let you in so you can reason and then insist, or just insist without giving any reasons, that I leave. Or you could bang on my door with another person, both of you asking and then demanding, or just demanding I leave. Or bang on the door while trying to force it open, so you could get in even if I tell you I don’t want you in, o
r barge in without first asking if I’ll let you in, and then demand I leave. Or bang on the door while someone else is kicking the door and two other persons are trying to pick the lock or force the door open and several other people are shouting behind the door and from the street and the roofs and windows of the buildings across the street that I leave. But the door’s quite strong and secure with several bolts, latches and locks, so no amount of picking, kicking and shoving’s going to force it open.

  You could, of course, then pound on the walls of the two adjoining vacant apartments, while other people are banging and kicking my door and trying to force it open and shouting from all the other places I mentioned and throwing pebbles and bags of garbage at my window to get me to leave. Or you could climb up or down the building’s fire escape and yell from the landing outside my window that I leave. Or throw a rock through the window and shout through the broken pane while other people are shouting from the street and roofs and other windows and fire escapes and kicking and pounding on the adjoining walls and my ceiling and floor from the vacant apartments right above and below mine that I get straight the hell out of here. But listen to me. Even if you get all those people to do all that or they do it voluntarily and you also stick your hands past the broken panes and rattle the locked window gate while screaming bloody murder at me, I’m still not going to leave.

  Of course your eviction methods might get more vicious and tactical than that. You might try driving me out with smoke-or stink-bombs or even some kind of narcotizing or tear gas. But I’m still quite the limber fellow, I want you to know, and prepared myself with a thick pair of fireplace gloves, so anything you toss in goes right back out the window at you. Or you might be able to bust open the door by snapping the latches and locks with a crowbar and then push aside my dresser and upturned bed and storm in. Or maybe you’ll just saunter in after you push everything aside and say “Picnic’s over, my friend, so do you leave peacefully or do we have to come up with some other way?” And once you again see your sweet talk doesn’t work: “We’ve had it up to here with you, do you understand? Now get your ass out of here this second or I’ll pull you out with my bare hands. Or knock you down and tie you up and, with a little help, carry you to the street. Or just drag you out by your hair, not caring a damn for the lumps you’ll take from the bumps along the way and down the stairs.”