Darling

This is the last time I’ll look at the clock. I will not look at it again. It’s ten minutes past seven. He said he would telephone at five o’clock.

“I’ll call you at five, Darling.”

I think that’s where he said “darling”. I’m almost sure he said it there.
I know he called me “darling” twice, and the other time was when he said good-bye.

“Good-bye, Darling.”

He couldn't have minded my calling him up. I know you shouldn't keep telephoning them—I know they don’t like that. When you do that they know you are thinking about them and wanting them, and that makes them hate you. But I hadn't talked to him in three days. And all I did was to ask him how he was; it was just the way anybody might have called him up. He couldn't have minded that. He couldn't have thought I was bothering him.

“No, of course you’re not,” he said.

And he said he’d telephone me. He didn't have to say that. I didn't ask him to, truly I didn't. I’m sure I didn't.

I don’t think he would say he’d telephone me, and then just never do it. Please don’t let him do that, God. Please don’t.

“I’ll call you at five, Darling.”

“Good-bye, Darling.”

He was busy and he was in a hurry, and there were people around him, but he called me “darling” twice. That’s mine, that’s mine. I have that, even if I never see him again.

Oh, but that’s so little. That isn't enough. Nothing’s enough, if I never see him again.

Please let me see him again, God. Please, I want him so much. I want him so much.

I’ll be good, God. I will try to be better. I will, if You will let me see him again. If You will let him telephone me.

Oh, let him telephone me now.

(A short story by Dorothy Parker)

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