The Peggy Yacyniak Story

                The phone jangled me awake the next morning at 11.             Even as I opened my eyes, I knew it had to be her.             But it wasn’t. It was Pauly, asking me why I hadn’t come out to see him recently and wondering if I could make it out later that day, and in my weary state I agreed, hanging up the phone in time for it to ring again – this time finding Peggy on the other end, asking if I could come over in the afternoon.             “I have to see my friend,” I said.             “And you’re not going to take me to meet him?”             “I hadn’t thought of it,” I admitted.       ...

              When the phone rang, I thought it was a dream.             But I opened my eyes anyway, squinting against the scalding morning sun I knew was too angled to be late morning, and then I glanced at the clock.             11:15 a.m.             Everybody knew I worked the midnight shift and didn’t get up before noon – if that early.             But the ringing persisted and I pushed off my covers to get up.             I figured it had to be important and most likely bad news.             “Hello?”   I said.           ...

                The phone jangled so persistently the next morning, I knew it would go on unless I got up to answer it.             Lack of sleep only added to my overall confusion: between work and Peggy, I had become a stumble, bumbling, sleep-deprived man, so caught up in a dream world I could make sense of nothing.             “So where the hell did you go last night?” Peggy demanded the moment I said, “Hello.”             “To work,” I said. “Besides, you fell asleep.”             “If I promise not to fall asleep, will you come pick me up?”             “Tonight?”             “Yes...