Coming up empty

The next day …

I was listening quietly, to a variety of Russian Pianists play Dvorák, a solid knock on my apartment door startles.

I look through the peephole ~ police ~ open, badges, ID, numbers, invited in.

We have some questions.

Of course they do. So do I, indicate that they should sit, offered tea, coffee, water, they decline. They do sit.

After I provide ID.

We are following up on a report and need to know where were you yesterday from Noon to 2PM?

I was having lunch with an acquaintance.

Their name?

(Pained), a Ms. Ferguson.

First name Priscilla?

Well I think, she is always called Pris.

How long have you known Miss Ferguson?

Not long, maybe 2 months, mostly via email.

When did you first meet?

Yesterday, at lunch.

Are you sure?

Well no, we discovered we knew many of the same people, attended the same venues — at the same time, but I doubt we’d been introduced. Nor do I have recollection of even having seen her before.

But you could have …

yes, I just don’t think I did or even noticed her.

But you agree you could have.

Yes,

Why did you meet with her?

It was a, well I thought of it as a blind date.

Why?

We’d never met, the emails we exchanged made it seem like we had things in common. It was just the next step in getting to know someone. Low key, low cost, and a neutral space.

How was the food?

What!

Not great, okay portions, well plated but too sweet and mine was overcooked.

And hers?

Better than mine — so she implied, yet still not that good. Really? You need a restaurant review?

We have leads to follow…what did you talk about?

We didn’t really talk. I think we took turns ~ though somehow the whole time didn’t really add up to a conversation. It was, in fact, depressing. I don’t think I had hopes of a romance — there had been clues/signs before that romance was less than likely.

So what was the point?

Making sure, trying to understand. But what was interesting about what Pris shared was that it had no weight. The conversation was about her, and her interests, with a kind of enthusiasm from the outside. The reason, as I tried to listen, was intellectual.

What do you mean, intellectual?

In her mind, not really in her heart.

She is intrigued, wants to be part of an art form ~ I was never given a clue as to what was the drive. Did she want to be good at it or great or even better? Some of the way she spoke about “masters” of the forms she (sort of) wanted to be part of, were more guru-types than …

So you didn’t approve.

Not my business or place. What does, what would ‘approve’ mean? I had nothing to offer, in fact my life and experience is just not relevant to hers or her journey.

What journey?

Many people feel the need for a direction. Spend their lives searching for answers, a way to be/live. They, generally, are looking outside themselves for that. There are so many people like that — at least when they are younger. Some find early on that they don’t know and so look to others or find a way to live and feel like there must be more and that they have missed out or been stolen from.

Yes that’s why we’re here.

Why?

Miss Ferguson has reported that she was robbed.

When, of what?

That is some of what we are trying to discover.

She said that I robbed her?

Not exactly

But . . .

Yes, what did you take?

Actually I took nothing, I’d say that was exactly why this was an awful date that was not a date. The whole affair left me feeling empty and depressed.

So you took revenge.

No, how, what do you mean, did something, oh she was robbed afterwards? We exchanged a half-hearted hug and parted ways around 2 PM.

Then?

Then I tried to do a few errands but was unable to succeed I just felt bad. I couldn’t focus. An old friend wasn’t in his place of business and the rest of the day was spent trying to make sure he was ok. After that I self-medicated.

Drugs?

Alcohol. I called a friend to come over to help share a bottle of wine.

So you drank.

Yeah but not the whole bottle.

Your friend came?

No, I just had some restraint — the day had been awful enough — to continue to feel bad through to today was stupid, so 2 glasses of wine and went to bed.

The name of this friend to corroborate that you contacted him?

John Franco (number and address) … what does Pris, Ms. Ferguson, claim I stole from her?

Emptiness . . .