By Jennifer Rutherford
Date: 9 August 1997

Dumpstruck

     You see, I didn't think that there was anything wrong.  Well, the last time 
I saw him hadn't gone all that well- he'd come over the day before I left, and 
we ran out of things to say, and there wasn't any food in the house and he'd 
shown up at lunchtime.  But he did have his arm around me when we were on the 
couch.  And he did hug me really hard when we said goodbye.  I held on to that 
stuff . . . although he barely kissed me when he left, this quick brushoff, like
he wasn't bothering to finish things.  I did tell him I'd miss him, but he kind 
of ignored it.  But it hadn't gone THAT badly, I thought . . .
     Well, I didn't hear from him the entire three weeks, but that wasn't a real
surprise.  It would have been nice . . . but it's not the kind of thing he
would do.  And I was excited when he was going to come back.  He hadn't said he
would call me, but I figured he would.  I mean, wouldn't you call the girl you 
liked when you got home?  Of course you would . . . Well, Brian apparently 
didn't.  I waited out the whole weekend . . . and nothing.  I swore to myself 
that I wouldn't call him, I always had to call him, I wasn't going to do it 
anymore.  So I waited one week.  Nothing.  I said to myself, I'm not going to
cave, I always have to cave, if he wants to hear from me, he'll call, 
right? . . . I still didn't hear from him.  I waited another week.
     And do you want to know what the worst part of it all was?  The silence.
Not the thinking of all the awful things- he's tired of me, he's dumping me, he
forgot who I was, vs. how we were meant for each other, how he was at work, he 
was busy or something.  Not the walking by his pictures on my dresser every day.
Not the endless going on to my parents and Tessa about how he was sick of me, 
and them constantly saying he probably had been busy just to shut me up.
     The worst thing was the silence.  Waiting for a phone to ring.  (Laughs)
Before Brian, I used to make fun of girls who did that.  How pathetic, I 
thought, get a life . . .  Total quiet.  No calls ever seemed to come into our
house anymore.  When they did, I'd jump up and wait with my heart pounding as I
watched my mother answer it- it was always my aunt, or a girl friend, or Dad
calling from work.  Then I'd wait in silence again.  I used to carry the 
cordless phone around with me when I went outside, but it never rang.  I 
strained my ears for rings so much I started hearing phantom rings in my 
head . . . almost drove me nuts.
     When I did go somewhere, I'd have all day to hope that there'd be a message
on the machine when I got home.  I entertained fantasied about him calling.  
Then I'd get home and hear silence- no message beeps- and see those damn little
dashes on the message counter . . . When I left the house alone I'd imagine that
he called while I was out.  Only when I'd come home my parents would only say, 
"How was your trip?", and I'd know there had been nothing, because if Brian had 
called, that would have been the first thing they'd have told me.
     After two weeks, I finally caved.  I called his house.  His brother 
answered and said that Brian wasn't there right now, could he take a 
message? . . . I waited all day, for silence.  I said to myself it's okay, he 
must have been gone all day today, I'll hear from him tomorrow, he always calls
people back.  Right?  If I don't hear from him then, it'll be because he wants
to dump me, and I'll know . . .
     The worst silence of all is when you're waiting for him to call back . . .
and there's nothing.
     Actually, what was funny was that the day before I called, I was reading 
this magazine and there was an article in it called "Dumpstruck."  And I 
thought, that'll be you in a couple of days, Hope . . . 
     I really hate my name.  I hate being hopeful when everything is crashing
down around me.