Nine Percent Chance

ROB  So, what, you haven’t definitely  decide to dump me?  There’s still a chance we’ll get back together?

LAURA  I don’t know.

ROB Well, if you don’t know, there’s a chance, right?  It’s like, if someone was in the hospital and he was seriously ill and the doctor said, I don’t know if he’s got a chance of  survival or not, then that doesn’t  mean the patient’s definitely going  to die, now does it?  It means he might live, even if it’s only a remote possibility.

LAURA I suppose so.

ROB So we have a chance of getting back together again.

LAURA Oh, Rob, shut up.

ROB Hey, I just want to know where I stand.  What chance —

  LAURA– I don’t fucking know what chance you fucking have!

 ROB Well if you could tell me roughly it would help.

 LAURA Okay, okay, we have a nine percent chance of getting back together.  Does that clarify the situation?

ROB Yeah. Great.

High Fidelity, 2000

Although I know the possibility of him wanting me back is slim, even less than Laura’s nine percent, I cannot help ruminating on it.  Usually, it happens in the morning, when I’m in the shower and putting on my makeup.  My whirring mind has made me late for work more than once these past few weeks.

Would I accept him back?  I don’t really know.  I loved him,  I truly did – and I miss him terribly.  But, can I really settle for someone who could treat me so indifferently as he did when he broke up with me?

I don’t know what he wants – and I probably never will.  I was so good to him, but he was willing to take being alone over being with me, so he must have thought it was bad, even though he never said a word and we never fought.

I need to move on.  I need to stop daydreaming about his return.  It’s over. It’s over. It’s over.


Days since I’ve contacted him: 12

Days since I’ve searched for him: 0

What I’m grateful for today:  Going for a walk this morning.


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