Earlier this week I was in the middle of writing a complicated story about some court battle and contract law when the red light on the black phone on my desk lit up and a phone number with a D.C. area code that I didn’t recognize appeared on the grey caller ID screen.

I was waiting to hear back from a dozen sources, talking heads and flak that I’d called, so I snatched the phone and grabbed the piece of yellow notebook paper on which I’d been tracking who I’d called and which story I called them about.

“Hi Esther,” says a man’s voice on the phone, which all of a sudden sounds all too familiar. “This is DW. How are you doing?”

It takes me a second to place the voice and then I remembered. He’s the guy who I broke things off with more than a year ago. Who begged me not to end things with him, who convinced me, in fact, to give him one more chance and then who never contacted me again.

A guy who wasn’t there for me in even the littlest of ways when we were dating, who’d lied to me about what was going on in his life (on some pretty big things), who left me crying in my pillow more times than I care to remember.

It’s easy to see how things didn’t end well.

Because I generally like to remain on friendly terms with my X’s, I’d left him on one of my social networking site friends lists. But since then, I’d forgotten about him. That was until I heard his voice again.

At first I was worried he’d be calling me to tell me something bad. But as the phone call progressed it seemed he was calling me for a social reason. I’d posted a request for help on the networking site. I wanted help with preparing a hot meal for a local family whose daughter had been strangled to death and he wanted to help cook a meal for them. Setting my pride aside for the sake of the family in need I accepted his offer.

He said some things during the phone call that threw me for a loop, some things about how great the relationship had been and other things that I don’t think I should repeat. I was aghast. Had we been in the same relationship? Didn’t he remember how quickly things spiraled downhill? Apparently not.

On a side note: He was one of a few guys I’ve dated who had been born and raised in D.C.  There aren’t to many D.C. locals.

Since then I’ve decided not to call him back. It’s not out of spite. No, it’s because I don’t think I could depend on him as a friend, if I couldn’t even depend on him as a boyfriend back in the day. I don’t think I could allow myself to even hope he’d actually show up to help in the meal preparations.

With my going dry (or at least attempting to) this month, and the recent mental strain I’ve been under with my grandma sick, among other things, I don’t think I can handle any more drama right about now.

So that’s where it stands. And I’m ok with that. Yet it was weird to have a man haunting from someone who I figured I’d never hear from again.

Have you had any blasts from the past lately?

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