You know how there are those phone numbers you never forget. Not because they're easy numbers to remember, but because of who they connect you to. I couldn't forget Greg's number. I knew he didn't want me to ring him, but I did. The first time I dialed I didn't leave a message because his voice was so stressed I wasn't sure it was him.

"I'm not in," the message played, "I'm not in," it repeated. It gave no instructions or explanations, which normally I wouldn't mind because I mean, jeez, don't we all now know what to do after the tone, beep, or whatever? But the irony was too grand to ignore. Greg wasn't in, but where he had gone I was determined to find out. I left a message on my second call.



"Greg, I need to talk to you. Please call me!" You'd think that would do the trick. I made it sound desperate, but my plea went unanswered. The next day I left another message. "How can you leave a friend hanging like that? Please call." Nothing.



I called information and got the address for Dr. Mince. I knew Greg was seeing him a lot so I called Dr. Mince and got his office hours. Since I work all week, I hoped he had Saturday hours.



And he did.



I waited, sitting on a stone wall outside the clinic. Hours passed as I watched various people pass by. When by late afternoon, I saw a figure. A man, Greg.



"Greg," I yelled. He looked over at me and stared without blinking. I stood there, awkwardly waiting. But he turned the other way. "Greg!" I called after him, following him towards the parking lot.



He had no intention of acknowledging my presence or existence as I caught up to him. "So, what do you think of those Dodgers?" I grabbed my crotch. I knew he thought it was silly, but he held tight to his cold refusal. "Greg, hello!? You mean you can't even bring yourself to say hello?"



He stopped, turned his body, then his head. "Hello," he said, vacuously, forcing himself to have no feelings, no heart, and no response.



He began to walk to his car and I trailed like a determined dog. "Hey, hey... what is this bullshit?!"



In the distance I heard someone call his name. Greg turned and so did I, seeing a man moving towards us-- who I figured to be the infamous Dr. Mince. "You all right Greg?"



I examined Greg carefully as he pondered before answering his question. He was nervous, like having to make a speech-- but maybe a speech you don't believe in.



"I'm fine."



Dr. Mince approached and stood before us both. I introduced myself, as did he, until he asked...



"Greg, do you have something to say to Fran?"



"Dr. Mince, everything is fine. Nothing to worry about. I can handle this."



"Perhaps," said Dr. Mince. "This would be a good time to do what we talked about."



This outta be good, I thought. "What's that Greg? Do you have something to say to me?"



Clearly, Greg was frustrated.



I pushed it. "C'mon, say what you discussed with the good doctor here."



"Screw you, Fran. That's it. You happy now? What right have you got to follow me around and...and screw with my head. Just let me do what I got to do and LEAVE ME ALONE."



I sighed for him, and took a long look. "No, I don't think so. I will not leave you alone. And you know why? Because this is all a bunch of bullshit. You were always a drama queen."



"Go to hell!" He jumped in his car and drove off.



I was left sneering at the good doctor who sneered back, without hesitation. This was going to be tough.