Notes From Issac

It was a little before 6 in the morning when the phone rang. Mimi always kept her iphone on the bedside table so that she could use it as an alarm. She was terrible at getting up in the morning. She had planned to get up at 7, and she knew that this hour of sleep loss would affect her functioning for the day. Issac was calling. Why was Issac calling? She hadn’t spoken to him in over two years; they hadn’t parted on good terms. She felt her chest tighten. Two years of no contact, and she still felt the same pain she had felt the day they had parted. The anguish she had felt over the past two years was more distressing than any physical pain she had had to endure, and she had endured a lot. This pain was far more debilitating too. There had been periods in her life where she had been unable to walk or do much of anything from pain, and still, she took it in her stride. But when this anguish was triggered, there was nothing she could do but experience it. And what an awful experience it was. There would be short periods where she would believe herself finally free of this torment. She was over him! Still, then she would be reminded unexpectedly by a film, an actor possessing green eyes familiar to his, or a meme she would have liked to have shown him. Then the pain was overwhelming. She felt that pain watching the phone ring. She knew that she must compose herself before answering, the humiliation of him knowing her pathetic devotion was too much to bear. She had her pride, after all. But it wasn’t Issac who answered; it was a woman’s voice. She didn’t know that her stomach could sink any lower, but this confirmed the fact that it could.

“Hello, is this Mimi Guerra?” The woman made a poor attempt at rolling her r’s, she had a heavy American accent, but Mimi couldn’t place the region exactly. “Yes, speaking, may I ask what this is concerning?” She knew the woman might have a hard time understanding her accent. She had had problems with this when she visited California. It was a surprise to her. Actually, friends in the UK always joked that she had the voice of a BBC news broadcaster. But Americans don’t watch the BBC news. It was strange for her to think how exposed she had been to American English through cinema and television but how unfamiliar her accent was to them. America had felt uncanny to her; nothing there felt fully real. Even the tea was weird. Americans don’t know how to make tea. Issac did. She had been amazed at how deeply she could connect with someone who was from this place, for whom all of this felt perfectly normal. He had expressed that he felt the same way about the UK, although he had less of an idea as to what to expect in the first place. He had struggled a lot with the slang. She fondly remembered spending hours attempting to explain to him the meaning of the words “cheeky” and “naff”. He never did get it in the end. “Oh, you’re British, I was expecting..” Mimi cut her off. “A Spanish accent..?”. The conversation was already off to an awkward start. “I am not sure what I was expecting. Well, I saw your name..” The caller began “, Issac mentioned that you live in London, I didn’t realise …”. Mimi cut her off again, deadpan. “Yes, I was born here. I’m as British as they come. Private school, grouse season, endless cups of tea, the whole lot”. Her father had always been offended by the accusation that all Mexicans were desperate to go to the states. He held the fact he had never had the desire to go as a point of pride. He had been deeply disappointed in her choice in Issac as a partner but had found it difficult to resist warming to him in the end. Mimi could sense discomfort from the other side of the phone. “So again, what is this concerning ? Where is Issac?” The woman let out a prolonged sigh, then silence. When she finally began speaking, Mimi could hear that her voice was breaking. “Issac passed away a few days ago. I know that the two of you were close, I am calling to let you know. Issac and I had been seeing each other before he died and..” Mimi could hear muffled sobbing on the other end. “I’m sorry it was all so sudden…he was hit by a truck on the freeway. Don’t worry, it was quick enough that he didn’t suffer” Mimi was unsure how to react. She had always had a terrible tendency to feel her emotions delayed. Perhaps it was her upper-middle-class upbringing. Issac had always joked that he loved a good stiff upper lip, that it was his fetish. The only emotion she could muster was an intense feeling of awkwardness. She was surprised that this woman even knew who she was. From her last meeting with Issac, she had been under the impression that he wouldn’t think of her at all after their separation, let alone consider her important enough to discuss with a new girlfriend. “I am very sorry to hear that.” That was all she could bring herself to say. There was silence on the other end of the line. Time felt dilated, waiting for a reply. She could hear more muffled sobbing and continued only to feel deeply uncomfortable. She thought about hanging up. She didn’t really want to hear more about the gruesome departure of the only man she had ever loved, especially not from the woman he had replaced her with. Suddenly she felt an intense feeling of agitation and envy. Not what she had expected to feel. She thought about how this un-named woman was probably there with him in his last moments, how she had been the one to hold him. She had gotten a proper goodbye. Mimi had been denied that privilege, what she would have given to hold him again and to appreciate it. She thought of the last time they had spoken; she winced, wishing she had reminded him how much she had loved him then. Eventually, the replacement spoke. “I think he would want you to come for the funeral. I know that would be important for him. I can arrange a plane ticket and hotel for you with the money set aside for the funeral.” Mimi’s reply was curt. “Oh, I’m not sure about that. No need to go to the trouble or expense.” She felt the pain and anger creeping back. Her chest had that same feeling it always did when she thought of him, the anvil on her chest, crushing it to powder. She worked hard to suppress tears. She remembered how cold he had been the day he told her he was cutting off contact with her, how he wouldn’t wait for her, how she had only been a distraction to escape the stresses of his job. He had called her a bimbo, which was one of the nicer words he had to describe her. “He left you some money, $20,000. It’s not much, I’m afraid. It seemed he had been putting money aside each year to contribute to this fund, but obviously, his plans got cut short. I mean, he didn’t leave a will, but his family and I thought that you should have it. It is what he would have wanted.” Mimi was silent, unsure of what to think. This fund, this $20,000, this was a sign that he had really cared about her after all, and she desperately wanted to believe. But what would the purpose of this fund be? This didn’t make sense to her, and she didn’t like to believe things that did not make clear sense to her. She had made that mistake with Issac. She trusted him, and he had betrayed her. She thought it more logical that this was some awful prank intended to humiliate her. Yes, that must be it! He and his new girlfriend had conspired it together. She could, therefore, not react and proceed with suspicion. “Right, and why would he have wanted to do something like that? What would be the purpose of this fund?” The reply sounded pained and sincere. “I don’t know.” Another painful silence. “Do you remember he used to be very into journalling? It helped him understand his thoughts and emotions.” Mimi did remember. He always made sure to buy the same black notebook, small enough to fit in the pocket of a man’s winter coat. She always thought this a strange requirement with him being from California, but they did live in London together at the time. She had wondered if he had kept this habit after he moved back. He would write in it every evening before bed, as his therapist suggested. He took his progress through anything with intense earnestness. This was one of the things Mimi had admired the most in him, despite the conflict it had caused during their cohabitation. She felt ashamed for holding on to the memory of his small habits and decided not to reply. “I found them while I was sorting through his things after the accident.” Her voice was breaking again, trying to push away a fit of crying. “I read them, well I started reading them. He was clearly very devoted to you … I know how much he wanted you to join him in California... It was painful for me to read; I couldn’t finish. I am sure you could find his purpose for the fund in his writings. I have kept them for you if you would like to read them?” This time it was Mimi dilating time with her silence. This was too cruel to be a prank. Did she really believe Issac would be so horrible? She was afraid to lean into the idea that he had missed her as intensely as she missed him. She felt suddenly elated; her love had been reciprocated. This, however, was short-lived emotion. Issac had died. She could never reconcile with him. A numbness came over her. She was back to her stiff upper lip self, a trait Issac had always admired in her, despite the conflict it had caused during their cohabitation. “Thank you for holding those for me. Perhaps you could let me know the details of the funeral, and I will make sure to be there, do not worry, I will sort the flight and accommodation myself. I’m afraid its 6 am here. I need to get ready for work.” Issac’s girlfriend was apologetic. “Of course, I am so sorry for waking you! I was unsure about the time difference. I will send over the details, but I insist on funding your travel. I will call later in the week to organise it. I look forward to meeting you..”. Mimi responded with a quick “You too, goodbye” and hung up before the call could be dragged out any longer. She sat up in her bed, the morning light squeezing through the blinds. She usually cherished mornings. The sunlight brought her a feeling of groundedness; today, she could not bring herself to feel anything. She focused her attention on a smudge on the wall opposite her. Her mind was blank. She knew she would be overcome with grief eventually. She was clinging on to her last moments of peace before facing it all again. She didn’t feel that she had been sitting for more than a few minutes when she was startled by the sudden sound of artificial birds signalling the start of her day. “Oh fuck, I have to go to work!”.