In The Eye of the Beholder | Jonathan Crane

July 2004

Everything dies, baby, that's a fact

But maybe everything that dies someday comes back

-Atlantic City (Bruce Springsteen)

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Eight at night was late to call a hospital when there was no emergency, I knew that. Eight at night was when most of the doctors went home. I knew that. But I called anyway.

I listened to the phone ring. Then a woman answered the phone.

"Hello?" she asked. She sounded exasperated. I didn't blame her. I'd be irritated if someone decided to call this late.

"Hello, my name is Amber Connery. I apologize for calling so late, but I need to know if Jonathan Crane is still there," I explained to the woman. I heard her sigh.

"I'll check for you," she said. I waited for her answer.

"Yes, he is. Would you like to speak to him?" she answered after a few moments.

"Yeah, please," I answered, surprised he was still there.

"Alright, I'll transfer you to him. Please wait a few moments."

I quietly waited for another few minutes. Then I heard his voice.

"Hello," he said.

"Hey, it's Amber," I said, albeit a bit awkwardly. I could hear his breathing on the other end of the line.

"What do you need, Amber? I am busy."

What could he be doing so late? I didn't think therapy sessions happened at this time of the night.

"I was wondering if we could talk. Not tonight, but maybe at a later time?" I asked.

"Why?" he asked.

"Do I need a reason to talk to a friend?"

"Is this about the interview you were unable to get?"

"No..."

Yes, it was.

"Really?" he asked. He obviously didn't believe me. He was always good at telling when I was lying.

"Alright, maybe it is. But I do want to talk to you. Please, Jonathan. I've missed you," I begged.

"Tomorrow. Noon. I can give you about forty minutes of my time. I'm sure you know of the coffee shop close to where you work. Don't be late," he said. My heart jumped.

"I'll be there, promise. Thanks, Jonathan. Goodnight," I said.

Then he hung up on me.

Rude.

But I had a meeting. If I was lucky, not only would I get a story. Maybe I could also reconnect with an old friend.

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I sat at a corner table inside the coffee shop. A cup of coffee sat on the table in front of me. I hadn't touched it yet. Every time the door opened, I would look toward it, waiting for Jonathan to walk through. But he didn't.

Granted, I had been twenty minutes early.

I finally took a sip of the coffee in front of me. Coffee being the technical term. What I was drinking was barely coffee anymore. Not when I filled it with too much cream and sugar.

I checked the clock on the wall. It read 11:52. Eight minutes. Eight minutes for me to gather my thoughts and figure out what I was going to say to Jonathan. Eight minutes for me to...