Carol Said It’s Okay To Call
A short story about friends.
“True friends stab you in the front.” Oscar Wilde
He was sleeping on the couch, she was in the bedroom. Snow was blowing hard against the window, running down in lazy lines. Around one in the morning, he got up to use the washroom. He heard her crying. The bedroom door was open. He didn’t ask what was wrong. He went back to the couch, laid down, and went to sleep.
Earlier, they’d gone to a movie. On the way home, they’d picked up Chinese food. They ate, her picking onion out of the fried rice, him drinking the Scotch he’d brought. Clearing the table later, she’d looked out the kitchen window. “It’s really coming down,” she’d said. “Why don’t you stay?”
She made up the couch, got him a glass of water, then went in the washroom and brushed her teeth. The bottle of Scotch still sat on the counter. She hadn’t had any. She told him he should take it with him when he left.
They’d been hippies years before. There was even an article he’d saved showing them sitting on the grass.
His name was Tom, hers was Carol. They’d been hippies years before. There was even an article he’d saved showing them sitting on the grass, looking at the news photographer, or just staring off into space. It said “Hippies take over Memorial Park.” They’d lost touch, or course—him and Carol. He’d gone on to university, moved to the city, she’d stayed in the same town.
One night, Tom was back visiting friends at a local bar. Who should come through the door but Carol. She’d changed, but not so much. Her hair was still a mass of brown ringlets and the eyes were still blue. He’d said, “Hey, Carol, long time.” They sat with the others. Everybody remembered that day in the park. Tom said he’d make photocopies of the article if they were interested. They gave him their addresses and phone numbers.
When he got home, he found the old clipping. There was Carol, sitting cross-legged on the grass, old frayed bellbottoms, poncho, same eyes, same mouth.
A few nights later, he called her number. “Carol, it’s Tom,” he said, and asked if they could get together. “Okay,” she said. He asked what he should bring. “Anything you want,” she’d said.
So he brought a bottle of Scotch. He figured they’d sit around and talk about old times. When he rang her buzzer, she came downstairs in tight overalls tucked into black high-heeled boots and a fur-lined coat.
“I thought we’d grab a movie,” she’d said.
“What movie?” he asked.
“We’ll find something,” she said.
At the hospital, they made her wait nearly two hours. The dishcloth around her hand was soaked in blood. She felt dizzy and she wanted to throw up.
After the movie, they stopped for Chinese take-out, eating it in Carol’s living room. What had they talked about, anyway? She told him she’d cut her hand washing glasses one time. At the hospital, they made her wait nearly two hours. The dishcloth around her hand was soaked in blood. She felt dizzy and wanted to throw up. They finally came, took her into a small cubicle and stitched her hand. She fainted in the corridor afterwards.
“Six stitches,” she said, pointing to her forehead.
What else? She was an insurance adjuster. It came after a series of false starts in different jobs. None she cared to talk about. “What about you?” she’d asked, taking off her socks, putting her feet up on the coffee table, spreading her toes.
He told her about his job in advertising. She turned on the television and asked which commercials he’d done. They tried a few stations, nothing of his came up. She looked at her watch, stood up, went to the kitchen. He brought his glass to the sink. She was looking out the window at the snow coming down, the wind making the snow swirl around the street lights.
“Why don’t you stay over?” she said.
“Okay,” he said.
That’s how he ended up sleeping on her couch.
She told him about her friend living across the hall. Her boyfriend never took her out anywhere.
The next morning, she’d made coffee. He suggested they get together again, but nothing was said about when. When he called a week later, she kept bringing up something unrelated. She told him about her neighbour, this woman named Kelly across the hall. She said Kelly’s boyfriend never took her out anywhere.
“Sounds like a jerk,” Tom said.
“He is,” Carol said. “She’s pretty fat, though.”
There was a muffled sound on the phone. “What an awful thing to say,” she told him. “Kelly’s been such a good friend. Now I feel terrible. Forget I mentioned it. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“Consider it forgotten,” he said. “Anyway, Carol, what about us getting together again? I thought we had a good time. You interested?”
There was a pause. He heard a click like a lighter. She inhaled and exhaled.
“Not for a while,” she said. “We can talk when I’m better.”
“Why, what’s wrong?” he asked.
“Nothing I want to discuss yet. I’m going into the hospital next week. You can come visit if you want. I’ll be at the General.”
“Can I bring you anything? Something to read?”
“I don’t read if I can help it. Just bring yourself.”
“Kelly broke off with that guy,” she said. “She’s losing weight, too.”
So he’d gone to the hospital, they’d sat in the cafeteria, he asked her again what was wrong. She started talking about Kelly across the hall.
“She broke off with that guy,” she said. “She’s losing weight, too.”
“Good for her,” he said.
They sat for a minute without saying anything. Then they’d gone back upstairs. Visiting hours were ending. The other three patients in Carol’s room were saying goodbye to husbands and family. Carol got slowly back into bed. She winced and then took a drink of water.
“You okay?” he asked.
“I will be, hopefully,” she said. “The nurse is bringing pills once everyone’s gone. I guess they’re worried families will walk off with codeine or something. Thanks for coming by. I should be home tomorrow.
He rang her up the following night.
“Hey,” he said, “how are you feeling?”
“Sore,” she said.
“Anything you need?”
“I’m fine. Kelly did some shopping for me. She’s met someone.”
“That was fast.”
“She’s looking a lot better.”
There was a click of a lighter again. Carol inhaled and exhaled.
“I guess you want to know what happened,” she said. “The hospital and all.”
“If you want to tell me,” he said.
“I guess I ignored it for too long, figuring — I don’t know — it might go away. They had to do an operation.”
“I had an abortion,” she said. “I guess I ignored it for too long, figuring — I don’t know — it might go away. They had to do an operation.”
“You okay now?”
“Not really. The jerk who knocked me up — one of our so-called friends — he wouldn’t even come with me.”
“One of our friends?”
“Yeah,” she said. “He was sitting with us that night. Sam Holler. That’s who I was meeting up with. We were supposed to talk, but you kept going on about that newspaper article. Believe me, he was happy to change the subject.”
“I’m sure he was.”
“Anyway,” she said, “I’d rather it didn’t come up if you’re getting together with them again. I’m not proud of myself.”
“How long were you and Sam dating?”
“We weren’t,” she said. “Why do you think Kelly and I get along so well? Friday nights, sitting together, crying the blues. That sound like dating to you?”
“Why did you agree to go out with me?”
“Besides, who did I have outside of Kelly? Half the time, she doesn’t even hear anything. She’s off in her own little world.”
“I don’t know. Who did I have besides Kelly? She’s great—believe me, but sometimes, it’s like she’s only half listening. She’s off in her own little world. Better than Sam, I guess. That’s not saying much.”
“Have you talked to him since?”
“And say what, exactly? Sorry you missed it? All cleaned up? I got the article you sent, by the way. I was trying to remember what I did with that poncho. And you with those stupid striped pants,” she said. “God, they were horrible. I’m being an asshole now, aren’t I? Just tell me to shut up.”
“Okay, shut up,” Tom said.
She suddenly laughed. They both did. They laughed until the doorbell rang in the background. “Just a sec,” she said, “it’s probably Kelly.”
Tom heard a door opening, Carol’s voice, then someone else’s. A minute later, Carol was back, picking up the receiver.
“I’ve got Kelly on speaker,” she said. “She wants to say hello.”
“Hey, Tom,” he heard Kelly say. “I brought Carol a casserole.”
“I’d better go start the oven,” Carol said. “Keep him company.”
“So, Tom,” Kelly said. “I hear you write commercials. Which ones?”
“I did something recently with dogs talking.”
“Cool”
“Yeah, they’re chefs. They make Purina Dog Chow.”
“Sounds cute.”
Carol was coming back in the room.
“What’re you two talking about?” she asked.
“Hey, Tom, I saw your picture in that article you sent Carol. You’re wearing stripped pants.”
“He did a commercial with talking dogs,” Kelly said. “Hey, Tom, I saw your picture in that article you sent Carol. You’re wearing stripped pants. I had a crocheted vest with a peace sign on the back. Did Carol tell you I’ve got a new boyfriend?”
“Here we go,” Carol said. “His name’s Stewart, Tom. Remember that.”
“Why does he have to remember that?” Kelly said.
“Because I’m sure it’s going to keep coming up.”
“Probably,” Kelly laughed. “I’d better get back.”
“So you can call Stewart?”
“I might,” Kelly laughed again. “Bye, Tom. Nice meeting you.”
Their voices moved away, a door slammed, then Carol was back.
“Sorry about that” she said. “Where were we?”
“I was telling you to shut up,” Tom said.
She laughed.
“Thanks,” she said. “I don’t deserve it, but thanks.”
She let out a little groan.
Tom scratched his chin. He listened to the oven door open and close.
“God, sitting down’s the worst,” she said, “This whole—you know—abortion thing, that’s why I’m not ready to see anybody.” A bell rang. “I’d better go put Kelly’s casserole in the oven.”
Tom listened to the oven door open and close. When Carol came back, she said, “Where were we?”
“You’re not up to seeing anybody.”
“Right, I’m not. I’ll call you—or you can call me. I guess, that’s what I meant. Either way. We’re just talking on the phone, right?”
“Sure.”
“And you won’t mention this to anybody?”
“No, I won’t say anything.”
“Okay,” she said. “I should go. I’m getting aches again. When I’m better — whenever that is—we can figure something out.”
“Sure,” he said. “Let’s talk later.”
Carol hung up, Tom hung up.
The next day, she called again, telling him he was mean, that she was just being friendly. Tom kept the message on his machine.
They didn’t speak again. Tom called once and got her machine. She didn’t respond. A few months later, he got a message on his machine from Kelly, of all people. She said things were over with her and Stewart. “Carol said it’s okay to call,” she went on. “She’s back with that Sam Holler. A bit of creep, right? Look, call me if you’re interested in hooking up. I’m around all night.”
The next day, she called again, telling him he was mean, that she was just being friendly. Tom kept the message on his machine. He didn't know what to make of it. Maybe Carol was just trying to make amends, putting two of her friends together. Or maybe she just wanted him to back off. She was with Sam now. He’d hurt her again, no doubt. At least Kelly had sense enough to leave her creep. Carol was going for round two.
