The man stood in phonebooth at the back of the bar. His elbow was propped up against the wood wall and did his best to ignore all of the for-a-good-times and swastikas. She picked up on the first ring. She didn’t even wait for the hello to start unloading on him. He couldn’t ’t blame her. He'd yell at him too.
When she paused to take a breath, that’s when he jumped in. Or stumbled in. He was never the argumentative type. As a kid, even his bullies would say so.
“Well, now listen, I didn’t say that. I didn’t say that I would kill myself if I couldn’t do this, what I said was if I couldn’t do it, I would die. . . Well, yes, I think that's a major difference.”
Quiet as he was, the bar was dead enough for his voice to travel across the room. The more polite drunks pretended not to listen. Luckily, the impolite ones were already too far gone.
“Well, I think there is a pretty big difference between those two things. . . “No, you’re not listening. I never said that. I never said that. No, I’m not trying to guilt you—No, I’m not trying to do that either. I don’t even know what a gaslight is.
“Okay, but do you hear what you’re saying? How can I gaslight myself if I don’t even know what that is? Alright. Yeah. That’s a good point, but--
“Well, I’m sorry you don’t agree, but I can’t change that. No, I’m still not guilting you. I can’t change how you feel. I wish I could, because I’d make you less mad at me. . . “
He pulled the phone away from his face. You could practically see her leaning in to compensate on the other end.
“No, no, honey that was a joke. Okay, I know I say no a lot, but you’re wrong a lot—Okay. That was a joke. No, you’re right. That was, okay, that was a bit of gaslighting. I was being ironic, though. Irony. Look it up. I can’t help it if you don’t know what that is.
“I know you went to acting school. Yeah, I know. I know. Fred Astaire. Uta Hagen. Right, yeah. No, I agree. No, I’m saying yes. Yes. Fine. Yes, I agree. I agree completely.
“Okay, then. Okay, then. Great. I agree. Swell. What's that?
“Sure, I can pick up milk on the way home. Uh huh. Two-percent. Yeah, no, I got it. No, I said, yeah, I got it. Right. Okay then,. Love you. See you in a minute.”
He hung up and looked at the small puddle that had accumulated on the floor of the booth. It was still raining outside. He sighed. On the plus side, he hadn’t wasted his time getting dry. Can you imagine something as sad at that?