John Lennon "Jealous Guy"

It was 1 in the morning. I was holding the phone a good foot-and-a-half from my face. I could still hear her screaming. Even though we were a good 20 miles apart, my "flight" instinct was kicking in.

We'd gone out once, maybe twice, and she seemed nice enough. This was when I was in my early 20s. In the days when "liking the same music" seemed like a perfectly reasonable foundation to balance a new relationship on.

I remember that one of the first times we spoke, she made a point to note that her favorite songs were never the singles off a record. She didn't like Phish's "Down With Disease" as much as she liked "Wolfman's Brother," off the recently-released "Hoist." And she preferred "Jealous Guy" to "Imagine."

That encompasses the depth of the relationship, up to the point I found myself on the receiving end of a screaming telephone call.

I had just gotten home from work, wrapping up my night shift at the radio station, when the phone rang. Pretty late for a call to my quiet apartment. I hoped no one was dead.

When I realized it was her, I immediately felt this bit of hesitation. Even if you know the person is just getting off work, do you call someone you hardly know, at 1am? I knew that it was something I wouldn't do, and so I felt a little uneasy, right from the get-go.

She suggested I come join her. She'd been hanging out with a few friends, and wanted me to come over.

She was slurring her words.

"No thanks. Not tonight. I just got home from a long day and I'm---"

And that's when she launched into a tirade. First, she was just hot, but she cranked up to a scream pretty quickly. A obscenity-laden stream of consciousness about how I must be some kind of jerk to turn down an invitation to come over and that I was probably lying about being tired and I must be some kind of jerk to turn down an invitation to come over and I must lying about being tired, etc, etc.

At some point, I just kind of interrupted her and said, "I gotta go," and hung up.

I won't say that I had high standards in those years, but I wasn't going to endure someone's bat-shit-drunken-craziness either.


She called the next morning and apologized. I thanked her. She asked if I wanted to get together. I told her I'd pass on that, and that I'd just see her around.


A few days later, I got a note and a cassette tape. The note was a brief and sincere apology. And the tape was a mix of songs we'd talked about, and other favorites of hers. I listened to the tape and enjoyed it. A few days later, I bumped into her. She was contrite, and asked if I wanted to get together. I told her No Thanks.

She looked at me, part wounded, part disbelieving.

"I don't make mixed tapes for just anyone," she said quietly.


It was weird. We both liked "Jealous Guy."

But she couldn't understand how an apology and a mixed tape didn't set things right. And I didn't understand how it possibly ever could.


See the video on Youtube.