your call

I was busy watching the lone episode of American Idol I have ever seen in an attempt to be social and make the most of my visit.  It was not until I excused myself and lay upon the lonely bottom bunk of a bed somewhere in Brooklyn that I realized I’d missed your call.  “Hi.  It’s me,” the message proclaimed.  I will never forget your tone.  Half laughing, half worried.  “We’re, ah, leaving first thing in the morning.  So, if, ah, I don’t talk to you, have a good rest of your break.”

I desperately wanted to tell you about my day and worried I wouldn’t have access to your voice for well over a week.  I saved the message, knowing that I could always return to it.  I dialed your number, hoping that you were still awake.  Part of me objected to the digits I touched upon the keypad–for I so wanted to be independent.  To not need you.  Even if I was alone.  And in Brooklyn.  You were never a part of this life, and as much as I missed you, were you a part of it now?

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1 Comment

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One response to “your call

  1. Mom

    It is my impression that the familiar helps us push our way through the unfamiliar–giving us both comfort and courage. Keep calling.

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