Things I've Learned from Women Who've Dumped Me by Ben Karlin Page A

didn’t mention that I heard any of this stuff, but I remember calling you up and I basically asked you out, and . . . I think . . .
JESSICA: Noooooooo . . . uhhhhhh, really?
RODNEY: Yeah, but I think I did it in a really, you know, in a kind of way where if you said no or something . . .
JESSICA: It could be taken either way.
RODNEY: Yeah, exactly. But I definitely asked you to hang out while you were in the city. I think you said yes, and then eventually said you couldn’t. Like did you—when you would see me or whatever when I was in my midtwenties—did you still know that I had a crush on you?
JESSICA: Not for sure. Don’t you always have crushes on people that you had crushes on?
RODNEY: Crushes can go away, but [ long pause ] you basically look the same. And I think when I was kind of younger I decided I thought you were exactly my idea of a pretty girl. It was impossible for me to see you any other way.
JESSICA: [ Pauses ] I am going to sleep really nice tonight [ giggles ].
RODNEY: Now . . . what if I was in San Fran and I asked you to go get a beer with me? Would you get a beer with me?
JESSICA: Yeah, sure. Absolutely. I mean . . . is that going to get a beer or are you asking me out on a date?
RODNEY: No, I am asking you out on a date.
JESSICA: On a date?
RODNEY: Yeah.
[ Jessica and Rodney laugh .]
JESSICA: Ummmmm . . . yeah . . . yeah, I would say yeah. Yeah, I would say yes.
RODNEY: All right then, I am going to remember that. When I get back to California.
JESSICA: Okay.
RODNEY: ’Cause you know I go to San Fran all the time . . .
JESSICA: [ Snickers ] No, I didn’t know that.
RODNEY: Yeah, all the time. I just constantly go there.
JESSICA: Okay, I think that would be great.
RODNEY: But I am going to stop taping this conversation now.
[ Rodney and Jessica laugh .]
RODNEY: No, now seriously, I am stopping taping. Reeeeeaaaaaaaddddddy?
[ Sound of fumbling ]
END OF TAPE

Lesson#13
Don’t Leave Too Much Room for the Holy Spirit
    by Tom McCarthy
Dear Liz,
Forgive me for taking twenty-five years to reply to your last letter but I just wasn’t ready before this moment. I am now a forty-year-old man. I think we are the same age although I can’t actually recall. I was never conscious of age when I was young, there was only big and small. Life was like the dog park in that way.
I am writing to you because last week my parents politely asked me to remove the last of my belongings from their basement. They wanted to repaint the floor. I’m not sure why, the floor seemed fine to me. But I didn’t argue. I try not to argue with them now that they are getting up in years for fear that the one time I do some tragedy will befall them and I will never have a chance to make amends. I can’t stand the thought of living with regret. I’m fine with guilt. I think guilt is healthy, actually. It keeps me thin. Most people think I have a high metabolism or that I still smoke but my real diet secret is guilt. But regret interferes with my sleep patterns and I just can’t have that. Sleep is too important.
So when they made their request I just smiled and said, “Sure thing. I love you, Mom. I love you, Dad.” And I walked down the stairs, leaving them both shaking their heads at what a perfect child I turned out to be.
I didn’t leave much there. A few milk crates filled with college books, some camping gear I never used, a computerized chess set, and a small lock box that contained some keepsakes from my youth. I opened the box and there, under some fake Confederate money from a field trip to Gettysburg and next to a bottle of Japanese shampoo shaped like a samurai warrior, I found a stack of letters held together by a single rubber band. Those letters were from you. They were sent over the year-and-a-half period after we met at Young Life Summer Camp. The summer camp with a faith-based initiative. Two hours on water skis and one hour discussing how to enjoy Jesus and high school at the same time. It was a Protestant