choice, so I consented, while wondering if anyone had ever successfully refused. She surprised me by coming back on the line within twenty seconds.
“Mr. Kilmer?”
“Yes?”
“You can disregard the notice; that bill has been paid. Perhaps the notice and payment got crossed in the mail.”
“When did you receive it?”
She told me a date, which was just ten days previous, meaning it was since I had gotten home from Ardmore. “Are you sure about this?” I asked. “I have no record of sending it.”
“I’m quite certain, sir. Your account shows a zero balance.”
This was confusing; there was no way I had paid that bill in the last couple of weeks. “Can you send me a copy of the check?” I asked.
“I’m afraid I don’t have access to that. Perhaps the billing department can help you with that.”
“What about the bill that was paid? Can you send me a copy of that?”
“I can certainly do that, sir. But you can also access it online if you’d prefer. It would be faster.”
Accessing things online is not my strong point, though I have become better at it over time. She told me exactly what to do, and I dutifully wrote the directions down. It involved creating an online ID and password, not my favorite thing to do, but it seemed worth it to avoid having to wait for the copy of the bill in the mail.
Once I had navigated the Web site, I printed out a copy of the bill that they said I had paid. It listed 171 calls I had made the previous month. I recognized many of the numbers, but there were also a lot that were unfamiliar to me. This was not surprising, since I always made so many calls for work, researching stories, etc.
The positive to all this was that I now had something to do, which was check into the unfamiliar numbers. Craig wouldn’t have lied about my Pulitzer story comment, which meant I’d said it to him. And I would not have said it if I hadn’t believed it to be true. Hopefully these numbers could reconnect me to that story, or even to something having to do with Jen.
Since it was seven o’clock and businesses would be closed, I resolved to get going on the list of phone numbers the next day. Tonight I would watch televised basketball and attempt to use it as an escape from thinking about the train wreck that had become my life.
The phone rang and it was Willie, telling me that he and John were at Legends preparing to watch the game. It was a call that one of them had made pretty much every day since I’d been home, and I had declined every time.
“If I come down there, are all you guys going to do is drink beer, watch sports, leer at women, and act stupid?” I asked.
“That pretty much sums it up,” he said. “Except we’re also going to suck down some burgers and wings.”
“Okay. I’ll be there in a few minutes.” I’m not sure why I decided to go that time; maybe it was a glimmer of mental health.
“Really?” he asked, obviously surprised. “I was sure you’d say no, so I only got a table for two.”
“Good,” I said. “Then it can be just me and John.”
“I’ll get a bigger table.”
He did, and by the time I got down there it was covered with plates and beer bottles. The Knicks game had already started, so we didn’t do much talking until halftime, such was and is sports bar etiquette. It felt good to be there, doing what for me felt normal.
Conversations I’d had with John and Willie since I got back had been awkward; they obviously didn’t know whether or not to ask me about Jen, and didn’t know whether I had recovered from my obvious lunacy. So they basically limited our talks to sports, which actually wasn’t that different from “pre-Jen” days.
At the half, ESPN cut to a brief SportsCenter segment, and included in it was a piece about the upcoming Super Bowl. I had been so preoccupied with my chaotic life that I was completely out of touch, and wasn’t even aware that the game was between the Colts and the Packers. But, of course, I
“Mr. Kilmer?”
“Yes?”
“You can disregard the notice; that bill has been paid. Perhaps the notice and payment got crossed in the mail.”
“When did you receive it?”
She told me a date, which was just ten days previous, meaning it was since I had gotten home from Ardmore. “Are you sure about this?” I asked. “I have no record of sending it.”
“I’m quite certain, sir. Your account shows a zero balance.”
This was confusing; there was no way I had paid that bill in the last couple of weeks. “Can you send me a copy of the check?” I asked.
“I’m afraid I don’t have access to that. Perhaps the billing department can help you with that.”
“What about the bill that was paid? Can you send me a copy of that?”
“I can certainly do that, sir. But you can also access it online if you’d prefer. It would be faster.”
Accessing things online is not my strong point, though I have become better at it over time. She told me exactly what to do, and I dutifully wrote the directions down. It involved creating an online ID and password, not my favorite thing to do, but it seemed worth it to avoid having to wait for the copy of the bill in the mail.
Once I had navigated the Web site, I printed out a copy of the bill that they said I had paid. It listed 171 calls I had made the previous month. I recognized many of the numbers, but there were also a lot that were unfamiliar to me. This was not surprising, since I always made so many calls for work, researching stories, etc.
The positive to all this was that I now had something to do, which was check into the unfamiliar numbers. Craig wouldn’t have lied about my Pulitzer story comment, which meant I’d said it to him. And I would not have said it if I hadn’t believed it to be true. Hopefully these numbers could reconnect me to that story, or even to something having to do with Jen.
Since it was seven o’clock and businesses would be closed, I resolved to get going on the list of phone numbers the next day. Tonight I would watch televised basketball and attempt to use it as an escape from thinking about the train wreck that had become my life.
The phone rang and it was Willie, telling me that he and John were at Legends preparing to watch the game. It was a call that one of them had made pretty much every day since I’d been home, and I had declined every time.
“If I come down there, are all you guys going to do is drink beer, watch sports, leer at women, and act stupid?” I asked.
“That pretty much sums it up,” he said. “Except we’re also going to suck down some burgers and wings.”
“Okay. I’ll be there in a few minutes.” I’m not sure why I decided to go that time; maybe it was a glimmer of mental health.
“Really?” he asked, obviously surprised. “I was sure you’d say no, so I only got a table for two.”
“Good,” I said. “Then it can be just me and John.”
“I’ll get a bigger table.”
He did, and by the time I got down there it was covered with plates and beer bottles. The Knicks game had already started, so we didn’t do much talking until halftime, such was and is sports bar etiquette. It felt good to be there, doing what for me felt normal.
Conversations I’d had with John and Willie since I got back had been awkward; they obviously didn’t know whether or not to ask me about Jen, and didn’t know whether I had recovered from my obvious lunacy. So they basically limited our talks to sports, which actually wasn’t that different from “pre-Jen” days.
At the half, ESPN cut to a brief SportsCenter segment, and included in it was a piece about the upcoming Super Bowl. I had been so preoccupied with my chaotic life that I was completely out of touch, and wasn’t even aware that the game was between the Colts and the Packers. But, of course, I
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